After parting from Ren and Kurenai, Shinku Yūhi proceeded directly to the Hokage Tower, his demeanor shifting from the warmth of a guardian to the focused solemnity of a veteran jōnin. He arrived at the familiar heavy wooden door, rapped twice, and waited.
"Enter."
Pushing the door open, he stepped into the spacious office, the scent of aged paper and pipe tobacco hanging in the air. He offered a crisp, respectful bow. "Hokage-sama."
"Mm." The Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, acknowledged him with a hum around the stem of his pipe, a gentle smile appearing on his lined face. He set aside the scroll he'd been reviewing. "Shinku. Good. How is the boy? Does he harbor any lingering resistance toward the village?"
The matter of the red-haired child, a possible survivor of the scattered Uzumaki clan, was of quiet but significant interest to the Hokage. Every descendant of that unique lineage represented more than just a talented shinobi; they were, in the cold calculus of village security, prime candidates for a very specific and burdensome duty. As Hokage, he was obliged to consider Konoha's long-term stability, and that meant evaluating all potential assets—especially jinchūriki reserves.
Shinku nodded, his report factual. "In the two months he has lived with us, Ren has exhibited no outward hostility or rejection of Konoha. If anything, he seems… pragmatically accepting. However, his maturity is unnerving for his age. He maintains a certain… distance. It's as if he's observing the world from behind a pane of glass. His true feelings are difficult to discern."
Hiruzen took a slow, thoughtful pull on his pipe, exhaling a cloud of fragrant smoke. "Trauma carves deep channels in a young heart. Only time and consistent kindness can hope to fill them. Continue to offer him a genuine home. Let him learn to associate this village with safety and family. We must help him move beyond the past."
"Understood," Shinku affirmed, his voice firm. "He is already treated as one of our own."
A flicker of approval crossed Hiruzen's features. "Good. That is the best foundation." He paused, his expression growing more intent, the kindly grandfather receding to reveal the strategist beneath. "In your time together, have you been able to confirm his heritage? Any definitive signs of the Uzumaki lineage?"
This was the core question. Confirmation would dictate the boy's entire future path—the intensity of his training, the focus of his studies, and the silent, heavy shadow of a potential destiny as a vessel. It was for Konoha's future, a necessity that sometimes sat uneasily on the Hokage's conscience.
Shinku's face fell into a look of mild frustration. He shook his head. "Beyond the initial, miraculous recovery, he has displayed no other overt characteristics. Moreover, his… inclinations have been a hurdle. He possessed a distinct lack of ambition regarding the shinobi path and was remarkably adept at finding excuses to avoid even basic chakra refinement exercises."
Chakra capacity was one of the most reliable markers of Uzumaki vitality. A month after Ren's arrival, Shinku had gently suggested beginning the process. The boy's refusal had been polite but immovable, rooted in his stated desire for a civilian life. It had been a perplexing obstacle.
"A child who has seen death at the hands of shinobi will naturally fear and reject that world," Hiruzen said, his voice tinged with a veteran's weary understanding. He knew the fabricated backstory they had constructed for Ren—a common tragedy in the unstable borderlands. "The fact that he has now chosen to enroll in the Academy suggests he is beginning to overcome that fear. You have guided him well."
A genuine, paternal smile touched Shinku's lips. "The credit is not mine, Hokage-sama. The decision was his own. His stated reason was surprisingly mundane: to earn an income and contribute to the household. He is a good boy at heart."
"A commendable sense of responsibility," Hiruzen acknowledged with a nod. "And his willingness to trust your family speaks highly of your character, Shinku." He tapped the ash from his pipe into a tray. "Continue to observe him, but do not press. Whether he is of the Uzumaki or not, he is now a child of Konoha under your roof. Treat him with the care he deserves."
Shinku bowed again. "Yes, Hokage-sama."
"You may go."
After the door clicked shut, Hiruzen's gaze drifted to the thin file on his desk—a sparse collection of observations about the red-haired orphan. He picked it up, his eyes scanning the few lines.
"Recovery from near-fatal wounds in a single night… Even if not Uzumaki, such vitality is extraordinary," he murmured to the silent room. "The will to live… or something more inherent?"
He set the file down, his thoughts turning to the future. Uzumaki Kushina was strong, a perfect vessel for the Nine-Tails. But vessels could break, and successors were not easily found. The chakra demands alone made the pool of candidates vanishingly small.
"Your performance will tell the tale," he whispered, as if to the boy himself. "I hope for Konoha's sake—and perhaps for your own protection—that you are of that lineage. It would solve many future worries. And Konoha… Konoha rewards loyalty."
The life of a jinchūriki was a lonely, painful burden, but it was also a shield for the village. A necessary sacrifice. He pushed the darker thoughts aside, focusing on the present. The boy was in school. That was a start.
When Shinku returned home, he was met with a domestic scene. Kurenai was perched on the sofa, arms crossed, her expression a perfect storm of childish indignation. He couldn't help a small, inward smile.
"Kurenai? What's the matter?"
She pointed an accusatory finger across the room where Ren sat, looking innocently contemplative. "He did it again! He bullied me!"
Shinku suppressed a sigh. Some things were as constant as the sunrise. "Ren," he said, turning a mildly exasperated look on the boy. "What transgression have you committed now?"
Ren adopted an expression of pure, blameless benevolence. "I was merely performing a civic duty. Excessive sugar consumption leads to deleterious health outcomes and potential volumetric expansion. I was acting in Kurenai's long-term aesthetic and physical interest."
Shinku stared. "…"
He momentarily retracted his earlier mental note about Ren's maturity. The boy had a positively devilish streak when it came to needling his daughter.
"I don't need you to think about my interests!" Kurenai fumed, the embers of her anger stoked anew. "And even if I did become… volumetrically expanded, I'd be the cutest, roundest girl in the whole village!"
Ren spread his hands, his face a mask of exaggerated skepticism. "The empirical evidence suggests otherwise."
"WAAAH! You're infuriating! Prepare for justice!" She launched herself off the sofa.
"Uncle Shinku! Witness the violence! This is not the behavior of a refined kunoichi-in-training!" Ren ducked behind a chair, his complaint delivered with theatrical alarm.
The chase, half-serious and half-playful, resumed. Shinku watched the whirlwind of motion—the frustrated but ultimately harmless pursuit, the deft dodges, the dramatic protests—and felt not irritation, but a deep, comforting warmth. This, he thought, is the sound of a home full of life. It was chaotic, silly, and perfect.
"Alright, that's enough, you two," he interceded, his voice holding a note of amused authority. "You'll rearrange the furniture. I can surmise the crime. Compensation is in order. Kurenai, your monthly allowance will see a slight increase. Ren… yours will see a temporary suspension."
Kurenai skidded to a halt. Her magnificent pout vanished, replaced by wide-eyed hope. "Truly?"
"Have I ever lied to you?"
The transformation was instantaneous. Sunshine broke through the storm clouds. She beamed, all earlier grievances forgotten in the face of fiscal victory. "You're the best, Father!" Then she turned to Ren, her eyes sparkling with triumph. She even managed a credible imitation of his own raised-eyebrow look of superiority. The message was clear: I win.
"Tch." Ren snorted, but there was no real malice in it, only amused acknowledgment. Teasing the doll-like little girl was becoming a genuine pleasure. Having a little sister—even a self-proclaimed older one—was fun. He'd never admit to anything resembling a sister complex… though, okay, maybe a tiny, manageable one. A clever, cute, and entirely unrelated little sister was a treasure. Any future blonde, orange-wearing, whisker-marked nuisance who thought to get close would have to go through him first.
As the domestic equilibrium restored itself, Shinku remembered his earlier thought. "Ren," he said, his tone shifting to one of instruction. "Tomorrow marks the true beginning of your Academy training. While they will teach chakra refinement, I have time now. Would you like me to guide you through the basics first?"
Ren's feigned nonchalance dropped away, replaced by keen interest. This was precisely what he wanted. "Yes, please, Uncle Shinku."
The system's reward—Spiritual Pressure Aptitude Enhancement—was an abstract upgrade from a foreign power system. The crucial question was: did it translate? Would it affect his ability to sense and mold chakra, the native energy of this world? What form would this "talent" take?
Theory was useless. He needed data. The process of refining chakra for the first time would be the perfect experiment.