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kyuubinosennin · 4 months ago

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Naruto watched with an impassive look as the various Konoha members took in the information. He was glad to be beside Mei while Ao and Akawarai shifted in their own chairs. It was quite the image - the Mizukage and her "son". Tsunade stared Mei down and then exhaled before pinching the bridge of her nose. "I wasn't made Hokage until sometime after the fight at the Valley of the End. I wasn't made aware of everything until I started digging through the reports and inquiring on just what the hell happened." "It's not really you at fault, Hokage." spoke Naruto. "But theirs." He motions to Kakashi and Sakura. Sakura looked hurt and Kakashi looked like he had been struck. It was only fitting given who and what sat before them. "They got reprimanded--" "Reprimanding is not enough." speaks Naruto - though there's a slight twitch to his lips as he says it. It was almost like he was going to snarl. "My ex sensei there favored the one who did this to me. My former teammate there only ever really looked at the one who did this to me. Despite me always asking her out and putting so much of my time into impressing her." "I was a girl, Naruto--I didn't know better. But I improved--" "You asked of me an impossible promise. To bring him back. I didn't. I failed. And you, Kakashi, taught him how to use an assassination technique. One that tore through my chest, thank you very much." "Naruto-" "What would my father think of your failure, Kakashi?" This drew even a surprised look from Akawarai. No one had ever discussed Naruto's parents - no one really knew despite Akawarai and Ao having tried to get that information in secret. "How do you know?" "Know that my father was the Yondaime Hokage and my birth mother was the legendary Uzumaki Kushina? The very same entity they sealed within me. The very same being that saved my life when your precious Sasuke tore through my heart." Oh the reactions were priceless. Naruto, the one now aligned with Kirigakure, was the son of the legendary Yellow Flash. Akawarai resisted the urge to whistle. This had gone better than he expected. "Well. This has gone...fantastically already." drawled Tsunade with an exasperated sigh. She clearly didn't have any intention of asking for Naruto to come back to Konoha. She could read the room. She knew Konoha was at the disadvantage here. Just as intended.

[THE MEETING] Finale of the Prelude/Prologue! So it had come to this. A meeting between the Godaime Hokage and the Godaime Mizukage - two veteran women of renown and strength. One was Terumi Mei - survivor of the civil war and a great beacon in a sea of blood. The other was Senju Tsunade. The grand-daughter of the legendary Senju Hashirama. One of the three Sannin who rose to fame during one of the world's wars. Kiri bristled, in a sense, at such company being made within their own village. It was a time that could make or break their resurgence and them stepping from their isolated nature. Of course everyone involved in the meeting knew the seriousness of such a meeting. Kirigakure had three main attenders. Terumi Mei, Miraomoi Akawarai, and Ao. Akawarai represented the clans and the rebuilding Seven Swordsmen. Ao represented the hunter-nin and the base people of Kiri - though he was also there as Mei's advisor and right-hand man. Their fourth was a little late. Konoha had its Hokage, but it also had Hatake Kakashi and a mixed team. Haruno Sakura, Inuzuka Kiba, and Nara Shikamaru - a team of smart and uniquely trained shinobi. Tsunade had been particular in choosing a team over a squad of ANBU. It was meant to show trust in her own shinobi and trust in Kiri to be courteous. A special meeting room had been set aside for this occasion. Mei and her allies sat on one side and the Konoha group sat on the other. Comfortable seats with a table before them to set out terms on paper for an alliance. It was as the meeting began that the door opened. Heads turned slightly and heads perked up as a red-haired figure stepped inside. "Ah, sorry for being late. Chojuro-san wanted some lessons on sword stances." came voice of Naruto. His curly "crown" of hair was lightly styled, but he did not wear his mask this time. He stepped into proper view of the Konoha team and greeted Mei with a cheek kiss. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything, okaa-san." All before sitting beside her - as she might want and allow. "What is the meaning of this?" growled out Tsunade with narrowed eyes. The others looked shocked and in disbelief. Their old student, teammate, and friend was right here before them. Red haired, scarred, and calling Mei mom. Naruto stared at them - clearly alive and confronting his "demons". His heart pounded within his chest, but he kept himself composed. He was doing this for himself and to make Mei proud. He also knew that his presence would put Konoha out in the open to being called out. He had a pragmatic and perhaps cruel approach even when he shouldn't. Akawarai smiled a faint smile. He had specifically instructed Naruto to be late. He knew Mei would know this from the moment Naruto stepped in without his mask on. Now Kiri had an upper hand in the meeting.

#magmaprincess #[v: home at sea]#an even BIGGER reveal for mei #in that the boy shes protecting and training is a HERO by blood #but also tsunade being like 'im not drunk enough for this shit'#im partly sorry for how long/big these are getting word length wise

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minaa-munch · 5 years ago

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If someone were to ask the newly appointed Yondaime whether he believed in ghosts, they would be subjected to an incredulous look; complete with a raised blond brow and owlish blue hues. After a brief moment of scrutiny, said question would be waved aside with a humorous chuckle, before the conversation would inevitably be steered towards matters involving government and the appalling mess that was the archive cabinet in the Jōnin headquarters.

For you see, Namikaze Minato didn’t believe in ghosts. ‘Spirits’ to a degree, could be considered manifestations of wayward chakra signatures that had yet to fade from their plane of existence. Nothing more.

Ghosts though? Pft.

That was the only logical explanation, wasn’t it?

A frost-laden gale blew from the stormy white peaks up yonder; echoing a ghostly howl and laden with enough snow to swallow the little sunlight that had managed to flicker through the rolling fog. It was dreary, if one could describe it in a word, yet also paradoxically calm; not a soul in sight, none dumb enough - touched in the head enough - to take their chances against nature’s silent rage.

And then there was him of course; an insolent blotch of blue and gray against a backdrop of sweeping white. Blue hues chanced a peek at the charcoal-smudged skyline before disappearing under his flimsy hood - he could barely see past the blizzard, let alone focus enough to know where he was going. Near frozen fingers curled tightly around the handle of a kunai, while the other hand kept a tight hold of his traveler’s cloak. The last thing he needed was the wind to fly off with it.

The border between the Lands of Frost and Lightning was particularly hostile around this time of the year; many a peddler that he had met on his way from Ta no Kuni had warned him as much, citing near-death personal experiences so as to dissuade even the most stubborn of travelers.

Clearly, they had never met a Konoha shinobi - one on a reconnaissance mission, no less.

The Second Shinobi War was heaving its dying breaths, with Amegakure having retreated and Sunagakure having suffered the white fang, Konoha was well on its way to claiming complete victory.

Or at least they would have been. A little birdie had told the elder council of an impending attack from Kumogakure, who had apparently been waiting for the rest of the hidden villages to exhaust their resources before showing their hand.

Considering the tact of such an idea, it was smooth and simple; an effective tactic while everyone else scattered about like headless poultry. Naturally, with assets stretched thin and shinobi exhausted after 3 years of pointless skirmishes, Konoha’s war office had declared the matter worthy of looking into. The only question being a matter of who would be fast enough, smart enough, to assess the situation from a discrete angle and report back just as swiftly?

Enter one Namikaze Minato, Konoha’s resident Yellow Flash and nearly the fastest shinobi in the field. He had been given stellar recommendations by Yuuhei Keisuka, the commander of their Kusa outpost for his numerous achievements. It was also rumored that he was quite talented at some odd variation of the shunshin no jutsu, which made him annoyingly deadly on the battlefield.

For all his talent though, he was certain that he would freeze to death out here in the wilderness. Now-pale digits pulled the cloak tighter around his person at the thought, as blue orbs narrowed against the onslaught of what felt like frost-tipped pinpricks against his vision. Normally, under such circumstances, the blond would use his hiraishin (which was not an odd variation of the shunshin no jutsu, thank you very much) since it allowed him to cover more ground relatively easily; in fact, that was how he had reached the outskirts of Kumogakure in two days to begin with.

However, most of his reserves had been spent on placing his markers, and since his reconnaissance was meant to be a secretive one, he could afford no chances. The week he had spent on that altitude sickness-inducing nightmare they called the barrack backyard had mostly witnessed him teleporting from one marker to the next; gathering intel with detailed notes - infiltrating their headquarters while they slept, like a kami-forsaken, blond haired ghoul.

For all his efforts and backtracking, amidst draining his chakra reserves to the point of near exhaustion, Minato had come to one, solid conclusion.

The birdie that had so willfully whispered in the council’s wrinkly ear had clearly been suffering from a concussion. Kumogakure had no plans on entering the war, despite them having picked a bone with Konoha earlier via Uzumaki-napping gone wrong. They were squandering their resources, yes, but for another reason entirely that had nothing to do with their current skirmishes. Minato had the notes (swiped, of course, from under a commander’s upturned nose) to prove it.

Now if only he had the chakra for it too, he grumbled. The near dwindling state of his reserves at present could be attributed to his escape from Kumo’s borders - he couldn’t exactly leave a trace behind, after all. With enough intel to report back (and an outpost in sufficient disarray because they were convinced their corridors were haunted), Minato had simply wanted to put enough distance between him and a potentially explosive powder keg.

Even if that meant covering some distance via nearly frost-bitten limbs. Cue a grimace as his leg sunk further in the deep snow, the cold nearly gnawing it off from the knee. He had to wait a little while, probably just a bit more before he recovered enough chakra to use the hiraishin with his marked kunai - two dimensional hops would hopefully put him in range of the marker he had placed on a tavern that bordered the forests; a patch of thick green wilderness that lay a little distance from where the ascent to the mountains truly began.

Cue another crunch of snow which was nearly swallowed by the wind. Gloved digits abandoned his weapons pouch in favor of shielding his eyes from the additional frigid onslaught. At this rate he was going to turn into a blond-sicle and he would have no one to blame but his lack of better judgement.

Oh, and the elder council - definitely the elder council, came a childish reminder, as blue hues caught a smear of dark green somewhere in his peripheral; it stood in stark contrast to the dull hues swathing the landscape.

Forests were usually green (lets blame a frost-bitten brain for stating the obvious)…mentally trailing off, the chunin felt the beginnings of hope kindle his frozen insides and he flailed through deep snow with increased vigor. It wasn’t until gloved fingers found the brittle ridges characteristic of a Tsuga* bark that he allowed himself to slow down a little; and not until he had made decent headway into the foliage that he allowed himself to pause for breath.

Trees meant less snow (or more, if he was clumsy enough which, at the moment, seemed like a distinct possibility) and less wind, which inevitably meant better visibility. As thick as they were, they provided ample shelter, with the blizzard too busy running amuck between the heavy branches to pelt him with vision hampering flurries.

The trees also proved to be an apt backrest because kami, he was tired. The teen exhaled a large puff of breath before pausing behind a particularly sturdy tree; letting his back rest against it with a soft whump that was barely heard over the wind that was basically laying waste to the forest canopy.

Apart from that, it was relatively quiet and surprisingly less hostile. Shadows clung to an overhanging branch here, to the undersides of gnarled roots there…lurking between the trees in a way only nature could manage. His senses told him nary a soul was nearby, and with the paranoia borne of his profession eased off his shoulders, Minato felt his eyes flutter shut for the briefest moment.

He had been on high alert for so long…letting his head rest back against the trunk, the blond felt exhaustion lull his consciousness into the beginnings of a light slumber. Five minutes…maybe ten? Maybe he could just rest here until his chakra had been replenished enough for him to use the hiraishin without collapsing. Maybe–

“Could you please help me?” The words were soft, barely a whisper in the wind; but to him they were as loud as an explosive seal tag. Blue hues snapped open, and with speed borne of pure instinct, he pulled out a kunai, the deadly three pronged tip pointed at his assailant’s jugular.

Had he not been as exhausted as he was, said tip would have promptly been buried in an unsuspecting neck without a moment’s notice – but thankfully that wasn’t the case. Startled black hues stared back at him from beneath her wide brimmed kasa*, wrinkled mouth still open from her earlier request. The old lady seemed frail, her weathered hands clinging to a make-shift, gnarled staff as the breeze played around with her long ponytail.

How had he not sensed her? Blue hues narrowed, the kunai point still lingering with deadly accuracy as his heart played a thundering staccato in his ears. Try as he might, he could not pick up on the old lady’s chakra signature - either she was an exceptionally well trained scout or—

“Please” It was more of a statement than a request this time, as her clothed knees shook and she fumbled with the large stick in her hands, “My son…I can’t find him.” There were tears brimming against her beady black hues, “You look like him and I thought…” Trailing off, the old lady choked back a sob as she turned her head to her shoulder to hide her barely repressed tears, frail shoulders quaking with the effort.

Blink. He slowly lowered his kunai, her visage tugging at a stray heart-string he didn’t even know he possessed anymore (thanks to murdering child-scouts on a weekly basis); maybe she was a lost civilian after all? His senses had yet to fail him. Minato spun the kunai to rest snugly against his palm, his index finger acting as an anchor in the metal loop; before taking a step closer to her, still wary - and for all the right reasons, mind you.

“Summimasen, baa san.” He said, tone just a little warmer than the weather, “But you shouldn’t be out here, in this blizzard.”

The old woman nodded in response, rubbing her face against her sleeve before raising her head to meet his guarded expression, “My son…I just want to find him. You understand?” Of course he didn’t “But the storm and…I…I can’t find him” she flailed, “Since you’re going down…can you help an old lady a little way?” Dark hues stared at him in earnest; hopeful, yet somewhat hesitant.

Minato paused; as heartless as it seemed to simply abandon her right there and then, he was rather inclined to do so - regardless of Kumo’s stance, they were still in the midst of war and his face had recently graced the pages of every bounty scroll in the continent.

But there was something about her predicament that nagged at his conscience - also, he had probably scared her halfway to the afterlife earlier. With a short nod, he found himself extending an arm to her as additional support before he was even aware of it; only realizing the gesture once thin, spidery fingers grasped his forearm in a frigid, vice like grip. The old lady had shifted most of her weight on him, and he supposed that was understandable since she could barely hold on to the rotting branch anyways. Said branch had undoubtedly been picked from the base of the many Tsuga trees that littered the forest.

And so they walked - lumbered, in the old lady’s case - for an indefinite period of time. Minato lost track after the second time they passed a familiar tree; the sole indication of their direction based on the downward slope of the forest floor. His companion was surprisingly quiet through the trek, sans the heaving breaths that would emanate from her person.

If she was still worried for her son, she wasn’t as keen on showing it. Blond brows furrowed at the thought before it was filed away for later; his chakra was nearly at a point where he could teleport with a fraction to spare, and with somewhat replenished reserves, he was more aware of the faint chakra of living matter buzzing about the forest. It was noisier than natural energy, which flowed more like a constant stream; though what bothered him was the fact that the old lady emanated neither.

Maybe it was because he wasn’t as adept at sensing natural energy yet? Regardless, if he was going to use the hiraishin soon, they would need to part ways – though maybe he could bring her along? The woman was clearly no threat to his person, and maybe the tavern owner could help her locate her son?

Cue a tightening of thin fingers, as if she had heard his thoughts. Minato paused mid-trudge, blue hues trying to locate dark counterparts from the shadow of her picker’s hat, “Obaa san, there’s a small tavern dow—”

“Iie” The wind had gotten eerily quiet; a mere treble against the sharp whisper. The icy grip on his wrist curled tighter, as if to break the appendage between spidery digits. Try as he might, he couldn’t tug it away, instead, her nails painfully burrowed holes in the underside of his wrist.

With a barely withheld grimace, the Namikaze mumbled an apology, while summoning some of his chakra to the other palm before striking the woman squarely in the chest; a controlled gust of wind - usually strong enough to send a grown shinobi flying - erupting from his hand.

It barely disturbed her kasa “You promised” her voice was hollow, almost an echo from a great unseeing void. Ravenous inky tendrils flowed like a gushing torrent from beneath her hat, wrapping tightly around his midsection and slowly snaking upwards; frost tipped points numbing flesh as they did.

By the shodai’s eyebrows— Minato almost swore, before he dangerously flicked the kunai from his caught hand, the steel points doing little to hamper her grip on his wrist. The woman cocked her head to the side, before empty hues found his near panicking ones, causing him to freeze mid-struggle.

Gone was the friendly face; the crow’s feet, wrinkled mouth and the sagging skin. Instead, there was rotten flesh, with maggots peeking from empty sockets that sat snug between layers of decaying, mottled crimson; no doubt decomposing muscle. A strip of flesh hung loosely from one cheek bone as her gaping maw opened wide, barely strung together by fleshy ribbons.

“You promised”

Move, Namikaze – this is a genjutsu. It has to be a genjutsu – but even amidst his panicked thoughts, he couldn’t move a single muscle. The hair had him constricted to the point of suffocation; he could barely concentrate on gathering his chakra together.

Move, Namikaze! The inky tendrils caressed his cheek now, deceptively gentle as the marred face came closer. Minato felt the breath escape his lungs as bony fingers inched towards his eyes. Quivering digits barely managed to flick the kunai in his hand uselessly behind the apparition.

Move! He was a gray blur at the faintest prick to his cheek. His form disappeared from between writhing strands; only to appear behind her. Blue hues barely registered the inky tendrils in his peripheral before he summoned every last bit of chakra and flickered to his last marked signature—

—And promptly crashed into a table full of delicate china; complete with ink sticks, empty brass scroll holders and rolls of parchment. Spots danced across his vision, as his eyes strained to accustom to the suddenly new, darker environment. Breathing heavily, the blond chunin barely managed to pull himself out of the splintered wood and broken ceramic; quivering knees and fingers resting heavily against the aged tatami.

The room tilted sideways, and Minato was sure he would have tilted with it had it not been for a squeak that prompted his gaze.

“W-Who?” An old man was huddled away from him, clutching a short tanto blade to his chest as if the presence of the weapon alone would ward off danger. Blue hues blinked dully at it before flickering to the dim lamp light reflecting off the man’s pale scalp.

Thank kami he was bald. Cue a faint, watery grin before chakra exhaustion took its toll and he dropped to the side like a sack of daikon - just as the man let out a particularly high pitched shriek.

Needless to say, by the time he got back to Konoha, he was considerably poorer than when he had left.

Namikaze Minato didn’t - wouldn’t believe in ghosts. Kato Dan had once explained the idea behind the stereotypical ‘specter’, as the image, once popularized by veteran war narratives, would be enough to build a reputation. Dan had relied on that image, since not only did it compliment his famed Spirit Transformation technique, but there was no weapon more feared than a reputable shinobi.

As Yondaime, Minato had all that and more - for a man on the pinnacle of his career, he couldn’t afford to give in to idle fancies.

Even though at times, during the frostiest winter nights, he felt the familiar touch of spidery digits curling tightly over his wrist; a forgotten name a mere whisper in the wind.

Tsuga = Japanese Hemlock trees Kasa = rice picker’s hat

#Minato #The Surreal #headcanon #so I delved into Kafka again and decided; why not #Second Shinobi War #From the Yondaime's Personal Archives #Ubasute #v; yondaime #Yondaime #that moment when you realise that the yellow flash was 14 when he got the title #Namikaze Minato #minato namikaze

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