Minato sat behind his desk, his posture relaxed, his blue eyes moving slowly across the scroll as he reviewed each assignment, each pairing, each decision that Renjiro had made.
His Hokage robes were loosened at the collar, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a sign that he had been working for hours and intended to keep working for hours more.
Renjiro sat opposite him, his back straight, his hands resting on his knees. The atmosphere was calm—professional, but relaxed. Very different from the hostile meeting hall where jonin had shouted and complained and tested his authority.
Here, there was no posturing, no politics, no hidden agendas. Just two men who had fought together, who trusted each other, who were trying to build something that would outlast them.
Minato flipped a page. Paused. Studied a particular team composition.
"This one," he said, tapping the scroll with his finger. "Aburame, Inuzuka, Hyūga."
He looked up at Renjiro, his eyes sharp despite his exhaustion.
"Long-range tracking. Scent tracking. Visual tracking. A highly specialised reconnaissance unit."
Renjiro nodded.
"They complement each other. Each one covers a weakness the others have. The Aburame's insects can track over vast distances, but they're slow to deploy. The Inuzuka's scent tracking is faster, but it requires proximity. The Hyūga's Byakugan can see through obstacles, but it has blind spots. Together, they're nearly impossible to evade."
Minato's lips curved into a small smile. He flipped another page.
"This one is defensively oriented. Strong front-liner, mid-range support, sensory backup. Balanced."
Another page.
"This team is built around temperament. The loud one, the quiet one, the one who mediates. Classic structure. It's been used for generations because it works."
Another page.
"Civilian, clan heir, orphan. No political weight. No expectations. Just three children who need guidance."
He set down the scroll and leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled before him.
"These look thoughtful," he said. "The assignments are deliberate. Team chemistry was clearly considered." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "Most people focus on individual talent. You focused on team function."
Renjiro inclined his head.
"Thank you."
'Most of these ideas came from the anime,' Renjiro thought, accepting the praise with a neutral expression.
'The Konoha Eleven. Canon team structures. Known successful combinations that had been tested over hundreds of episodes, through countless battles, against enemies that should have been unbeatable.'
Tracking teams. Balanced teams. Personality balancing.
'Thank you, Naruto timeline.'
Who knew watching anime as a kid would become my greatest asset as a military commander?
He did not say this aloud. He simply nodded, accepting the commendation, and moved on.
Minato set down the scroll and folded his hands on the desk.
"How did the consultation meeting go?"
Renjiro paused. The memory of the meeting hall, of the shouting and complaining and entitlement, was still fresh.
"Poorly."
Minato's eyebrows rose slightly—a silent invitation to continue.
Renjiro recounted the meeting. The clan complaints. The demands for clan heirs. The refusal to train civilians. The complaints about orphans. The arrogance of the young jonin who believed his accomplishments warranted a "higher quality team."
As he spoke, Minato's expression shifted. Not to anger—the Hokage rarely showed anger—but to something like amusement. Not because the situation was funny, but because it was exactly what he had expected.
"Clan politics," Minato said when Renjiro finished. "They never change."
"They never do."
"I dealt with the same thing when I was Jonin Commander. " He shook his head. "It's exhausting."
"It is."
"But you handled it well."
Renjiro was silent for a moment.
"It didn't feel like handling it well. It felt like threatening them into submission."
"Sometimes that's the same thing."
Minato studied Renjiro for a long moment.
"Why did you handle it that way? Threatening to involve the clan heads. Threatening to involve me."
Renjiro considered the question carefully.
He could have given a diplomatic answer—talked about the importance of consensus, the need to balance competing interests, the value of compromise. But Minato would have seen through that.
"This wasn't about the teams," Renjiro said finally. "It was about authority."
He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on the edge of the desk.
"This was my first major interaction with the jonin as Jonin Commander. They were testing me—seeing how much they could get away with, how far they could push me, whether I would fold under pressure."
He paused.
"If I had yielded—if I had compromised on nonsense—they would have remembered it. Future meetings would have been worse. Every request, every assignment, every decision would have been contested. I would have spent my entire tenure negotiating with people who should have been following orders."
He met Minato's gaze.
"Bad precedents are easier to create than destroy," Minato said quietly.
"Exactly."
Minato nodded slowly.
"If you weren't Jonin Commander," Minato said, his tone casual, almost offhand, "would you ever consider becoming a jonin sensei?"
"No."
The answer came immediately. No hesitation. No pause. No consideration.
Minato blinked.
"That was fast."
"I've thought about it before."
"And?"
"And I don't trust myself with children."
Minato's eyebrows rose.
"Why not?"
Renjiro was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts.
"I lack patience," he said finally. "I've never been good with people who don't understand things immediately. Children, especially—they need time to learn, to grow, to make mistakes. I'm not sure I could give them that time without becoming frustrated."
He paused.
"I also don't think I possess the right temperament. A jonin sensei needs to be supportive, encouraging, and willing to let their students fail so they can learn from their failures. I'm more... practical. Efficient. I solve problems; I don't nurture potential."
He met Minato's gaze.
"Guiding children into adulthood is too important a task to approach casually. It's a noble responsibility. And it's one I don't think I'd do well."
Minato stared at him for a long moment. Then he laughed—a genuine sound, surprised out of him.
"You're underestimating yourself," he said.
"I'm not."
"You are. If I had remained Jonin Commander, I would have eventually approached you for a genin team. You're exactly the kind of instructor I would have wanted."
"I would have refused."
"Yet here you are, working for me."
"You wanted me back in ANBU," Renjiro countered. "I chose Jonin Commander. There's a difference."
"If that helps you sleep at night."
Renjiro's jaw tightened, preparing a rebuttal—but Minato had already moved on, his attention shifting to a different topic.
"How is the shadow clone expedition progressing?" Minato asked. "Uzushiogakure?"
Renjiro's internal reaction was sharp, immediate.
Danger.
He kept his expression neutral, his voice calm and lied.
"Miscalculated chakra distribution. Too many clones. Seal projects consumed resources. The clone dispersed. Mission failed."
Minato's expression did not change.
"Unfortunate."
"It was."
"What will you do now?"
"Eventually, create another clone. Restart the process."
Minato nodded, apparently satisfied. He saw no reason to doubt Renjiro's explanation. A clone dispersing due to overextension was not unusual.
'He bought it,' Renjiro thought. 'Thankfully.'
Minato reached into a desk drawer—no explanation, no preamble. Simply opened it, retrieved a scroll, and placed it on the desk.
He slid it toward Renjiro.
Renjiro's attention sharpened. He did not reach for the scroll immediately. Minato rarely did things randomly.
"What's this?"
Minato smiled.
"Everything Konoha possesses regarding the Flying Raijin."
Renjiro froze.
He stared at the scroll, his heart beating faster. His hand moved toward it—slowly, almost reverently. He did not pick it up immediately. He simply touched the edge, feeling the aged paper, the raised edges of the restriction seals, the weight of knowledge contained within.
'This is not a gift,' he realised. 'It's not a reward. It's access. Access to one of the greatest techniques in shinobi history.'
He looked up at Minato.
"The Second Hokage's notes," Minato continued. "My notes. Research records. Theory. Failed experiments."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"Everything."
"Why?" Renjiro's voice was quieter than he intended.
"Because you asked. Because you're the Jonin Commander. Because the barrier project requires it." Minato shrugged. "Because I trust you."
Renjiro was silent for a long moment.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." Minato's smile widened. "The theory is dense. The notes are incomplete. Even with everything I've added, it took me years to master the technique. And I had the advantage of natural talent."
He leaned back in his chair.
"This will not be easy."
"I didn't expect it to be."
Renjiro picked up the scroll. It was heavier than it looked—not physically, but metaphorically. The weight of knowledge, of potential, of the future.
'Space-time ninjutsu,' he thought. 'The ability to teleport, to phase, to be anywhere and nowhere. The technique that made Minato a legend.'
He thought of the possibilities—barrier integration, teleportation seals, the ability to respond to threats instantly. He thought of the limitations—the chakra cost, the complexity, the years of study required to master even the basics.
'This will take time. Years, maybe. But it's a start.'
Minato watched him, his expression unreadable.
"One more thing," he said.
Renjiro looked up.
"The notes are restricted. Obviously. You're not to share them with anyone without my explicit permission. Not Kushina, not Jiraiya, not anyone."
"I understand."
"And if anything happens to those scrolls—if they're lost, stolen, or damaged—you'll answer to me."
"I understand."
Minato nodded.
"Then we're done here."
Renjiro rose, the scroll clutched in his hand.
"Thank you, Minato."
"Get some rest, Renjiro. You look terrible."
"I'll sleep when I'm dead."
"That's not as funny as you think it is."
Renjiro's lips twitched, and he walked toward the door.
=====
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