Minato remained seated behind his desk, his posture relaxed, his blue eyes fixed on Renjiro with an expression that was difficult to read. Renjiro stood before him, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, his expression neutral, his mind still processing the confrontation that had just concluded.
A brief moment of silence stretched between them, the weight of the previous exchange settling into the space like dust after a storm. The atmosphere shifted, the political tension fading into something more personal, more familiar. Minato was no longer the Hokage facing a difficult subordinate; he was a friend, a comrade, someone who had fought beside Renjiro and trusted him implicitly.
"So," Minato said, his voice carrying a note of casual curiosity, "how did it go?"
Renjiro blinked, genuinely confused.
"How did what go?"
Minato's lips curved into a slight smile.
"The reason you left the village. The children."
Renjiro's expression flickered—a brief moment of hesitation, quickly masked. He had hoped to avoid this conversation, had hoped that the confrontation with Danzo would be the focus of their meeting. But Minato was too perceptive, too attuned to the rhythms of his subordinates, to let such a significant absence go unaddressed.
He blew a raspberry in mild frustration, the gesture breaking the tension of the moment.
"I couldn't recover the children," he said, his voice flat.
Before Minato could ask why, he added quickly:
"I was attacked."
He paused, letting the weight of the words settle.
"Orochimaru attacked me."
Minato's reaction was subtle, almost imperceptible. His face barely changed—the same calm expression, the same steady gaze. But Renjiro had known him too long to miss the signs: the subtle tightening of his shoulders, the slight pause in his breathing, the smallest widening of his eyes.
From Minato's generation, Renjiro thought, his internal voice analytical, Jiraiya, Tsunade, and Orochimaru were legends. Regardless of Orochimaru's crimes, Minato once respected him as his teacher's teammate. Hearing that one of them attacked his Jonin Commander is naturally shocking.
"Orochimaru," Minato repeated, the name carrying weight. "How was he involved?"
Renjiro had prepared for this question.
"My contact discovered trafficked children," he explained, his voice calm, measured. "Their destination was one of Orochimaru's laboratories. I arrived too late. There were traces—evidence that the children had been present recently. But they were already gone."
He paused, letting the implication settle.
"Orochimaru likely used his snake summon to transport them elsewhere. By the time I arrived, there was nothing to recover."
Minato leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled before him. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet, reflective.
"Orochimaru never stopped," he said. "His experiments continue. His pursuit of immortality continues. He continues to destroy lives in his quest for power. It's almost sad."
Renjiro nodded slowly.
"Finding someone capable of eliminating him is the real issue," he added. "He's too skilled, too experienced, too prepared. Ordinary shinobi don't stand a chance against him."
Minato's voice was thoughtful.
"Only a handful of people could realistically fight Orochimaru," he said. "Lord Jiraiya and Lady Tsunade." He paused, his expression flickering. "Also the Third Hokage."
He immediately added:
"I don't want to ask him to handle this."
Renjiro understood. This was Minato's village now. Every threat—Orochimaru included—was his responsibility. Asking the retired Hokage to handle his enemies would be an admission of failure, a sign that he was not yet ready to lead.
"Orochimaru is my problem," Minato said, his voice firm. "And I will deal with him."
"How is your Flying Raijin progressing?" Minato asked, shifting the conversation.
Renjiro's expression flickered with something like embarrassment.
"I have barely scratched the surface," he admitted. "Administrative work, seal business, research, combat—too many priorities. I haven't had time to dedicate to the technique."
Minato sighed.
"If you had mastered Flying Raijin," he said, "you could have marked Orochimaru. Tracked him. Found him."
Renjiro shook his head.
"Orochimaru constantly sheds skin," he said. "Body replacement, snake techniques, successive body-shedding techniques. Even if I had marked him, tracking him would likely become unreliable after he shed his body."
Minato acknowledged the point with a slight nod.
"You're right," he admitted. "He's difficult to track. That's why he's survived so long."
"Tell me," Minato said, his voice shifting, becoming more serious. "How did the fight go?"
Renjiro paused. The question was simple, but the answer was anything but. He could not reveal the truth—the Eternal Mangekyō, the bargain, the fact that he had let Orochimaru escape in exchange for knowledge. Every truth created more questions. Every answer incriminated him.
Half truths, he decided. Enough to satisfy Minato. Not enough to expose myself.
"Disastrously," he said, his voice flat.
He paused, letting the weight of the word settle.
"It cost me my Mangekyō."
Minato's internal reaction was one of quiet respect. He was not shocked—he trusted Renjiro, knew his capabilities, had seen him survive impossible odds. But Orochimaru was still Orochimaru, a legend among legends, a monster who had evaded capture for decades. Losing a Mangekyō while escaping alive was actually better than Minato had expected.
Renjiro survived, Minato thought. That alone says enough about his abilities.
"How long until you recover?" he asked.
Renjiro paused, thinking carefully. He had to be careful—Kushina had clearly told Minato about his abnormal regeneration.
Not surprising, I was a topic in their pillow talk.
They were husband and wife; secrets between them were rare.
"Recovery should be relatively quick," he said. "Especially because I'll avoid combat. Administrative work dominates my schedule."
Minato nodded slowly.
"Focus on Flying Raijin," he advised. "If you had mastered it, future encounters with people like Orochimaru would become survivable without sacrificing something as valuable as a Mangekyō."
Renjiro nodded.
"I'll prioritise it," he said.
Minato dismissed him with a simple nod.
"Get some rest," he said. "You've earned it."
Renjiro bowed slightly.
"Thank you, Hokage-sama."
He turned and walked toward the door, his steps measured, his expression neutral. The door closed behind him with a soft click, and he was alone in the corridor.
Minato sat alone in his office, the silence settling around him like a familiar weight. His mind churned through the events of the day—Danzo's accusation, Renjiro's defence, the revelation of Orochimaru's involvement. The world was becoming more dangerous, the threats more complex, the enemies more difficult to predict.
Danzo will not forget this humiliation, Minato thought. He will find a way to retaliate. And when he does, I need to be ready.
Orochimaru is still out there. Still experimenting. Still killing. And Renjiro survived an encounter with him—lost his Mangekyō, but survived.
That alone is remarkable.
He looked out the window, at the village spread below, at the lives that depended on his leadership. The weight of the Hokage's hat pressed against him, heavier than ever.
I need to be stronger, he thought. For their sake.
Renjiro walked through the corridors of the Hokage Tower, his steps measured, his expression neutral. Administrative staff greeted him as he passed—nods, respectful bows, the acknowledgement of a commander who had earned his position. He returned the greetings automatically, his mind already turning to the next challenge.
He reached his office and pushed open the door.
The room was as he had left it—stacks of paperwork on the desk, maps on the walls, the afternoon light casting long shadows across the floor. But there was someone else inside, standing calmly near the window, his hands folded behind his back, his posture relaxed but purposeful.
Fugaku Uchiha.
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