Morning broke crisp and clear, the air tinged with the subtle fragrance of grass and dew.
Inside Training Ground Nine, Rinjin sat cross-legged beneath a towering tree, dressed in black training gear, slurping up the last of his ramen with unhurried satisfaction.
Not long after, Jiraiya swaggered onto the field, leading a golden-haired, strikingly handsome teenager.
"Morning, Rinjin!"
"Morning." Rinjin waved his chopsticks in greeting, sucked down the final mouthful, and set his bowl aside.
Standing nearby was Minato Namikaze, maybe fourteen or fifteen, already sporting a Konoha jōnin vest and carrying himself with the poise of a much older shinobi.
"Good morning, Sensei Rinjin!"
Nodding in acknowledgment, Rinjin shot a glance at Jiraiya, who looked like he'd wrestled with a pair of pandas overnight.
"Let's get this straight—I'm only teaching for one week."
"No problem." Jiraiya yawned, nodding in agreement.
With that settled, Rinjin didn't waste a second. He grabbed a tree branch and began sketching on the ground as he spoke.
"The Flying Thunder God Technique.
It's tricky if you overthink it, simple if you don't.
Like a sheet of paper over a window—poke the right spot and it all comes down.
The real reason this jutsu isn't widespread? Danger.
No matter how you slice it, this is a space-time ninjutsu. If you botch it, you might leave a limb—or worse—behind."
As he explained, Rinjin traced out the entire formula and sealing array for the Flying Thunder God Technique in the dirt.
Beside him, Minato's youthful face was set with focused determination.
Jiraiya stretched lazily and flopped against the tree behind Rinjin, half-dozing.
He'd been up all night—first "researching" at the women's bathhouse, then spending hours "discussing literature" at the red-light district. His body was running on fumes.
Meanwhile, in his office, Hiruzen Sarutobi was already on the clock, crystal ball in hand as he watched Rinjin's every move.
To be honest, he wasn't thrilled about Jiraiya asking Rinjin to teach Minato the Second Hokage's signature jutsu…
After all, Minato was polite, talented, and close to the Nine-Tails jinchūriki—prime successor material in Hiruzen's eyes.
But Jiraiya couldn't be talked out of it.
So, Hiruzen settled for Plan B:
He'd keep a personal eye on things, making sure Rinjin didn't corrupt one of Konoha's brightest prospects.
As for Rinjin? He couldn't care less about the Hokage line's golden boy.
Seriously, what's the Hokage tradition?
Getting your sensei killed in a single move!
And really, whether Minato lived or died probably wouldn't change Naruto's core personality.
After all, that kid's the reincarnation of Asura—his soul is twisted in all the right ways.
The kind of childhood trauma Naruto endured would break most adults, let alone a kid whose personality was still being forged in fire.
Just look at Sakumo in the original story—cyberbullied to the point of abandoning his own son and taking his own life.
But did Naruto ever go dark? Not a chance.
Some things are just fate.
Back on the training field, Rinjin kept the lesson rolling.
"The Flying Thunder God Technique—at its core, it's all about flying, about feeling the ripple of space.
But this stuff? You can't really explain it in words.
By the way, kid, how's your Body Flicker Technique?"
Minato paused thoughtfully, then answered with measured calm:
"I'm not sure how good it is, Sensei. Why don't you take a look?"
Truth was, he was pretty confident in his Body Flicker, but with Rinjin here, it paid to stay humble.
He'd already heard from Jiraiya:
Rinjin'sBody Flicker was all about raw speed, with barely a breath between moves.
Seeing Minato's humility, Rinjin simply waved for him to demonstrate.
Minato nodded, flashed through a series of hand signs—
Whoosh!
In an instant, the golden-haired prodigy vanished from sight.
Rinjin shot a glance at the distant woods and nodded to himself.
No wonder Jiraiya said that next to Minato Namikaze, everyone else looked second-rate.
The kid's Body Flicker was smooth as silk.
With a grin, Rinjin called out,
"Catch the bricks!"
From who-knows-where, he produced five specially marked Flying Thunder God bricks and scattered them like flower petals across the training ground.
Streaks of gold flashed across the field.
Minato dashed, leaped, and—whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—snatched up each brick before returning to Rinjin in a blur.
Good kid. Three consecutive Body Flickers—his control was top-notch.
They could skip the basics and get right to the real deal.
"That'll do. When it comes to Body Flicker, I, Rinjin, gotta say you're the stron—uh… let's call it 'above average,' yeah?"
Standing up, he took the bricks from Minato, then tossed them in different directions again.
"You know the basic training for Flying Thunder God, and your Body Flicker is solid.
So now it's time for the real experience."
He placed a firm hand on Minato's shoulder.
"Ready, kid?"
The moment the words left his mouth, both Rinjin and Minato vanished.
Elsewhere, beside a brick still tumbling through the air, Rinjin reappeared, dragging a wide-eyed, slack-jawed Minato through space.
In the next instant, Rinjin flicked the brick even farther with a snap of his finger.
"Don't just stand there! Remember how your body feels passing through space!"
Without missing a beat, Rinjin warped them to the next brick, flicked it away, and repeated the process with the remaining three.
For a moment, streaks of black and gold crisscrossed the sky.
Five bricks, five directions—like wild geese scattering to the horizon.
Eight consecutive jumps later, Rinjin finally stopped, hauling Minato down from thin air by the back of his collar.
He could feel it—
The kid's muscles were taut as steel wire, his whole body trembling.
Having mastered the Flying Thunder God Technique himself, Rinjin knew exactly what was happening:
Consecutive space jumps put a brutal strain on the internal organs.
That's why Flying Thunder God: Second Stage wasn't meant for casual use—
Not only did it hammer the body and fry the brain, but chakra consumption spiked with every leap.
Worst of all, if you couldn't quickly adapt to the dizziness of space travel, you were just begging for a fatal mistake.
And mistakes?
Normal people couldn't afford them.
Rinjin hadn't learned the Flying Thunder God Technique because of some innate space-time talent—he'd just been too stubborn (and too reckless) to quit, with nerves thick as steel cable.
They landed. Rinjin let go of Minato's collar, and without the support, Minato collapsed straight onto his butt.
His whole body was rigid, lips pale, sweat beading on his forehead.
Meanwhile, Jiraiya, still "napping" against the tree, couldn't help but twitch an eyebrow.
Now he got it—Rinjin had no concept of "taking it slow."
If this had been anyone but Minato, they'd be face-down in the dirt, puking their guts out.
But before anyone could catch their breath, Rinjin was at it again.
"How do you feel? Want to give it another shot?"
He asked with a look of pure innocence.
Minato gritted his teeth, nodded hard, and said with absolute resolve,
"Let's do it!"
"Good kid!" The praise came out before Rinjin could stop it.
"This is how you train the Flying Thunder God Technique!
Let your body remember the pressure of each jump, burn your personal limit into your mind.
Chase that flash of inspiration—it's the key to mastering the jutsu!"
With that, Rinjin grabbed Minato's collar again, formed a seal with one hand, and the two vanished once more.
Watching them disappear, Jiraiya closed his eyes and let out a long, helpless sigh.
Yeah, Rinjin was a bit of a maniac, but he had to admit—the guy's Flying Thunder God Technique was off-the-charts strong.
Thanks to Minato's access, Jiraiya had actually read the Flying Thunder God scroll himself.
He remembered every warning the Second Hokage, Senju Tobirama, had written:
Consecutive use placed a huge burden on the body, and the chakra requirements were insane.
Tobirama had spelled it out: never use the Flying Thunder God Technique more than twice in quick succession.
But how could he know that when Rinjin had snuck a peek at the Scroll of Seals, he'd barely had time to memorize the jutsu itself—who had time to read the fine print?
To put it another way:
Minato was like the kid who goes to driving school, gets his license, and then drives his dad's Cadillac to the club to pick up models.
Rinjin? He learned to drive by watching Initial D, jumped straight into Old Wang's second-hand delivery van, floored the gas and brake together, and drifted down a mountain road in the rain—
All because he wasn't afraid to crash, and somehow, he made it work.
When the driving school had no one left, he became the instructor by default.
The future was clear:
Once Minato mastered this, what used to be a thirty-minute drive to the club would take him five minutes flat.
Today, it's models at the club; tomorrow, it's hauling bricks on a construction site—who cares?
Soon enough, Rinjin returned, hauling a thoroughly dazed Minato, whose eyes were spinning like mosquito coils and whose mouth was trailing suspicious liquid.
He tossed the kid onto the ground, let out a long breath, and wiped imaginary sweat from his brow.
"Jiraiya, your student is something else."
Giving a big thumbs up, Rinjin grinned,
"Not to brag, but this kid's willpower? Leaves Fugaku in the dust!
He puked and puked until he got used to it—and actually started to get the hang of it."
Opening his eyes and looking at Minato twitching on the ground, Jiraiya rolled his eyes at Rinjin.
Give me a break!
Just look at this kid—ten minutes ago, he was bright-eyed and sharp as a tack.
Now he looks like a dead fish, and you still have the gall to brag?
The only reason I haven't smacked you is because I'm too tired to bother!
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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