Minato paced around the camp as if someone had lit a fire beneath him. His blond hair, familiar and radiant, swayed majestically in the wind.
His eyes, distant and lost in memories, looked anxious—perhaps for the very first time. He turned toward his tent, where the pineapple-headed man who had joined him for the retrieval sat waiting.
"Shikaku, it will be alright, right?" he spoke. His voice carried a rare vulnerability, as if someone had doused it in hope and delusion.
Shikaku looked up, tired but understanding. The last few days had been filled with endless paperwork. Thank god the negotiations went well, otherwise this would be another hell of a month for me. Yet, seeing the worried face of the man he called a friend, he brushed the thought aside.
"Minato… I can't make fake promises or give you hope about something I don't know," his voice quietened, heavy with sincerity. "But I do know that Kumo has promised us Kyojiro—in one piece. They must honor that promise."
Minato nodded, his worried gaze drifting toward the horizon—only to widen. A group of shinobi was approaching from the distance.
Kumo… they've arrived.
And perhaps, for the sake of the transaction, Minato steeled his expression, hyping himself up. My friend is returning today. Can't look too sad in front of him.
The Leaf team soon met with the envoys of the Cloud. B himself had arrived, bringing with him the scrolls and permits agreed upon during negotiations.
Minato presented his own set of documents in return.
Half an hour passed in a blur of verification and idle chatter between shinobi. B, ever talkative, couldn't resist throwing in a few of his infamous raps, and Minato had to maintain a strained smile each time he heard another one.
When the transactions finally ended, Minato's expression hardened. His deep, serious voice cut through the air."Finally… the last part of the deal. Give us Kyojiro."
B nodded, signaling to his right-hand man to retrieve the Uchiha prisoner.
From the prison-like carriage Kumo had brought, a figure slowly emerged—one that Minato couldn't recognize at first. The man wore only rags around his lower body; his upper half was bare, scarred like a broken painting. Shinobi marks littered his frame—ninjutsu burns, blade cuts, and wounds long healed into reminders of suffering.
The Kyojiro Minato remembered looked nothing like the man before him. His face was covered by a black cloth, his hands bound in chakra cuffs.
Yet, Minato could see it—the years of starvation carved into his bones, the way his once-proud muscles had wasted away. The hand that had once carried a sword with dignity now resembled a fragile branch.
The true shock came when they removed the black covering. His fiery hair, greasy and long past his shoulders, fell down in clumps—matted with dust and grime. The once-vibrant eyes that used to burn with light were gone.
Instead, two hollow abysses stared back at Minato.
The realization hit like a blade. They had taken Kyojiro's eyes. A deep, unsettling frustration rose within the blond jonin, his fists clenching as his brows darkened.
B noticed and cut in sharply, "His eyes were like this when we found him! It's none of your business!" His tone made it clear—Kumo wasn't returning the eyes. In fact, they were shameless enough to pretend they'd never taken them.
Kyojiro, hearing B's words and sensing the tension in the air, spoke hoarsely, "Minato… you must be here, right?"
"Yes, friend," Minato's gentle voice answered.
"Don't worry about my eyes. For now… I just want to return to Konoha." His voice was rough, strained—as if he hadn't spoken in years. And he hadn't.
Minato nodded. Soon after, the Kumo envoy departed, leaving the Leaf shinobi with their broken friend.
Minato had prepared himself for many outcomes—but seeing Kyojiro like this still shattered something inside him.
.....
The moment the blindfold was removed from Kyojiro's face, he felt it—the soft breeze brushing against his skin, the earthy scent of soil and stone. The freshness of the air was intoxicating, a world apart from the damp, suffocating prison he'd been confined to for years.
As he took his first step, his legs wobbled. He had no shoes, no protection. His bare feet met the sharp blend of cracks, soil, and rock beneath. Pain lanced through him, but it was real—beautifully real.
Tears refused to come, yet relief washed over him like a flood. The finality of his freedom crashed into him all at once. He dropped to his knees, feeling the soft soil beneath his fingers, the coarse texture of grass, and the gentle kiss of the wind on his face.
A storm of emotions overwhelmed him—his weak body trembling as if caught in a dream he'd never dared to have.
At some point in his imprisonment, he had stopped expecting a rescue. I thought it would happen in Naruto's time, he mused bitterly.
But hearing the voice of his friend—Minato—the depth and warmth in it, Kyojiro realized one thing. He freed me. I don't know how… but I do know gratitude.
Turning toward where the voice had come from, he spoke softly, "Thank you, Minato."
He heard the crunch of footsteps, the rustle of grass close by. Then, a warm hand rested on his shoulder, lifting him gently."No thanks in friendship, Kyojiro."
With a swift motion, the chakra cuffs that had bound him for two years shattered. Kyojiro nearly fell from the sudden weightlessness.
Warm energy surged through his body, starting from his core and spreading outward. It wrapped around him, strengthening his frail limbs, soothing his aches. His trembling stilled. His empty eyes widened. Chakra… finally, I can feel it again.
Minato's soft voice echoed beside him, "C'mon, friend. Konoha missed you."
From the side, Shikaku watched the reunion with a faint smile. "Guess the paperwork was worth it after all."
And for the first time in years, Kyojiro didn't think about his future or his past. All he wanted—truly—was to live.
To meet new friends.To catch up with old ones.Maybe even teach a disciple or two.
Kyojiro had finally returned home.
He had truly missed Konoha.