Evening descended upon the Sarutobi compound like a heavy curtain, painting the sky in shades of burnt orange and deep purple. The training grounds behind the main house had grown quieter as the day's heat dissipated, replaced by the cool whisper of autumn wind through the trees. Inside the compound, the household staff moved about their duties, lighting lanterns that cast warm, flickering shadows across the corridors.
Naruto sat cross-legged in the courtyard, absently poking at the ground with a stick, his new hat placed carefully beside him. He'd been waiting for what felt like hours, though in reality it had only been thirty minutes since his grandfather had told him that Asuma would be home soon. The boy's energy, usually boundless, had settled into an anticipatory hum—the kind of focused patience that only came when he was expecting something important.
The sound of footsteps approaching the compound gates made his head snap up. He recognized that particular gait instantly—steady, unhurried, accompanied by the faint jingle of equipment. Naruto scrambled to his feet, abandoning his stick and hat without a second thought.
"Uncle Asuma!" The shout burst from him like an explosion, and suddenly he was running, his small legs pumping as fast as they could carry him across the courtyard.
Asuma Sarutobi appeared through the gates, his tall frame silhouetted against the darkening sky. He wore the standard jōnin vest over his mesh armor, and the ever-present cigarette dangled from his lips, though it was currently unlit. His face bore the marks of a long day—there was dirt on his cheek, and his clothes carried the scent of training grounds and mission work. Despite the obvious fatigue in his posture, when he saw Naruto charging toward him, something softened in his expression.
"Oi, brat, you're gonna—" he started, but it was too late.
Naruto launched himself at Asuma with the same reckless abandon he'd used on Hiruzen earlier. Asuma, at least, had the reflexes and physical conditioning to catch the boy mid-flight without getting the wind knocked out of him. He hoisted Naruto up, grunting slightly at the impact.
"—hurt someone doing that," Asuma finished, though there was no real heat in his words.
"You're back! You said you'd be back before dinner, and you are! Did you go on a mission? Did you fight anyone? Did you use your special techniques?" The questions tumbled out of Naruto in a rapid-fire succession that would have overwhelmed most people.
Asuma set the boy down, ruffling his already messy hair. "Just some routine stuff. Training some chūnin candidates. Nothing exciting."
"That's still cool though!" Naruto insisted, falling into step beside Asuma as they walked toward the main house. "Grandpa said I'm starting at the Academy tomorrow. That means I'm gonna be training like a real ninja!"
"Yeah? About time," Asuma said, and there was approval in his tone. "The Academy's good. You'll learn the basics there. But you and me, we're still doing our evening training, right?"
Naruto's face lit up like a festival lantern. "Really? Even with Academy?"
"Especially with Academy," Asuma confirmed. "What they teach you there is foundation. What I teach you is how to use it." He paused, then added with a smirk, "Plus, someone needs to make sure you don't get soft."
It had only been a month since Asuma had returned to the village, to his father's house, to this complicated family dynamic. A month since he'd walked through these gates after years away, carrying his own complicated feelings about duty and legacy and the old man who wore the Hokage's hat. He'd known about Naruto, of course—everyone in the village knew the story of the Fourth Hokage's sacrifice, though the details about the container were classified. What Asuma hadn't expected was how quickly the boy would work his way into his life.
Naruto was relentless in his affection, shameless in his desire for connection. And despite Asuma's initial reluctance, despite his complicated feelings about being back in this house, he'd found himself drawn to the kid. There was something uncomplicated about Naruto's enthusiasm, something genuine that cut through all the political maneuvering and unspoken tension that seemed to permeate the Sarutobi household these days.
When Asuma had learned the full truth—not just that Naruto contained the Nine-Tails, but that the boy was the son of Minato Namikaze, that he'd been orphaned on the very night of his birth, that his own father had taken on the burden of raising him—it had stirred something in Asuma's chest. Acceptance came easier than he'd expected. This wasn't the demon fox. This was just a kid who needed guidance, who craved family, who deserved better than the hand fate had dealt him.
And somehow, in the space of thirty days, they'd forged something real. Uncle and nephew. Training partners. Family.
"Come on," Asuma said, jerking his head toward the private training hall attached to the compound. "Let's get some work in before dinner. You slack off all day?"
"No way!" Naruto protested. "I walked all over the village! And I saved someone! And I got this hat! And—"
"Sounds like a lot of talking and not a lot of training," Asuma interrupted, though his eyes glinted with amusement. "Training hall. Now. Let's see if you remember what I taught you yesterday."
They made their way to the training hall—a modest structure that the Sarutobi clan had maintained for generations. It wasn't as large as the public training grounds, but it was well-equipped with wooden posts, practice dummies, and equipment for various exercises. The floor was smooth wood, worn from decades of use, and the walls bore scratches and dents from countless training sessions.
Asuma lit the lanterns while Naruto immediately began his stretching routine—a habit that Asuma had drilled into him from day one. "Flexibility first," Asuma had said. "A rigid body is a broken body. You want to be like bamboo, kid—strong but able to bend."
"Start with your leg stretches," Asuma instructed, removing his vest and setting aside his equipment. "And do them properly. I catch you cutting corners, and you're doing an extra set."
Naruto groaned but complied, sitting on the floor and extending his legs. The stretches were tedious and sometimes painful, but he'd learned quickly that Asuma didn't make idle threats. The first time Naruto had tried to rush through them, Asuma had made him repeat the entire routine three times over.
As a close-combat specialist, Asuma's teaching methods were practical and sometimes harsh. He believed in conditioning through repetition, in building muscle memory through countless iterations of the same movement. He pushed Naruto hard—maybe harder than was strictly necessary for a six-year-old—but he never pushed beyond what the boy could actually handle.
"Deeper stretch," Asuma said, watching critically. "Your flexibility is garbage. If you can't move properly, you can't fight properly."
"It hurts," Naruto whined, but he pushed deeper into the stretch anyway.
"Good. That means it's working." Asuma moved to demonstrate the next position. "Pain is your body telling you it's changing. You want to be strong? You deal with the pain."
They worked through the flexibility routine systematically—legs, hips, back, shoulders, wrists. Each stretch held for a count of thirty, each movement precise. Naruto's face scrunched up with effort and discomfort, but he persisted. Partly because he wanted to get stronger, but mostly because he didn't want to disappoint Asuma.
When the stretching was complete, they moved to resistance training. For Naruto, this meant bodyweight exercises modified for his age and size—push-ups on his knees, assisted squats, planks held for as long as he could manage. Asuma counted each repetition aloud, his voice firm and unyielding.
"Twenty push-ups. Go."
Naruto dropped into position and began. His form was sloppy—elbows flaring out, back not quite straight—and Asuma corrected him immediately with a light smack to his shoulder.
"Ow! Uncle Asuma!"
"Elbows in. Back straight. Do it wrong, and you're starting over."
Naruto adjusted, grumbling under his breath about mean uncles and unfair rules. But he did the push-ups correctly, even though his arms shook with effort by the fifteenth one. Asuma didn't offer encouragement or praise—just counted steadily, waiting.
"Eighteen... nineteen... twenty. Good. Squats next. Thirty of them."
The training continued like this, a relentless cycle of exercise and correction. When Naruto's attention wandered, when he started to slack or complain too much, Asuma's hand would come down in a light but sharp tap to his head or shoulder—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to refocus him.
"Stop whining and move."
"But I'm tired!"
"Then get un-tired. Move."
To anyone else, it might have looked harsh. But Naruto never flinched from it, never grew resentful. This was attention. This was someone caring enough to push him, to demand his best, to see his potential. In a childhood that had been filled with his grandfather's gentle guidance and the household staff's distant politeness, Asuma's rough-edged teaching felt like genuine connection.
And for Asuma, this was his way of showing affection—through discipline, through shared effort, through preparing the kid for the hard road ahead. Words were difficult for him, especially in this house. But training? That he could do.
An hour passed, then another. The lantern light flickered across their moving forms—Asuma demonstrating a basic defensive stance, Naruto attempting to mirror it, Asuma correcting his foot placement with a tap of his own foot against Naruto's. The boy's movements grew slower as exhaustion set in, his responses delayed, his form sloppier.
"Again," Asuma said when Naruto's stance collapsed for the third time.
"Uncle Asuma... I can't..." Naruto's voice was small, his chest heaving with exertion.
Asuma studied the boy for a long moment—the sweat-dampened hair, the trembling legs, the eyes that were fighting to stay focused despite obvious fatigue. He'd pushed hard today, maybe harder than usual. He nodded once.
"Alright. We're done. Cool down stretches, then you're getting cleaned up for dinner."
Relief flooded Naruto's face, though he still managed to complete the cool-down routine without complaint. When it was finally over, he simply sat on the floor, too tired to even stand.
Asuma extinguished the lanterns one by one, then walked over and scooped Naruto up without ceremony. The boy was light, all wiry muscle and bone, his head already drooping against Asuma's shoulder.
"Uncle Asuma?" Naruto mumbled as they left the training hall.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for training with me."
Something in Asuma's chest tightened. "Yeah, kid. Anytime."
He carried Naruto through the darkened corridors of the compound, the boy's weight negligible but the responsibility somehow immense. This was family. This complicated, unexpected, necessary thing that he'd been running from for years. And it was binding him tighter with each passing day.
Naruto's room was small but comfortable, filled with the collected treasures of a six-year-old—drawings, small toys, a shelf of scrolls he couldn't read yet but insisted on keeping. Asuma laid him on the futon, pulling the blanket up over the boy's shoulders. Naruto was already half-asleep, his breathing evening out almost immediately.
Asuma stood there for a moment, looking down at his nephew. The Hokage's grandson. The Nine-Tails' container. Minato Namikaze's son. But mostly, just a kid who needed family and was determined to become someone great.
There was also supposed to be another one. Konohamaru. Asuma's actual nephew by blood, the son of his older brother. The kid was staying with relatives right now, but eventually he'd be here too. Another Sarutobi heir. Another complication. Another responsibility.
Asuma turned and left the room, sliding the door closed quietly behind him.
The corridor was dim, lit only by the occasional lantern. Asuma had barely taken three steps when he saw his father's figure approaching from the opposite direction. Hiruzen walked with the steady gait of someone who'd walked these halls for decades, his Hokage robes exchanged for simpler evening wear.
Their paths were about to cross.
Asuma's jaw tightened. He kept walking, his pace unchanging, his gaze fixed straight ahead. As they drew level with each other, Hiruzen opened his mouth as if to speak—
But Asuma simply walked past him. No eye contact. No acknowledgment. Nothing.
The silence between them was thick enough to choke on, heavy with words unsaid and arguments that had been repeated too many times to count. Hiruzen stopped mid-step, half-turned, watching his son's retreating back.
"Asuma—"
But Asuma was already pulling out his cigarette and lighter, his hands moving with practiced ease. The click of the lighter echoed in the quiet corridor. He inhaled deeply, the ember glowing bright in the darkness, and kept walking without looking back.
Hiruzen stood there alone in the corridor, his hand still partially raised, his expression unreadable. The weight of the day—of the village, of his responsibilities, of his broken relationship with his son—settled heavily on his shoulders. He stood there for a long moment before finally continuing down the hall, his footsteps slower than before.
The Sarutobi compound settled into its evening routine around them. Dinner was prepared and eaten at separate times. Naruto slept the deep, dreamless sleep of exhaustion. And somewhere in the space between father and son, in the careful dance of avoidance and unspoken hurt, the day ended as it had begun—with distance that neither seemed able to bridge.
The Hokage and his son, both stubborn, both carrying their own burdens, both unable or unwilling to close the gap that had grown between them over years of disagreement and disappointment.
And so the night fell completely, wrapping the compound in darkness, and the silence between them remained unbroken.