The morning air was still cold—the kind that slipped in through your nose and made your chest sting faintly with every breath. The sun was finally starting to peek over the rooftops, but it still didn't have enough strength to warm the stone streets. The light came in pale, almost shy, spilling long, thin shadows that seemed to crawl along slowly, as if the day itself was too lazy to begin.
Naruto stood with his back against the Hokage Building's outer wall, eyes closed.
To anyone passing by and seeing him there—a boy so small, standing with such steady silence—the scene might've looked funny. Not because of the place, but because of the posture. There was something too adult in the way he held himself, as if the wall wasn't just support, but a calculated point. As if every detail of that wait had been intentional.
He didn't move much. Not from tiredness, but by choice.
His breathing was calm. His face, neutral. And yet, inside him, there was a count.
Time.
He'd already been there for an hour.
Naruto didn't open his eyes. He simply let the thought pass through, firm as stone: 'It's been an hour already… can the Hokage really afford this kind of delay?'
It wasn't exactly a question. More like a silent complaint—contained irritation he didn't let show. And he knew why.
He had come early for one obvious reason: to avoid people. Avoid the stares. Avoid any "trouble." If he came later, the streets would be fuller, and any sideways comment could turn into a problem. Not because he was afraid… but because it was unnecessary.
He didn't need to waste energy on that today.
Today, he had a conversation to win.
And waiting was part of the game.
Still with his eyes closed, Naruto listened to the village waking up around him. The distant sound of doors opening. Someone sweeping. The rustle of leaves, the short call of a bird.
Even so, the Hokage Building felt detached from the rest of the world—like the authority inside created its own atmosphere.
Naruto listened to the building's silence, trying to catch any hint of movement, any detail that might signal the old man's arrival.
That was when he heard footsteps approaching.
The rhythm was different from the others. Heavy, but steady. Not the rush of someone hurrying to work—more the confidence of someone who walked like the path had always belonged to him.
Naruto opened his eyes.
And he saw an elderly figure approaching—one who still carried the posture of a seasoned warrior. Back straight, steps controlled, gaze alert despite the inevitable fatigue time brought with it.
Hiruzen Sarutobi.
When the Hokage noticed Naruto standing there so early, he looked surprised for a moment. A small shock—not fear, but strangeness. A boy… alone… outside the building… at that hour.
Then, almost instantly, his expression softened. A smile appeared, and his eyes took on a warmth like a grandfather seeing a grandchild after a long time.
"Naruto," Hiruzen said, his voice lighter than his position suggested it should be. "Why are you out here at this hour?"
Naruto didn't hesitate. The answer had been ready since before sunrise.
"Grandpa, you know how people treat me." He kept his tone simple—childlike enough to feel natural… but with intention placed carefully in every word. "So, to avoid any trouble, I figured I'd come earlier… and wait for you."
Hiruzen felt his chest tighten.
It wasn't only guilt. It wasn't only pity. It was something heavier, older. A memory of promises. Of someone's eyes who was no longer here. Of a night on fire, and a child crying in the arms of fate.
He had promised he would take care of that boy.
And in the end… he was doing only the bare minimum.
No.
In truth, he was doing less than the bare minimum.
'I really failed him.'
That sentence wasn't an attempt to soften the guilt. Or justify it. It was hard, dry, true. And maybe that was why it hurt more: because there was no way to argue with it inside his own mind.
Hiruzen sighed, but said nothing. Because nothing he said out there—in that corridor of stone and cold morning—would truly help. Pretty words didn't buy childhood back. Apologies didn't change the way Konoha looked at Naruto.
"Come," Hiruzen said at last, making a short gesture with his hand. "Let's go inside."
Naruto pushed off the wall and walked beside him in silence. He didn't look nervous. He didn't look excited. It was as if he were heading to an ordinary meeting.
The inside of the Hokage Building was still quiet. Their footsteps echoed lightly down the hall. The air smelled of old wood, dried ink, and stored paper. Sunlight slanted through a few windows, laying golden bands across the floor—and each band felt like a line separating "ordinary life" from "decision."
Hiruzen climbed up to his office and opened the door. Inside, the room carried the weight of someone who held an entire village on his shoulders: the large desk, the stacked scrolls, the symbol of office, and that invisible sense that everything in there was too important.
He walked to his desk and sat down.
Naruto sat across from him.
For an instant, there was silence.
It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. It was a silence of preparation.
Hiruzen studied the boy. Even seated, Naruto looked… steady. He didn't swing his legs. He didn't glance around with childish curiosity. He didn't get distracted by anything. It was as if his mind was already at the end of the conversation, and his body was only there to walk the path to it.
"Since you came here," Hiruzen said, with measured calm, "you must have something you want to discuss with me. What is it?"
Naruto's expression—neutral until then—shifted. It became serious. And that alone was enough for the Hokage to understand this wasn't about a whim, or food, or anything simple.
Naruto spoke, straight to the point:
"I know everything."
Hiruzen narrowed his eyes, trying to understand what that meant exactly. As much as he already had an idea—or, at least, a fear.
"Everything…?" he repeated, without raising his voice. Just testing. Drawing out the word, like someone trying to see if it cracks.
Naruto didn't look away.
"My father left part of his chakra in the seal." He said it with dangerous casualness, as if it were obvious. "And he told me everything. Who he was. Who my mother was. About the Kyūbi… everything."
For a brief moment, Hiruzen felt his head spin.
Not because he believed it immediately… but because the possibility was real enough to be terrifying.
Minato Namikaze had not been an ordinary man. The seal he created was not an ordinary seal. Fuuinjutsu was a field where "impossible" often meant only "too difficult for anyone to try." And Minato had always tried what no one else did.
Besides… Naruto wasn't an ordinary boy. For years, Hiruzen had noticed that strange maturity, that intelligence that didn't fit—like the child always stood one step ahead of where he should.
'I'm too old for this kind of thing…'
The thought surfaced almost like a complaint, but he crushed it immediately.
Old or not, this was real. And being old didn't free him from responsibility.
With another sigh, Hiruzen began, choosing his words like someone disarming a trap:
"Very well… I won't hide anything anymore. I'll tell you what—"
"There's no need."
Naruto interrupted without raising his voice. Without aggression. But it was firm—like a blade pressed to a throat without cutting. Yet.
"I already know everything that mattered." He paused briefly—just long enough to let the silence work for him. "I need something else."
Hiruzen fell silent, waiting.
And Naruto spoke, with the same controlled coldness of someone who had rehearsed this a dozen times:
"Grandpa… I want everything that belonged to my parents." He didn't rush, as if each item were a piece he placed on the desk. "Jutsu, properties, money. Everything that was theirs… and should be mine by right."
He stopped for a second, staring at Hiruzen as if he wanted to drive the next sentence into him.
"And I won't accept no as an answer."
There was a faint edge of threat in it.
Not explicit. Not shouted. But present—like the smell of smoke before the fire appears.
Hiruzen sighed for the third time in less than an hour.
The morning had barely started, and he already had a bomb to defuse.
He looked at Naruto for several seconds, as if trying to find the boy who should've existed… and instead seeing someone far older trapped in a small body.
'This kid has always been too smart and too mature for his age.'
Hiruzen truly felt pride—expectation—for Naruto's future. Because Naruto had strength. He had endurance. He had something inside him—not only the Kyūbi, but a will that refused to break. A flame.
But at times…
Hiruzen wished he were just a normal child.
Because a normal child wouldn't make demands like this. A normal child wouldn't step into the Hokage's office before sunrise and pin the weight of the office against the wall. A normal child wouldn't talk about inheritance with that look.
And that was exactly what made it all so dangerous.
Hiruzen understood what Naruto was asking for. Money and property were "simple" on paper, but not in reality. Any movement here had consequences. Naruto's parents' names weren't secret for fun—they were secret for protection, for politics, for fear.
Handing over assets meant opening doors. It meant raising suspicion. It meant drawing the attention of people who should never look at Naruto with interest.
And jutsu… jutsu were worse.
Because jutsu weren't just techniques. They were power. They were real inheritance. They were what turned an ordinary ninja into something above average.
Giving that to Naruto meant handing a weapon to a child.
A child who carried the Kyūbi.
A child who, according to Naruto himself, knew "everything."
Hiruzen placed his hands on the desk, feeling the cold wood under his fingers. He chose to breathe before speaking, because one wrong word here could become the spark he feared most.
"Naruto…" he began, in a tone that tried to be firm and gentle at the same time. "This… isn't as simple as it looks."
Naruto didn't blink.
"It is simple," he replied calmly. "It just needs to be done."
Hiruzen felt the weight of that sentence.
Because it was true—and it wasn't.
In an ideal world, it would be simple: the child inherits. End of story. But Naruto didn't live in an ideal world. Naruto lived in a world where his very birth had been a weapon of war.
Where his body was a walking seal. Where the whole village looked at him like he was the problem… and still expected him to be the solution when it was convenient.
Hiruzen stared into those blue eyes. Behind the childhood, there was a decision.
And Hiruzen understood, with bitter clarity: this conversation wasn't an attempt.
It was an ultimatum.
The old Hokage felt a faint shiver—not from the morning cold, but from responsibility.
He had pushed too many things to "later," to "when he's older," to "when he's ready." And now "later" was sitting in front of him at four years old, with a polite threat.
He still didn't know how he would leave that office without losing something.
But he knew he couldn't leave it the way he had entered.
And as the sun rose outside, slowly lighting the Hokage Building, Hiruzen could only think one thing:
'This is going to be a headache.'
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