The late afternoon sun cast long, distorted shadows across the streets of Konoha, but for Renjiro, the world was a tapestry of chakra and vibration. He moved away from the oppressive weight of the Hokage Tower; his destination was a place he had visited only a handful of times, its location more a theoretical point on a mental map than a familiar haven.
'Where was it again?' he mused, his chakra field extending ahead like a net, filtering the signatures of hundreds of civilians and shinobi. He knew the general district—a quieter, well-kept neighbourhood favoured by mid-level clan officials and career chunins.
He adjusted his path slightly, memory supplying the correction. Kushina Uzumaki no longer lived in the protected quarters assigned to the jinchuriki. She now resided with Minato in the modest compound of his clan.
Their engagement was an open secret, a beacon of warmth in the grim wartime landscape. The plan had always been to marry after the war's conclusion.
'And now the war is over,' Renjiro thought, a flicker of irony touching his lips.
'Their wedding should be imminent. A celebration amidst the funerals. How very Konoha.'
As he walked, his mind briefly catalogued what he knew of the Namikaze clan apart from Minato and Sama, the only ones from the clan that he had interacted with.
The Namikaze clan were not one of the founding clans like the Uchiha and Senju, nor did they boast any legendary Kekkei Genkai. They were a small shinobi clan, immigrants invited to Konoha during the Second Hokage's early reforms, part of Tobirama's pragmatic drive to diversify the village's strength beyond the Senju-Uchiha axis.
Minato and his younger sister Sama were among the first generation born entirely within Konoha's walls, a symbol of their successful, if quiet, integration.
Their strength lay not in bloodline limits, but in prodigious talent and unwavering loyalty—a narrative that had served Konoha's propaganda machines well.
A dark, internal joke formed in Renjiro's mind as he made his way. 'Maybe that's why Hiruzen finally allowed them to live together. Maybe he thinks Minato is strong enough to 'protect' her now.'
The thought almost made him laugh aloud, a harsh, soundless bark. Protect her? Kushina was an Uzumaki, one of the few survivors of the annihilation of her clan, a master fuinjutsu specialist whose chakra chains could bind mountains.
She was the jinchuriki of the Nine-Tails, a being of apocalyptic power sealed within her gentle, fiery heart. The idea of Minato, for all his unparalleled speed and genius, protecting her was profoundly ironic.
If anything, their union was a mutual shield, two brilliant, dangerous forces choosing to orbit each other.
His chakra field finally brushed against the boundaries of the Namikaze compound. It was small, as expected, but meticulously maintained. He felt the clean, geometric lines of a trimmed hedge, the smooth flagstones of a path, the lack of defensive seals or walls—a statement of confidence rather than vulnerability.
He followed the path, his footsteps silent on the stone, guided unerringly toward the strongest chakra signature within. It was a familiar, torrential presence, like a contained sun, vibrant and warm and fiercely alive. Kushina.
He didn't knock on the front door; she would have sensed him the moment he crossed the property line. Instead, he moved to the side entrance that led to a small, private garden, knowing her preference for informal spaces over formal receiving rooms. The sliding screen was already open.
"Renjiro?" Her voice was surprised, then instantly warm, a melody of concern and welcome. He felt her approach, a rush of crimson energy. Then, her footsteps faltered. The warmth in her chakra flickered, overshadowed by a wave of shock, then a deep, aching pity that was so sincere it felt like a physical blow.
"Your… your eyes…"
He offered a small, wry smile in the direction of her voice. "Hello, Kushina. Yeah... the war happened."
A soft, pained sound escaped her. He felt her hand gently grasp his elbow, not to guide him, but to connect, to offer comfort.
"Come, sit down. Here, in the garden. It's… it's sunny." Her voice was thick with an emotion he couldn't quite place—more than just sympathy for his blindness. It was a universal sorrow.
It had been years since they last saw each other, and when they did, Renjiro was... this way, so the sentiment was expected. Kushina led him to a wooden bench under the dappled light filtering through a tree.
"War takes things from people," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if sharing a sacred, terrible secret.
"Things they might never get back. Pieces of themselves. People they love. It's… it's a thief."
Renjiro assumed she was speaking philosophically about his sight. He nodded, a curt, efficient motion.
"Which is why I'm here. Not to mourn what's gone, but to try and reclaim it."
But Kushina wasn't finished. Her chakra swirled with a building tension, a need to speak of a specific, shared grief. "Renjiro, there's something… something you need to know." Her voice hitched, straining under the weight of delivering unbearable news.
"Kushina," he said, his voice cutting through her halting sentence with a sharp, deliberate clarity.
"I need your help. Not with the past. With the future. I need you to help me fix my eyes."
The sudden shift stunned her. Her swirling, sorrowful chakra stilled, then recoiled in surprise.
"Fix your…?" Then, understanding dawned, and with it, a shock that momentarily overrode her grief. Her voice dropped to a hushed, almost fearful tone.
"Renjiro… you have the Mangekyō?"
He gave a defensive, half-shrug, his clouded eyes looking past her. "It's not exactly something you walk around bragging about. It tends to draw the wrong kind of attention."
For a moment, the heavy atmosphere lifted, replaced by the stark, practical mystery before them. Kushina, ever resilient, pushed her own emotional turmoil aside, the caregiver and the technician in her taking over.
She took a steadying breath.
"Okay. Okay. So you have it. And it's what… burned out? How do you plan to fix it? Is there a medical procedure? A sealing array to reverse the degradation? Do you just need to rest your chakra pathways?" Her mind was already racing through possibilities, Uzumaki sealing techniques and advanced medical theory intertwining.
Renjiro didn't answer with words. Instead, he moved slowly, deliberately. He reached into the folds of his clothing, his fingers finding the cool, smooth surface of the ceramic jar. The act felt momentous, like drawing a sacred relic from a shrine. He placed it on the low wooden table between them with a soft, definitive thud.
The jar sat there, inert and opaque. To Kushina's eyes, it was just a vessel. But as the silence stretched, as Renjiro's posture remained tense and expectant, she leaned forward slightly, her own formidable sensory skills reaching out to examine it.
And then, she felt it.
The chakra within the jar was not a mere residue; it was a roaring, vivacious forest, a boundless ocean of life force, ancient and potent beyond measure.
It was a signature she had only ever felt in two contexts: in the deepest, most secure archives of Konoha, describing the Shodai Hokage. It was a power that should not exist outside of legend, condensed and imprisoned in cheap pottery.
Kushina's breath caught in her throat. The vibrant crimson aura of her own chakra, which had been subdued with grief, suddenly flared. It wasn't a hostile burst, but one of pure, unadulterated shock, a reflexive blaze of energy that made the leaves on the nearby tree tremble and sent a gust of wind swirling through the garden. Her eyes, wide and disbelieving, shot from the jar to Renjiro's blind, placid face, then back to the jar.
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