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The Yamanaka Clan residence was usually a place of quiet reflection and the scent of fresh blossoms. That peace was shattered the moment Inoichi Yamanaka heard his daughter had gone to Naruto's house for dinner. The teacup in his hand didn't just rattle—it disintegrated.
"You're a grown man, why are you still so easily agitated?" his wife, Rino, scolded gently. She checked his hands for cuts before efficiently sweeping away the ceramic shards.
"It wasn't just me!" Ino added quickly, seeing her father's panic. "Shikamaru, Choji, Kiba, Shino, Hinata, and even Hanabi were all there!"
Hearing that Shikaku's son was present allowed Inoichi's shoulders to drop a few inches. Making private contact with a Jinchuriki was a political minefield—the kind of "suspicious activity" Danzo and his Root agents lived to exploit. But if the Nara heir was involved, it meant the most cautious clan in the village had already calculated the risks.
"I need to have tea with Shikaku soon," Inoichi muttered to himself once Ino had gone to bed. The Nara were the external brain of the Ino–Shika–Chō trio. If there was a storm brewing around the boy, Shikaku would already have an umbrella ready.
Rino pushed a fresh cup toward him. "The children are weaving their own bonds, Inoichi. And honestly, can you blame her?"
Inoichi took a sip, a knowing smile finally appearing. He knew his daughter. She was a mirror image of her mother at that age: a total sucker for a handsome face. Naruto had inherited the best of Minato Namikaze—the golden hair, the blue eyes, and that sunny disposition that seemed to pull people into his orbit.
"I thought she'd be into the Uchiha boy," Inoichi mused. "Girls usually go for the brooding types."
"You're slow," Rino laughed, leaning against him. "I saw it the last time they spoke at the shop. Her eyes were sparkling exactly like mine did when I looked at you at the Academy."
Inoichi touched his face, a bit of pride swelling. I guess she does prefer the sunny types. He looked at his wife, his gaze softening. "As long as she's happy. But if that kid bullies her, I don't care who his father was—I won't let it slide."
Rino just rolled her eyes. "By the time that happens, you might not even be able to beat him, dear."
Inside his apartment, Naruto wasn't thinking about romance. He was focused on the green pulse of energy beneath his floorboards.
"Mokuton: Mokujōheki (Wood Prison Technique)!"
At his low cry, four thick, sturdy vines erupted from the wooden floor. They surged upward, intertwining with fluid, organic speed until they formed a solid cage. The wood was vibrant, smelling of cedar and rain, thrumming with an almost sentient vitality.
Naruto held the seal, sweat trickling down his nose. He could feel the delicate alchemy within: Water and Earth natures being fused by the raw life-force of Yang Release. It was a high-wire act of chakra control—too much energy and the wood would shatter the room; too little and it would wither into dry sticks.
Slowly, he reversed the flow. The vines groaned and retracted, sinking back into the floorboards. When it was over, the wood was as clean as the day it was laid.
"Success," Naruto exhaled, wiping his brow. "Creating Wood Release techniques isn't as impossible as the books say."
Inside the Sealing Space, Kurama was staring through the bars, his massive ears pinned back. A flash of genuine disbelief crossed his scarlet eyes.
"What... monstrous talent," the fox muttered.
Wood Release was the legend of Senju Hashirama—a power that died with the man. Yet here was a brat, not even eight years old, who had not only reverse-engineered the rudimentary form of the kekkei genkai but displayed the kind of surgical chakra control that most Jonin couldn't manage.
The Nine-Tails bared his teeth, the familiar vital essence of the First Hokage stinging his senses.
"Less than eight years old, seriously? Was Hashirama even this strong at eight?"
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