In a humble house on the outskirts of Konoha, a woman gave birth beneath the pale glow of dawn.
Her breath came shallow and uneven. Her face was ashen, her body drained of vitality—yet her eyes overflowed with love.
She was a Senju, long estranged from her clan. Her chakra was nearly gone, her life force spent, but she still had one final gift to leave behind.
Her child.
The newborn's first cry filled the quiet room—pure, strong, and full of promise.
"Minato," she whispered weakly, brushing her trembling fingers through his soft golden hair."You'll carry both your father's wind… and my will."
A faint smile touched her lips as tears slipped from her dimming eyes.
"Namikaze Minato… my little sun."
She knew her time was ending.
Gathering what little strength remained, she wrapped her child close and began the long walk toward Konoha. Each step drained her further, yet she did not stop.
The great village shimmered in the morning light—a beacon of hope she would never live to see again.
At the orphanage near the village's edge, she finally collapsed into the arms of the matron, pressing her child forward with shaking hands.
"Please…" she murmured."His name is Minato. Take care of him…"
Those were her final words.
The next morning, the staff discovered an unfamiliar figure resting beneath a sakura tree outside the orphanage. Her expression was peaceful. Her body was still.
She was gone.
Inside the orphanage, baby Minato cried endlessly that week.
It was not hunger.It was not fear.
Some part of him—perhaps a fragment of divine memory buried deep within his soul—understood that something irreplaceable had been lost.
The matron would later recall that his tears carried a weight no newborn should possess. They were the cries of grief—deep, aching, and inexplicable.
Years passed.
Minato grew into a quiet child within the orphanage walls. While others ran, argued, or played, he was often found sitting by the window, golden hair lit by sunlight, blue eyes following the drifting clouds above Konoha.
No one noticed how quickly his mind worked.
No one realized that behind his calm gaze was an intellect constantly observing, connecting, understanding—far beyond his years.
One day, a teacher knelt beside him and asked gently,
"Minato, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
He turned, smiling softly. Small. Genuine.
"I want to protect this village."
His voice was quiet—but within it lay the resolve of two lives