Chapter 48 – The Change in Namikaze Minato
On the first day of the holiday, Minamoto Ren attended Hyūga Ganghachirō's funeral in the morning.
By afternoon, he had changed clothes and was wandering through Konoha's commercial district, eating and drinking at leisure.
Between bites, though, he caught wind of something unusual.
"Did you hear? Konoha's famed White Fang left his post without permission—came back from the Land of Rivers battlefield!"
"Pfft, that's old news. The hot topic today is Jiraiya's disciple, Namikaze Minato—apparently he got drunk and badmouthed the Hokage! Can you believe that? That's like insulting your own master!"
"No way. Everyone knows Minato is Jiraiya's beloved student—the Hokage himself teaches him daily. He'd never be disrespectful."
"Ah, well… here's how it went…"
Up and down the streets, Konoha's most numerous residents—genin and civilians—were happily trading rumors.
They weren't interested in truth; they spread whatever sounded the most sensational.
Standing at the roadside, chewing a sticky rice dumpling, Ren tossed the empty skewer into a bin.
He recognized the handiwork instantly—this was classic Shimura Danzō.
The rumors were only the opening move, laying the groundwork to tarnish White Fang and Minato's reputations.
Once the image was rotten, no matter how absurd the accusation, people would believe it.
Ren smirked coldly.
In his past life, he'd only heard that White Fang killed himself under the weight of public opinion.
Now, seeing it firsthand, he understood—it wasn't a sudden frenzy.
It was a long, patient poisoning, drip by drip over decades.
Humorous, that Danzō.
If only he'd put this much effort into targeting other villages instead.
The sticky rice clung to his teeth as Ren chewed, heading toward the Senju compound.
His own place was far less comfortable than Tsunade's home—not as spacious, not as fragrant.
As Konoha's top medical-nin, Tsunade was obsessed with cleanliness; her room reflected it.
Ren had already decided: tomorrow, he would take Namikaze Minato out to eat.
The rumors Danzō spread might contain exaggerations, but the core fact was likely true—Minato probably had gotten drunk and said something he shouldn't have.
Minato's current strength and potential didn't matter to Ren nearly as much as his position.
Keeping Minato in his role as the "beloved grandson" of Konoha's leadership and uniting with him—that was Ren's priority.
Especially since, on the matter of the Hyūga clan, he would need Minato's help.
---
The next day, at exactly ten in the morning, Ren knocked on Minato's door.
He had calculated the timing—Anbu without a mission rarely woke before ten; missions were exhausting, and they needed their rest.
He knocked again.
Inside, there was the sound of something heavy hitting the floor, followed by the rustle of clothing, then footsteps approaching.
Click.
The plain blue wooden door opened, revealing a bleary-eyed Namikaze Minato, blond hair in a messy tangle.
Ren frowned—he smelled the strong odor of alcohol.
There were faint yellow stains on Minato's blue bodysuit… clear signs of coming home drunk.
"Ren? Come in, come in. What brings you here?"
At the sight of Ren's striking eyes, Minato immediately dropped his guard and turned back into the room.
Ren followed, confirming his suspicions.
Broken green sake bottles near the door.
An unfinished takoyaki bento on the table.
A blanket on the sofa.
A room in complete disarray.
"I told you I'd take you out to eat," Ren said, voice firm. "Clean yourself up. You're coming with me."
He didn't need a washed-up, wallowing Minato—he needed a sharp, capable partner with political instinct and real skill.
Minato blinked at Ren's tone—it was the first time he'd heard him speak like that.
Realizing he was in no state to refuse, Minato quickly ducked into the bathroom.
For men, a shower could substitute for every other step of getting ready—fast and efficient.
Ren looked for somewhere to sit, but the mess offended his sense of cleanliness.
So he stepped outside to wait.
Thinking about it, Uzumaki Naruto and Namikaze Minato actually had a few things in common early on—both clawed their way up through their own efforts.
If you had to point out differences, Minato was the greater natural genius and had a smoother start; Naruto had a stronger heart… and much more outrageous plot armor.
"Kept you waiting."
It had been only five minutes. The sunny, spirited Minato was already standing in front of Ren, transformed from messy and hungover to clean and handsome—boys could pull that off in five minutes flat.
Ren didn't comment. He led Minato straight to the Konoha Grand Drink House, a restaurant he had already scouted.
It was owned by the Sarutobi clan—a shinobi family side business. The food was pricey, but far better than Ichiraku's ramen.
"Order whatever you want. My treat."
Ren casually circled a few of the tastier dishes on the menu before sliding it across the table.
Minato looked uneasy.
He hadn't been in the Anbu long, didn't have much money. He'd thought Ren was going to treat him to a deluxe ramen at best—not bring him to a high-end establishment.
Where did Ren even get the money?
They were both Anbu.
Ren didn't have much cash either. But behind him stood Tsunade—Konoha's walking golden goose.
And Tsunade never paid for meals in her own hotel.
Sometimes, a name was more valuable than money.
"Relax. I said it's my treat."
Ren took an unhurried sip of tea.
Minato, still a bit self-conscious, ordered a few inexpensive dishes—and a few bottles of sake.
Ren didn't comment. He let the server take the order, then fixed his gaze on the man across from him.
"There's been talk about you lately. You really badmouthed the Hokage?"
Minato shifted, leaning forward slightly, and muttered,
"I was just out drinking with Dōtō and Gaku… had a few too many, and…"
"So you did say it?"
"I did. So what? I think the Hokage made a mistake. And I think you should have called out Shimura Danzō for colluding with Kirigakure shinobi to get us killed."
Minato didn't hide his opinion—he laid it out plainly.
"That'll shake your standing. How do you think the Hokage will see you? He'll question your 'Will of Fire.'"
"Is the Will of Fire really that fragile?" Minato chuckled.
"It doesn't matter how sturdy your Will of Fire is. What matters is how sturdy Sarutobi Hiruzen thinks it is."
Ren's tone was heavy. No trace of a joke.
Minato stopped laughing.
"So what, then? Keep quiet? Let Danzō's scheme just slide? I was lucky to survive—but what about the shinobi who didn't?"
He stood, agitation in his voice.
Ren understood: Minato's first thought wasn't for himself, but for those who'd been silenced permanently.
And Danzō's skill at this kind of thing? Clearly not his first time.
"We're not letting it slide," Ren said flatly. "I'm taking a leg off Danzō."
"How? Which leg?" Minato sat back down, sensing a plan.
"That Anbu who whispered in Danzō's ear that night—do you remember him?"
Minato thought for a moment, then nodded hard.
"Hanegawa. Same clan as Danzō. An Anbu squad captain. Rarely takes missions."
Ren nodded. No wonder he hadn't seen the man before.
"Then it's him. The day he goes on a mission is the day he loses that leg."
If Danzō liked traps and schemes so much, let him see the beauty of purely physical criticism.
"Never thought I'd end up in on killing a fellow Konoha shinobi," Minato said, face complicated. The little sun of Konoha didn't seem so bright just now.
"Just say yes or no."
"…Yes."
A platter of roasted Konoha black boar leg arrived.
Their cups clinked together with a sharp thunk.