Just before activating the Flying Thunder God Technique, a stray thought crossed Uchiha Gen's mind.
Using Minato Namikaze's own signature jutsu to visit his widow in the middle of the night… Isn't this a different kind of irony?
The corner of his mouth twitched with amusement.
Then—whoosh—his figure vanished.
Moments later, he appeared outside the window of Kushina's master bedroom. The window was half-closed; he slid it open soundlessly, drew the curtain aside, and slipped in.
Moonlight spilled across the room like soft silver mist, illuminating the faint curve of a figure beneath the thin blanket. Kushina lay on her side, hair scattered across the pillow, her outline graceful against the pale light.
Though she had long left her days as a kunoichi behind, Kushina's senses remained sharp. Her eyes opened instantly, but when she saw the familiar silhouette, her body relaxed.
Truthfully, she had only just fallen asleep before Gen arrived.
When she'd gone to bed earlier, her gaze had drifted toward the photograph on the nightstand — herself and Minato Namikaze, smiling side by side.
A ripple of guilt had spread through her chest. Minato… what would you think of me now?
But after a long while of quiet conflict, she'd let out a sigh. What had happened between her and Gen couldn't be undone, nor did she truly wish it could. Their hearts and fates had already intertwined. Torturing herself further would serve no purpose.
Gen approached the bedside and slipped an arm beneath the covers, gently lifting Kushina by the waist.
She was wearing an orange-red nightgown, soft against his skin. Her pale feet peeked out from beneath the hem, and her long legs caught the moonlight like porcelain. Blushing slightly, she tucked her face against his chest, saying nothing.
Then in a flicker of light, both of them vanished, reappearing in the quiet bedroom of Gen's old house, the same place they had been together that afternoon.
Though he'd wanted to stay in Kushina's home, Gen knew better. She still carried lingering hesitation, a sense of guilt that couldn't yet fade. Some doors could only be opened slowly, with patience, not force.
Three hours later, the rain that had been falling outside stopped. The night sky cleared, washed clean and bright.
Gen leaned back against the headboard, one arm draped around Kushina, whose flushed face and half-lidded eyes reflected the faint moonlight. Her breathing had steadied, calm and warm against his chest.
He picked up the cigarette he'd left earlier, lit it with a click, and exhaled a thin stream of blue smoke.
After two fierce emotional "battles," both had reached their limits. Silence hung over the room, peaceful and complete.
"You smoke too?" Kushina asked softly, her voice languid and tender, carrying a warmth she rarely showed.
"Not often," Gen replied with a small smile. "Just sometimes—to relax."
He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead, ignoring the faint trace of sweat that lingered there. Can't exactly tell you it's tradition after a long night, can I? he thought wryly.
Kushina looked at him with softened eyes. For a moment, all the conflict within her melted into quiet contentment.
Then, after a pause, she murmured, "Let's not let anyone find out about us, alright? It's better if this stays just between us."
Gen raised an eyebrow. A secret relationship, huh?
That idea had its charm.
"I'll keep it quiet," he said. "Though I doubt it'll stay hidden for long. Mikoto and the others aren't exactly oblivious."
Kushina smiled faintly. "Then let's keep it secret for as long as we can."
She hesitated, then sighed, voice tinged with irony. "I never imagined Mikoto and I would end up sharing a husband one day. Life really does play strange tricks."
Gen chuckled. "Fate likes its little jokes."
She gave him a sidelong look. "It's not just fate. You planned this, didn't you? You bad man—you targeted us both so early. Shouldn't a young guy like you be chasing after younger girls instead?"
Her hand darted out from beneath the blanket and pinched his side.
"Because you're every bit as beautiful as they are," Gen said smoothly, smiling despite the harmless pinch. "Even more, actually."
Kushina couldn't help but laugh softly, half embarrassed, half pleased. "You really know how to talk."
"Comes with experience," he teased, earning another playful glare.
The quiet laughter faded, replaced by the soft hum of the night.
"Alright," Kushina said finally, "it's late. Let's bathe and rest."
"You're not sending me back?" Gen asked, teasing.
"I suppose… you can stay until dawn," she replied after a pause, her voice barely above a whisper. "But only this once."
Gen smiled. "Then I'll hold you while you sleep. I'll take you back before sunrise."
Kushina pretended to hesitate, but the small nod she gave was unmistakable.
He stood, cigarette still between his lips, and lifted her gently into his arms.
"Ah—Gen!" she gasped softly, instinctively looping her arms around his neck.
The steam of the bath soon rose, filling the room with warmth. Though there were moments of playful closeness, they bathed quietly, exchanging little more than soft laughter and gentle touches.
When they finished, Gen used a thin wisp of Fire Release chakra to dry Kushina's crimson hair, then his own. She watched, amused by the casual grace with which he did it.
Before long, the two of them lay together once more, Kushina nestled against him as sleep slowly overtook her.
At dawn, the alarm clock rang on time, breaking the stillness.
Gen rose, got dressed, and carefully as not to wake her, used Flying Thunder God to return Kushina to her bedroom. She stirred only faintly, half-asleep, her face peaceful against the pillow.
Then, in another flash of chakra, Gen reappeared at his own home and quietly slipped under the covers beside Mikoto, resting for another short while.
His Shadow Clone, which had been left behind to maintain appearances, dissipated in a puff of white smoke the moment he returned, transmitting its collected memories. Everything had gone smoothly.
From that day onward, Kushina became a permanent part of Gen's carefully balanced rotation—always on designated rest days. As their encounters grew, so did their connection, deepening from desire into quiet companionship.
.....
Half a year passed swiftly.
The calendar turned to Konoha Year 58.
On February 2nd, a message arrived from Orochimaru. Gen read it once, raised a brow, and that evening made his way to the Sannin's Konoha residence.
This time, Anko wasn't there, nor was Kabuto. The house was unnervingly quiet.
Orochimaru had prepared a hot pot on the table, and when Gen arrived, the two sat down opposite each other. The smell of simmering broth filled the room.
"I haven't congratulated you yet," Orochimaru said, lifting a wine glass. "On becoming the Fifth Hokage."
Gen chuckled lightly and tapped his glass against his former teacher's. "It's not official yet."
"It's only a matter of time," Orochimaru replied, his pale lips curling into a faint smile. "Let me guess—you didn't exactly ask the old guard for permission, did you?"
Gen smirked. "You know me too well."
"Of course I do," Orochimaru said, amusement glinting in his golden eyes. "The elders would never have agreed willingly. You must have… persuaded them."
Gen plucked a piece of beef tripe from the pot, swirling it briefly before answering, "You're not wrong. I forced their hand with strength."
"Strength?" Orochimaru tilted his head, intrigued. "And just how strong have you become, my student?"
Gen paused for a heartbeat, then said mildly, "Not far from the level of the God of Shinobi."
Orochimaru's expression faltered, surprise flickering across his face. "Impossible… Your eyes, by theory alone, shouldn't be capable of further evolution."
He spoke not out of ignorance but fascination; since discovering Gen's Mangekyō Sharingan, Orochimaru had studied every record he could find, dissecting the mysteries of the Uchiha line.
Gen smiled faintly. "Normally, no. But my eyes are… unique. Abilities unseen in Uchiha history."
He set his glass down. "Anyway, let's talk about something else. Your return to Konoha—don't tell me that means your research succeeded?"
Orochimaru's surprise melted into pride. "Indeed. It did."
He formed a quick seal, and with a burst of white smoke, a scroll materialized in his hand. He tossed it lightly toward Gen.
"See for yourself."
Gen caught it and unfurled the scroll. Bold characters stared back at him—
Reincarnation Jutsu.
He raised a brow, then chuckled softly. "So that's your newest creation."
After finishing the meal, Gen carefully spread the scroll on the table, examining every line of script while still nibbling from the hot pot.
Occasionally, his eyes flickered with genuine awe. Each flash of understanding was met by a faint, satisfied smile from Orochimaru—the pride of a teacher who, at least for the moment, still felt like one.