The night was deep, a silver moon hanging like a silent sentinel over a world hushed into stillness.
"Ugh..."
On the secluded slopes of Konoha's back mountain, a small figure lying amidst the grass stirred. His eyes snapped open—azure, blue, vibrant and full of a spirit that seemed to pierce the darkness.
"Did I... pass out again?"
Minato muttered the words to himself, a habit born of long hours spent in solitude. As a student of the Ninja Academy with no prestigious clan name or bloodline to carry him, he was well aware that "talent" was often just another word for "effort." To keep pace with the geniuses of the Uchiha or the Hyuga, he had to squeeze every drop of potential from his soul while the rest of the village slept.
He pushed himself up, expecting the usual leaden weight in his limbs and the dull ache of overexerted muscles.
Instead, he felt... light. Unnaturally so. It was as if the gravity of the Land of Fire had suddenly halved. Every nerve ending felt primed, his senses sharper than they had been when he started the evening's drills.
Is this the result of today's training?
Seven-year-old Minato didn't allow himself the luxury of celebration. He was a cautious child. Today's regimen had been standard—basic chakra refinement and movement drills. There was no logical reason for a qualitative leap this significant.
He closed his eyes, searching his internal coil for any sign of a foreign seal or injury. Finding nothing, he decided to put this new sensation to the test.
He narrowed his gaze, focusing his mind on the soles of his feet. He began to gather chakra—a process he had performed thousands of times until it was as natural as breathing.
Swish!
His body didn't just move; it blurred. To a casual observer, he would have looked like a streak of golden light—a precursor to the "Flash" he was destined to become.
"Oh no!"
The speed was terrifying. He had aimed to cover five meters; he cleared ten in the blink of an eye. He hadn't just refined more chakra—he had outputted a burst that exceeded his body's current threshold.
Directly in his path loomed an ancient oak.
With a reaction speed that would have shamed an elite Genin, Minato crossed his arms in front of his face, bracing for impact.
Bang!
The tree shuddered, shedding a rain of leaves. The recoil sent the boy tumbling back several meters, his heels skidding across the dirt until he landed hard on his back.
"Ouch..."
Minato hissed, forced to sit up as his lungs fought to reclaim the air knocked out of them. He massaged his trembling forearms, staring at the tree with wide-eyed astonishment. The force of that move... it was unprecedented.
That chakra... it's almost beyond the level of a Genin.
Usually, a burst like that would have drained him completely, leaving him gasping for air and unable to stand. But while he felt the familiar hum of fatigue, the core of his energy wasn't depleted. He felt as though he had only scratched the surface of a deep, hidden well.
How?
The Academy taught that chakra was the balance of physical and spiritual energy, a slow accumulation over years of discipline. Unless one was born into the Senju line with their legendary vitality, such growth was impossible. And Minato knew his lineage; his parents had been ordinary people—merchants who had fallen to bandits outside the village gates when he was even younger.
It was their loss that fueled his dream. Konoha was his home, and he would become its shield so that no one else would have to feel the hollow ache of an empty house.
Minato stood up, patting the dust from his simple clothes. The pain was fading, replaced by a renewed, steely determination.
"One more time."
He pivoted. This time, he didn't let the chakra flood his system. He throttled the output, trying to guide the energy with surgical precision. He moved again, but the lack of familiarity with this "new" strength caused his distance to fall short—barely five meters.
"Still not enough control," he whispered. In a real battle, a miscalculation of even an inch meant a kunai through the throat. If he was to protect the village, he couldn't afford to be sloppy.
He practiced until his reserves finally hit the red line. The moon had shifted further across the sky.
"Time to head back."
Even with his chakra low, Minato's base physical fitness was exceptional for his age. He ran toward the village center, his small feet hitting the rooftops with practiced silence.
His home was a decent size—a relic of his parents' successful trade business—but as he stepped through the door, the silence of the large house felt oppressive. He was a seven-year-old child in an age where he should have been greeted by the scent of dinner and a mother's scolding.
Instead, there was only the dark.
Minato clasped his hands together and closed his eyes, his voice a soft echo in the hallway.
"I'm home."
After washing the grime of training away, he went to his room on the second floor. He didn't look at his bed immediately. Instead, he walked to the window.
Framed by the glass was the Great Hokage Rock. The three stone faces watched over the village; their carved eyes fixed on the horizon. They were the ancestors he revered, the standard he set for himself.
Hokage.
It was more than a title. It was the only way he knew how to make sure the lights stayed on for everyone else.