The warm afternoon air did little to cool the heat still lingering in my body. I stood there, staring at nothing, my mind sluggishly processing the enormity of what I'd done.
I had fucked Kushina Uzumaki.
And now… I'm fucked.I let out a slow, bitter chuckle, dragging a hand through my hair. My fingers brushed against my temple, where the ghost of her slap still burned. I deserved that much. Maybe more.
I sighed and licked my lips, trying to conjure the taste of her—of her mouth, her tongue, her sweat, her breathless gasps.
My dick will get me killed, I often joked that. I'd never expected it to be more a prophecy than a jest.
What bothered me most, however, wasn't the looming consequence of my deeds. I'm no coward — I had made my choices and will die with them.
It was my own disappointing performance.
I could have fucked her better. I should have fucked her better.
Idly, I reached into my pocket and ran my fingers over the stolen prize—her panties, soft and not warm but they felt like it. A pitiful trophy. Proof that it wasn't just a fever dream.
No use dwelling on it. What was done was done.
With one last glance at the house, I turned on my heel and walked away.
I started making my way home trying not to put much strength on my injured leg.
Saying I wasn't afraid of death would be a lie. Perhaps it was because I had already died once and lived twice, or maybe because it had always been there, lurking in the shadows, a constant companion to every shinobi.
But I had grown to accept it. Even appreciate it to some degree.
Seventeen years since I woke up in this world — Naruto's world. A different, alternative version. A peaceful Konoha, where the Demon Fox never rampaged.
Like every cliché reincarnation story, I started in an orphanage. No parents. No background. But with an otherworldly power: The Devil's Whisper.
I was five or six when I noticed it. The matron would listen to my words a little too closely. Do things she normally wouldn't.
I tested it. Pushed boundaries.
And quickly realized its potential. A great power for a politician. I dubbed it Devil's Whisper, for it was far from an Angel's Melody.
A pity that, this world wasn't ruled by words. It was ruled by blood and strength, not the hollow words of a politician.
There are B-rank genjutsu that do what my so-called "otherworldly" power does—and more.
Its only redeeming quality was It didn't consume chakra. But that didn't mean I could use it indefinitely. It had limits. Headaches reminded me of that.
Still, I'm starting to think better of this power.
It let me bed the best MILF in the village.
A thief ran past, snatching an old man's bag and yanking me out of my thoughts. The old man cried for help, but the crowd barely reacted. Some averted their gazes. A few sent him pitying glances.
Well, a relatively peaceful Konoha. At least in the surface.
Any other day, I might've stepped in. Made a show of it. Earned some goodwill.
Not today.
I was drained. My body ached. My mind was a fog of red hair, soft moans, and the lingering heat of her skin. I could still feel her trembling under me, taste her lips, hear the way her voice cracked at the peak.
I took a long breath, exhaled slowly, ran my fingers over the delicate panties in my pocket, and walked on.
On the way home, I bought a bottle of sake. I rarely drank, but this felt like an occasion. A night worth remembering. A night worth drowning.
And something to greet the Anbu with.
The four wall I called home was less than half an hour from the Hokage's house.
Four walls, was an apt description. Bare, simple, functional A futon shoved in the corner, a kitchen on the opposite side, a cramped bathroom at the end. No decorations. Just a place to sleep, eat, and clean off the blood when necessary.
A jonin's paycheck was decent, but the expenditures were not small.
I shut the door behind me. The dim light from outside shrank, leaving only the glow of the evening sun cutting through the window…. I narrowed my eyes. The angle was off. The usual pattern of shadows wrong.
Someone had opened that window.
While I wasn't here.
I stood still, eyes tracing the subtle shift in dust, the way the air felt disturbed. A smirk tugged at my lips, bitter and knowing.
Looks like I won't get to enjoy that sake after all.
That thought barely settled before I felt it — cold steel pressing against my throat.
A kunai.
— — —
— — —
MINATO NAMIKAZE
He was silent when he stepped through the door. Too silent. A shinobi's instinct, his instinct. The Yellow Flash could enter anywhere unseen. He shouldn't use those skills in his own home. He knew that. But it was late. Nearly midnight.
Kushina and Naruto were asleep. Or they should be, he hoped they were. He didn't want to wake them, he told himself. That was the excuse. The truth was bitter, lodged in his gut. He couldn't — simply couldn't — deal with Kushina right now.
She never said anything. But her eyes...
He felt a shred of guilt as he closed the door. Then the smell hit him. His nose wrinkled, and the guilt was faded.
It's following him home now, huh.
His nose had never been the same since Orochimaru's lab. How many years had it been? And yet, the stench lingered. It clung to him. It wasn't just his nose. What he had seen there still curdled in his gut, enough to make even a veteran shinobi like him sick.
He doubted anyone would be immune to that kind of horror.
When his advisors were informed, most proposed executing the Sannin. Others pushed for imprisonment, lifelong if necessary. Some even suggested using him—wringing every last ounce of knowledge from his twisted mind before disposing of him.
Oh, he was tempted.
But he couldn't do that to his sensei. Or his sensei's sensei. Orochimaru was their comrade, and student.
Besides, Orochimaru was brilliant. A mind like his didn't come around often — not in a generation, maybe not in a lifetime. His research pushed the boundaries of ninjutsu, medicine, warfare. To throw that away would be a loss, not just to Konoha, but to the entire shinobi world.
Yes, he was dangerous. Reckless. But he was also a Sannin, one of Konoha's strongest. And strength like his didn't just disappear if you cast it aside — it became someone else's weapon. Another village's gain.
No, execution wasn't the answer. Neither was exile. What he needed was oversight. Someone to check his work, to keep him in line. If controlled properly, Orochimaru could serve the village. He just needed boundaries.
Minato wasn't naive — he knew it wouldn't be easy. But being Hokage wasn't about doing what was easy. It was about doing what was necessary.
Minato will not fail were the Third did. Not that he blamed his predecessor for any of it — how could he? Orichimaru was his student.
Still, in the end, it was worth it. The years had proven him right.
He just had to pay for it — with the horrific memories, the stench that never left him, and the endless complaints from his advisors and subjects.
The first two? He was well used to those. The war had hardened him to blood and nightmares as any shinobi. And the last? Years as Hokage had numbed him to it.
He swore more than half of his paperwork was just complaints.
Minato pushed the bedroom door open, moving with careful, practiced silence. Shadows stretched long in the dim light, the room still and quiet. He slipped inside, easing the door shut behind him.
His fingers found the edge of his haori, pulling it from his shoulders in one smooth motion. The fabric barely made a sound as it slid down his arms—
"You're late."
The voice cut through the silence like a blade, low and controlled. Too controlled.
Minato stilled, his haori halfway off. His heart gave a quiet lurch before settling. He turned his head slightly, eyes adjusting to the dark. Kushina was awake.
She lay on her side, barely visible. Her face was turned away, but he didn't need to see it. He heard it in her voice.
She was angry. Or trying not to be.
Minato exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. He knew that tone. He had heard it before— when she held back, when she bit down on whatever words she really wanted to say.
He just didn't know if he was ready to hear them.
"I hoped to find you asleep," he said, rolling his shoulders he finished pulling off his haori. He draped it over a chair, willing the tension in his muscles to ease. Maybe if he kept quiet, she'd go back to sleep.
"Did you eat dinner?"
His jaw tensed. He glanced at her, still lying on her side, still not looking at him. Her voice was softer now.
"I left some food out for you. I can heat it up."
"I'm fine." He started unbuttoning his uniform, keeping his tone even.
"You barely ate this morning."
"I said I'm fine, Kushina." A little sharper this time.
Silence. He unbuckled his belt, placing it on the dresser with more care than necessary. He heard her shift in bed, the blankets rustling as she sat up slightly.
"At least have some tea. I'll—"
"Kushina." His fingers twitched against the fabric of his shirt. "I just got home." He needed some peace to think.
She hesitated. He could feel her eyes on his back now. The weight of them.
"I know." Her voice was quiet. Too quiet.
But he was too tired to pick apart the meaning behind it. Too drained to deal with yet another conversation that felt like a thinly veiled scolding. First his advisors, then the council, then the damn civilians filing endless complaints — and now this.
He knew she meant well. He did. But he couldn't stomach it right now. Not when it felt like just another person telling him what he should be doing.
He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "Just get in bed, go to sleep. It'll be better in the morning."
He didn't notice how she curled in on herself. How she gripped the blanket a little too tightly.
Minato rubbed his temple, exhaling slowly. He was being short with her. He knew it. His patience had been worn thin by the day's Sunagakure refugees meetings and the ceaseless complaints that come with it. It wasn't her fault.
Still, he let it go. No couple was perfect. They weren't any different. Sometimes they argued, sometimes they snapped at each other. That was just how marriage was, wasn't it?
He'd make it up to her. Maybe bring home some sweets from that shop she liked. Or take her out for dinner — if the village ever gave him the time.
That thought made him pause. When was the last time they did anything together? Just the two of them?
The Hokage sighed again, slipping into bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, but Kushina didn't move. She was still turned away, her back stiff beneath the blanket.
"Sorry," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck with a forced smile. "It's just been a long day. You know how it is."
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, barely above a whisper—
"Sorry too."
She didn't turn to face him.
Minato stared at the ceiling, another sigh pushing past his lips before he caught himself. He was sighing too much these days.
He'd have to do something really good to make up for this.
If the village ever gave him the time.
A much needed silence descended. At first, it felt heavy, but as the minutes stretched, it became a space where he could breathe, think.
And his thoughts drifted to the village.
The Sunagakure refugees. He had allowed them in, knowing it was the right decision. The honorable decision. But honor didn't fill stomachs or ease grudges. The complaints from the clan heads were growing louder.
Then there was the Uchiha. He had thought—hoped—that relieving them from their role as the village's enforcers would ease some of the resentment. The police force had been a leash by the Second, one designed to keep them contained rather than grant them authority. And yet, despite his efforts, the clan remained restless.
As the strongest clan, the Uchiha were proud, and pride, when wounded, festered. It bred resentment. Distrust. He wasn't about to let that grow into something worse.
He inhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling. His mind ran through the remaining issues. Border security. Trade agreements. The reports from his spies in Iwagakure. Even whispers of new rogue organization in Amegakure.
There was always something.
Minato let out one last breath and closed his eyes. Sleep wouldn't come easy. It never did.
But tomorrow, he would handle it.
Because he had to.