The morning sun was still low on the horizon when Renjiro met Minato at the village gates, its pale gold light casting long shadows across the streets of Konoha. The village was waking slowly, civilians beginning their daily routines, shinobi preparing for missions, the endless rhythm of life continuing despite the political storms that had raged through the Hokage's office. Renjiro had spent the night finalising preparations, ensuring that everything was in order before he left.
The trigger seals had been distributed throughout Konoha—discreetly, quietly, placed in the hands of trusted operatives who would activate them if disaster struck. He had reviewed the reconstruction chain of command, confirmed ANBU assignments, verified border patrol replacements, and ensured that emergency Flying Thunder God markers were in place. If something happened, Minato and he could return in seconds.
Everything has contingency plans, Renjiro thought, his internal voice analytical. If something happens, Minato and I can return in seconds.
He stood at the gate, his pack slung over his shoulder, his expression neutral. Minato arrived moments later, his Hokage robes replaced by practical travelling clothes, his blonde hair catching the morning light. Instead of preparing Flying Thunder God, he simply began walking toward the road that led out of the village.
Renjiro fell into step beside him, his brow furrowing.
"We're travelling normally?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of surprise. "You're not going to teleport us?"
Minato's lips curved into a slight smile.
"Appearing inside the palace instantly is considered improper," he explained. "It implies a lack of respect. Bypassing palace security. Treating the Daimyo's residence like one's own home."
He paused, his blue eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"Flying Thunder God remains emergency transportation. Not diplomatic transportation."
Renjiro considered this, a dry smile tugging at his own lips.
The fastest man alive, he thought, his internal voice amused, has to arrive fashionably late.
The journey was slow, unhurried, the kind of travel that allowed for conversation and reflection. The road wound through forests and fields, past small villages and quiet farms, the landscape gradually shifting from the familiar terrain of Konoha's surroundings to the more formal, cultivated lands that surrounded the Fire Capital.
"What's harder?" Renjiro asked, breaking the comfortable silence. "Being Hokage? Or commanding jonin?"
Minato was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. Then he smiled—a tired, knowing expression.
"Paperwork," he said.
Renjiro laughed—a genuine sound that seemed to startle them both.
"I'm serious," Minato continued, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "Battlefield command is straightforward. The enemy is obvious. Objectives are clear. Victory is measurable. Politics…"
He paused, shaking his head.
"Everyone smiles. Nobody says what they mean. Victories create enemies. Compromises anger, everyone."
He glanced at Renjiro.
"Being Hokage isn't about making everyone happy. It's about deciding who will be disappointed this time."
Renjiro absorbed the words, his internal voice reflective. Danzo. Fugaku. The council. Minato has to balance all of them, all the time. I solve military problems. He inherits everyone's problems.
He gained a new appreciation for the man beside him.
The Fire Capital rose before them like a monument to wealth and power, its walls towering and imposing, its gates decorated with banners bearing the Fire Daimyo's crest. The streets were wide and clean, lined with noble estates and merchant houses, their facades ornate and expensive. Guards in gleaming armor stood at every intersection, their postures rigid, their eyes watchful. Unlike hidden villages, this place radiated wealth instead of military power.
Konoha feels practical, Renjiro thought, his gaze sweeping across the city. The Fire Capital feels ceremonial.
They were escorted through the streets by a contingent of Daimyo guards, their armor clinking with each step, their expressions carefully neutral. The palace rose before them, its architecture grand and imposing, its walls adorned with tapestries and banners. Servants hurried through the corridors, court officials bowed as they passed, and high-ranking samurai watched from the shadows.
The Fire Daimyo received them in a grand hall, his throne elevated on a dais, his robes embroidered with gold thread.
"Lord Hokage," he said, his voice carrying the particular resonance of someone accustomed to being heard. "Thank you for attending. This marriage represents a new era for our nations."
Minato bowed, his posture respectful, his voice calm.
"The honour is mine, Daimyo-sama. Konoha is pleased to support this union."
The formalities continued—introductions, pleasantries, the careful dance of diplomacy. Renjiro remained mostly silent, observing the room, cataloging faces and positions. Nobles filled the hall: governors, ministers, wealthy merchants, samurai commanders, foreign diplomats. Very few shinobi.
Every noble watches power, Renjiro thought, his internal voice analytical. Every shinobi watches threats.
The announcement came midway through the evening.
"The Lightning delegation has arrived."
The atmosphere shifted immediately. Conversations slowed, heads turned, and the room's focus pivoted toward the entrance. Renjiro's attention sharpened, his hand moving instinctively toward his weapon—not drawing, just ready.
The doors opened, and the Fourth Raikage walked in.
He was a mountain of muscle and aggression, his presence filling the room like a thunderstorm waiting to break. His dark skin gleamed in the lamplight, his white hair was cropped short, and his expression was one of controlled fury barely restrained. Behind him walked Killer Bee, his posture relaxed, his eyes scanning the room with the particular awareness of someone who had survived things that should have killed him. Elite guards flanked them, their faces impassive, their hands resting on their weapons.
Where Minato appeared calm, A radiated overwhelming physical presence. A walking mountain. Controlled aggression.
The silent shinobi standoff was immediate. Nobody drew weapons. Nobody smiled. Everyone instinctively evaluated posture, weapons, reactions, distance, body language.
Two predator packs entering the same watering hole, Renjiro thought, his internal voice cold. No one wants a fight. Everyone prepares anyway.
The Raikage recognised Renjiro instantly.
His eyes locked onto the Jonin Commander, his expression hardening. During the war, they had fought. Renjiro had embarrassed Kumo, defeated elite shinobi including both he and his late father, and interfered with their campaigns. The memory was still fresh, still raw.
A gave him a hard stare. Renjiro returned a calm look.
No words. Just mutual recognition.
Killer Bee also remembered. His expression changed briefly, a flicker of recognition passing across his face. Then he immediately ignored the tension.
Because Bee was Bee.
"Yo!"
His voice boomed across the hall, shattering the dead silence.
"Nice hat, Yellow Flash! Bet you teleport faster than my rap!"
Silence.
Complete silence.
Nobody knew how to respond.
Minato's expression flickered—just slightly, just enough for Renjiro to notice. He was trying not to laugh. Renjiro remained completely expressionless, his internal voice flat with resignation.
…Of course.
The nobles were confused, their faces blank with incomprehension. The samurai were embarrassed, their postures stiff, their eyes fixed on the floor. Fire officials were mortified, their faces pale, their hands trembling. Kumo guards were pretending this wasn't happening, their expressions carefully blank.
The Raikage closed his eyes.
A long sigh escaped his lips, the sound carrying the weight of years of dealing with his brother's… creativity.
"Bee…"
Only one word. Maximum disappointment.
Bee was completely unbothered.
"What?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of genuine confusion. "I'm just being friendly!"
As everyone resumed walking, Renjiro noticed the Raikage still watching him. His gaze was heavy, assessing, calculating. Bee occasionally glanced over too, his expression unreadable.
The wedding hasn't even started, Renjiro thought, his internal voice sharp with unease. And the negotiations already feel like another battlefield.
He forced himself to remain calm, to keep his expression neutral. But his mind was already racing through the possibilities, the contingencies, the threats that lurked beneath the surface of diplomatic pleasantries.
Assassination attempts. Diplomatic sabotage. Kumo provocations. Danzo acting while we're gone. Enemy spies. Political conspiracies.
He met the Raikage's gaze without flinching, his expression carefully neutral.
This is going to be a long week.
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