Chapter 22: Namikaze Minato
The reason Aizen held expectations for Konoha was simple.
It was the only place in the world he had seen that possessed a structured education system, functioning industries, and—most importantly—a vision for the future.
Unlike other ninja villages driven by impulse and short-term gain, Konoha's system, though imperfect and prone to backsliding, was at least planned.
Even the actions of the First Hokage, which appeared overly idealistic and naive to later generations, represented in Aizen's eyes a remarkable beginning.
He had given children the chance to learn, to think, and to dream beyond the endless cycle of war.
Compared to the Warring States era—when clans slaughtered each other for profit and glory—the modern age of ninja villages was undeniable progress. It allowed talent, once buried under blood and chaos, to finally emerge.
And among those rising stars, Namikaze Minato shone brightest.
He was different from Urahara Kisuke, whose brilliance transcended eras through sheer ingenuity. Different from Kurotsuchi Mayuri, whose ruthless research sought only truth without form or morality. Even different from Aizen himself, who sought godhood through enlightenment and control.
Minato's genius was of another kind entirely.
He understood adaptation. His methods were not revolutionary, but harmonious—perfectly suited for this world.
If one were to describe him simply: Minato Namikaze was someone who could thrive in any age, radiating warmth and light wherever he went.
He was intelligent but never arrogant, strong yet gentle. His teacher was one of the Legendary Sannin, his comrade the Nine-Tails' Jinchuriki. Despite being born a commoner, he rose purely through merit and understanding—earning the respect of both the Hokage and the common folk.
His demeanor never provoked jealousy or resentment; instead, he inspired others.
To many, his path represented the true, attainable road to greatness.
Unlike Aizen Sosuke—whose existence felt divine, untouchable, and terrifyingly perfect—Minato's life was one others could believe they might achieve.
Aizen was a miracle beyond human reach. Minato was proof that humanity could still shine.
For most, Aizen's name inspired awe and distance. But Minato's name sparked hope. He was the kind of man who made others believe that if they worked hard enough, they too could reach the stars.
Of course, Aizen knew that wasn't true.
He understood perfectly well that Minato Namikaze was exceptional—an anomaly of pure talent and virtue that could never be replicated.
Konoha's hierarchy had not yet ossified beyond repair, but entry into its inner circles was still severely limited. Only those of extraordinary brilliance could break through the walls of tradition and bloodline.
Aizen knew that Minato was one of those rare few.
He possessed strength, intellect, and a deep connection to the Nine-Tails' Jinchuriki. He had earned the people's admiration. If he were to achieve major victories in the coming war, his reputation could easily rival the Sannin themselves.
And if his feats grew great enough, even the Sannin would have to step aside.
After all, time always demanded new heroes.
As for Aizen, though he seemed like a mere observer, he wasn't irrelevant.
He represented an indispensable part of Konoha—the quiet order within its growing chaos, the unseen hand ensuring the village's survival.
Watching Minato, a potential successor to the Will of Fire, Aizen maintained his trademark gentle smile. But beneath that calm expression, he felt something unexpected—a faint, almost nostalgic sense of familiarity.
"Is it because of something from our childhood that you instinctively trust me... I see," he thought to himself, a subtle gleam passing behind his glasses.
The golden-haired young man before him hadn't changed much from his youth—his bright hair, his pure, radiant smile. He was like sunlight untouched by shadow.
As Aizen listened to the Third Hokage's friendly chatter, he hid his amusement behind a courteous expression.
For Hiruzen Sarutobi, such casual conversations were both a political ritual and a subtle exercise of power. His warm, unhurried tone was a tool—a reminder that, despite his age, his authority still reached everywhere in Konoha.
He liked to call in subordinates under the guise of small talk, subtly testing their loyalties.
Perhaps he feared that his recent policies had stirred unease within the village.
But for Aizen and Minato, the Hokage's chatter was little more than background noise.
A few minutes later, their conversation shifted naturally, and the two men—sun and shadow walking side by side—left the office.
Before long, they arrived at Ichiraku Ramen, the scent of broth and fresh noodles filling the evening air.
"Boss! Two bowls of Ichiraku Ramen, please!"
"Okay!"
"Brother Aizen, it's been almost five years, hasn't it?"
After ordering enthusiastically, Namikaze Minato turned toward Aizen, his expression full of nostalgia.
"Ever since I became a Chunin, it feels like we've barely crossed paths. Now that I'm a Jonin, it's even harder to meet. Five years really flew by, didn't they?"
"Yeah," Aizen replied softly. "It's been almost five years. The kid who once begged me to borrow books has grown into Konoha's golden Jonin—the Sandaime's brightest hope for the future. Even I can't help but feel a little sentimental."
Minato chuckled modestly. "What you said might be true… but compared to you, I still have a long way to go."
"Not even close?"
Aizen's gentle smile deepened as he looked at the younger man beside him.
"Are you working hard just to catch up to that so-called 'hot chili pepper'? Keep this up and you'll be standing right beside her soon enough."
"Br—Brother Aizen?!"
"There's no need to deny it," Aizen replied smoothly, his tone teasing yet calm. "Your relationship with Kushina is practically public knowledge. As Konoha's advisory agent, it's only natural that I know about it."
Just then, Teuchi placed two steaming bowls of ramen on the counter.
"Here you go! Eat up while it's hot!"
"Thank you," Aizen said politely, immediately picking up his chopsticks.
Without another word, he began to eat, effectively cutting off Minato's flustered protests.
Minato sighed, cheeks flushed, and reluctantly dug into his own bowl.
After a few quiet moments, he finally spoke again.
"...Actually, my feelings toward Kushina aren't quite like that."
He set his chopsticks down, looking serious.
"It's just… she's dazzling. Everyone in the village admires her. I want to become someone who can stand beside her proudly, that's all."
Aizen stayed silent.
"And I really respect her," Minato continued. "She's not like other girls—she's strong, independent, and driven. She doesn't chase fame or comfort; she genuinely cares about Konoha and the Hokage. That kind of passion… it inspires me."
Still, Aizen said nothing.
"Back when I was a kid, I was weak and quiet. But Kushina—she's like a storm. Just seeing her smile brightens everything. I don't have any strange feelings about it. I just want her to keep shining."
A pause followed.
"...Brother Aizen, could you at least say something?"
Minato looked at him helplessly. He had just spoken from the heart, yet Aizen continued eating ramen, completely unfazed.
After a while, Aizen finally set his chopsticks down and calmly wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
"I don't think there's much to add," he said mildly. "After all, there's nothing more entertaining than watching young men and women struggle with their emotions, don't you agree?"
"Brother Aizen?!"
"But before you get swept up in all those feelings," Aizen said gently, his voice turning serious, "I want you to remember one thing."
He adjusted his glasses, his gaze sharp yet composed.
"Happiness is merely the illusion of ability. You only feel happy when your strength allows you to achieve what you desire. But when that illusion fades—when you find your ability no longer sustains your happiness—you'll taste despair."
Minato listened in silence, eyes wide.
"When the illusion of happiness shatters and you're forced to face powerlessness," Aizen continued, his tone deepening, "that pain will crush your spirit. I don't want you to end up like that."
He leaned back slightly, eyes reflecting the faint glow of the lanterns above the counter.
"If you pick up the sword, you might not be able to embrace your lover. But if you put it down, all that awaits you is the cruelty of reality."
His lips curved faintly.
"So, Minato… you must become Hokage."
Minato straightened, his usual easy smile replaced by determination.
"...Yes, Brother Aizen. I won't forget. My dream is to become Hokage—to change the shinobi world, just as I said before."
"Good," Aizen said, satisfied. "Oh, right."
"Huh? What is it?"
"Your noodles are starting to clump. And Ichiraku's boss doesn't look very happy."
"...What?"
Minato blinked in confusion, turning toward Teuchi—who was glaring at him from behind the counter with crossed arms.
Even after five years apart—he a Jonin, and Aizen technically only a Chunin—Minato still found himself helpless before this man.
And he knew exactly why.
Aizen always convinced people with calm reason, always spoke truths too heavy to refute—then sat back and quietly enjoyed the awkwardness that followed.
What a terrifying person.
"I… forget it," Minato muttered in defeat.
Under the watchful stare of the ramen shop owner, he hurriedly stuffed the clumped noodles into his mouth, nearly burning his tongue in the process.
Still, even as he grimaced, a small smile tugged at his lips.
The taste of Ichiraku Ramen was as rich and comforting as ever—sweet, savory, and full of warmth.
Just like her smile.
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