Qianyu had just wanted to find a quiet spot to train, to consolidate the insights he'd gained from his fight with Kuroiwa Tatsuji in Yugakure.
He never expected that the spot he'd randomly picked would already be occupied by Minato Namikaze.
The last thing Qianyu wanted was to train in front of Minato. It just didn't sit right.
He turned to leave, to find another clearing.
A shunshin flicker. Minato appeared in front of him, blocking his path.
Qianyu's expression soured. "What? More lectures? Your own teacher gave up on lecturing me. You think you can?"
Minato shook his head. "No more lectures. Like Jiraiya-sensei said… in war, what you did wasn't wrong. Just a ruthless path to victory. I don't agree with your methods, but I can't call them wrong either. Our philosophies are just… different."
Qianyu's eyebrow twitched, almost imperceptibly. "Huh. Sounds like Jiraiya-sama's been doing his job. Friendly reminder, though. Try to stop me on the battlefield like last time, and I won't hold back. Now, I've got training to do. Move."
Minato didn't move. His gaze was steady, intense. "Actually… there's one more thing."
Qianyu sensed it then—a sharp, focused intent. "Oh? You looking for a fight?"
"Not a fight. A spar," Minato corrected, his voice serious. "It's been years since our last one. I want to see. I need to see… just how big the gap between us is now."
Qianyu looked at him. Looked for a long moment. Then he laughed, a short, dismissive sound. "Forget it, Namikaze. You don't interest me right now."
If Minato had mastered the Flying Thunder God Technique, or Sage Mode… then maybe. That would be worth his time.
But right now? All Minato had were a few wind release jutsu. His speed had hit its ceiling—a ceiling far below Qianyu's own.
As for the Rasengan… that was a whole other problem. Whether Kushina Uzumaki would even become a jinchuriki was up in the air. The Rasengan was born from Minato's observation of a tailed beast bomb. No Nine-Tails, no inspiration. The technique might never exist at all.
So no. This proposed spar held zero appeal. The outcome was a foregone conclusion.
Seeing Qianyu's refusal, Minato frowned, then pressed. "Qianyu. I know the gap is large. But I need to know how large. I need to measure the distance I have to cover. Please. Grant me this."
Qianyu gave him a strange look. "Aren't you worried? That seeing the chasm might break you? Make you give up?"
"Never," Minato stated, firm and clear. "If that happens, then like you once said, it's my own weakness. No one else's fault."
Qianyu rubbed his chin, eyeing the blond ninja. "Is that so? Well… the spar itself bores me. But the thought of you getting all depressed and mopey? That I find interesting. Alright. You've got a deal."
A flicker of relief, of anticipation, crossed Minato's face. He knew he was outmatched. He just needed the scale.
They turned in unison, walking fifteen paces apart. They turned again, facing each other across the clearing.
Minato's fighting spirit was palpable, his stance ready. "I'm prepared, Qianyu."
Qianyu rested his hand loosely on the hilt of his ninjato. "Good timing. I've been working on a new move. Haven't quite nailed it yet."
He tilted his head. "Even unfinished, though… you probably can't handle it. Might end in a second. Want me to let you get a few moves in first? Wouldn't want you to leave all frustrated, having done nothing."
Minato's expression hardened. "If this is a spar, we fight as equals. Anything else is meaningless."
"Your funeral. Can't wait to see that crushed look on your face."
Qianyu's posture shifted. His hand hovered over the hilt, body coiling into a low crouch.
Minato's eyes narrowed, instantly recognizing the stance.
First Form: Thunderclap and Flash.
Qianyu's signature opening move. Faster than years ago, yes. But Minato knew its weakness. Even with terrain-assisted redirection, the attack was fundamentally linear. Predictable. He could react.
His hands flew into seals—the hand signs for a summoning technique. To Minato, the real threats were Qianyu's later Thunder Breathing forms, his fire jutsu, the Sharingan. He needed backup. A toad from Mount Myōboku would even the odds.
His fingers moved. The final seal was almost—
Qianyu moved.
"Thunder Breathing. First Form: Thunderclap and Flash. God Speed."
The ultimate flash. The fastest slash.
BOOM!
The thunderclap was deafening, visceral. Feet slammed. Ground charred. Two deep, smoldering footprints were left behind where Qianyu had stood.
Under his pants, the muscles and veins in his legs bulged with terrifying, concentrated power.
An instant.
For Minato, it was only an instant. A blur of afterimage and overwhelming force. He couldn't tell if Qianyu had moved or if he was still there.
Then—impact.
A world of white-hot pain exploded in his gut. The air left his lungs in a violent rush. He was airborne, hurtling backward.
CRACK-THUD!
His back smashed into a thick tree trunk. The wood splintered. He slumped to the ground, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat. Blood welled in his mouth. He coughed, a red spray staining the grass.
Vision swimming, he forced his head up.
Qianyu stood across the clearing. His ninjato… was still in its sheath. The scabbard itself was held loosely in his hand.
Not a draw. Not a slash.
He'd just… raised it. Used pure, speed-forged momentum. The scabbard had been a blunt instrument.
If the blade had been drawn… Minato knew his ribs would be shattered. He'd be much worse than just bruised and winded.
His eyes drifted to the ground. To the charred, blackened line cutting across the grass. To those two impossibly deep footprints.
What kind of force…?
His gaze returned to Qianyu, a mix of pain and dawning realization clouding his blue eyes.
This… was the unfinished technique?