The sun had long dipped behind the hills by the time Naruto returned to the Senju compound. The air was cooling fast, the stone pathways sti
The sun had long dipped behind the hills by the time Naruto returned to the Senju compound. The air was cooling fast, the stone pathways still warm from the day's heat. A faint breeze stirred the trees lining the walkway, and the sky above was streaked with soft purples and gold.
He stretched his arms above his head with a long yawn, the comfort of ramen still heavy in his stomach. Ichiraku's had been quieter than usual tonight, which he didn't mind nowadays. Old man Teuchi had given him an extra boiled egg perhaps knowing the stressful mission he completed. Ayame had just smiled gently the way she always did.
It had been a long few days.
He opened the gate to the Senju compound, his sandals scuffing over the stone. The garden lanterns flickered to life on their own as the chakra seals recognized him. It was home now—quiet, and still—but it was his.
Before he could slide the door open, he heard it.
A soft rustle of movement above.
A flicker of shadow on the rooftop.
He turned before the figure landed behind him without a sound.
ANBU.
"Uzumaki Naruto," the voice said—calm, clipped. "The Hokage has summoned you."
Naruto blinked. "Now?"
"Yes. She requested you come immediately."
He frowned slightly, his instincts rising. Tsunade didn't call him at night unless it was an urgent matter.
Naruto stared for a beat, then gave a slow nod.
"…Fine."
The walk to the Hokage Tower was short, when he reached the tower, the guards didn't stop him. The door to Tsunade's office was already ajar.
Tsunade was standing near her desk, arms folded, her expression unreadable. Jiraiya stood a few feet away near the window, half-shadowed by the lights glow.
Naruto stepped inside and closed the door without needing to be told.
"You wanted to see me, Tsunade-sama?" he asked, voice even.
"…Is this about the prisoner?" he asked. "The Kumo guy?"
"No," Tsunade said. "It's not a mission briefing."
Jiraiya's voice was quieter than usual when he spoke. "This is personal."
Naruto tilted his head, confused now. "Okay…"
Tsunade looked at him, and for a moment, he thought she might hesitate. But she didn't.
"You deserve to know something," she said. "Something that should've been told to you years ago."
Naruto's expression didn't change—but his right hand twitched slightly by his side, thinking of the Third Hokage and his lies.
Jiraiya started. "It's about your parents."
That got a flicker.
He didn't react outwardly, but his eyes narrowed, just a little.
"…Go on."
"Your father," Jiraiya said simply, "and the man who sealed the Nine-Tails into you was Namikaze Minato. The Fourth Hokage."
Jiraiya continued "He made me your Godfather"
The words didn't echo.
They landed flat—heavy, final.
Naruto didn't move.
"…What?" he said after a long pause.
Silence.
Even the faint sound of wind outside the window had faded.
Naruto stared at them, eyes locked on hers as if waiting for the punchline.
But no one said anything.
"That's not—" His voice caught. "That can't be. Why would he do—?"
Jiraiya said quietly. "He believed you'll be able to control the kyubi and its power."
That made Naruto quiet.
"You believed that too, didn't you?" he said his voice cold, looking directly at Jiraiya.
The sannin met his eyes. "I did."
Naruto's voice was low, the kind that carried more than shouting ever could. "You believed I could control a demon that killed hundreds. Because of my bloodline?"
"No," Jiraiya said. "Because of you."
"You didn't know me," Naruto said, voice sharper now. "I was a baby."
Jiraiya didn't reply.
"You handed me a sealed monster, gave me a name with no face, and left me to figure it out alone—hoping I'd be strong enough to survive it."
Tsunade started to speak, but Naruto held up a hand—not angrily. Just… firm.
"I'm not blaming them. Not my parents. They were dying. They made a choice in the middle of hell."
He turned back to Jiraiya. "But you weren't dying. You were alive. And you made the same choice."
"I watched over you."
"From a distance," Naruto cut in. "Always watching. Never speaking. You gambled everything on me becoming strong enough."
A pause.
"I became strong. But not because of you."
That landed heavier than the rest.
Jiraiya didn't flinch. But he didn't defend himself either.
Tsunade watched the two of them in silence, her fingers curling where they gripped her sleeves.
Naruto turned away briefly, jaw set. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. Measured.
"I carried that thing inside me for years. I was hated for something I didn't ask for. I trained until my bones cracked because I thought I had to earn being alive. I fought people twice my age before I hit thirteen."
"You think I was lucky to have the Kyubi?" His tone was dry now. Bitter. "You think I should be grateful for being chosen?"
Jiraiya shook his head. "No. I never thought that."
Naruto looked away. "Good."
Another long silence settled in.
And then, quietly he started.
"…And my mom?"
Tsunade nodded and started hesitantly. "Kushina Uzumaki. Your clan name comes from her. She was the jinchuriki before you. Stubborn just like you."
Jiraiya gave the faintest smile at that. "She once broke my ribs for stealing her rice ball."
Naruto didn't laugh.
But stared at Tsunade with scrunity.
The silence that followed was different.
After a while, Naruto spoke again—his voice low.
"Is there something wrong?"
Tsunade didn't answer right away.
Then began slowly: "The shinobi squad didn't find her body anywhere in the forest, neither near the sealing ground nor the place where they found Minato's body."
Naruto didn't reply.
He just nodded once.
And after a moment, Tsunade added, "I didn't tell you all this earlier to protect you, Naruto. But I'm telling you now because I trust you."
His breath left him slow.
"…Thanks."
He turned toward the door, but paused before reaching it.
His voice quiet but firm.
"…Am I like him or her?"
Tsunade didn't hesitate. "No."
"You aren't like any of them," she said.
And that was enough for him. He didn't say anything more.
When he opened the door, there was no weight on his shoulders.
Just truth.
And that, at last, finally belonged to him.