The night in Konoha was quiet — deceptively so. The last traces of daylight faded behind the Hokage Monument as lanterns flickered to life, casting the training grounds on the village's edge in a soft silver glow.
Izuna stood alone in a small clearing, surrounded by old trees. His breath misted in the cold night air as he moved through precise taijutsu forms, the faint whish of his kunai slicing the silence.
"Hiraishin. Mangekyou. Fūinjutsu…"
He ticked off the pieces in his mind, eyes narrowing as the blade struck a target dead center.
"So much progress — but there's still one thing missing."
He let his Sharingan flicker to life — the crimson glow catching the moonlight as it traced every motion in the dark.
Behind him, a twig snapped. Izuna didn't flinch.
"Training alone again?"
He turned as Minato Namikaze stepped into the clearing, hands tucked casually into his flak jacket pockets, blond hair catching the pale light.
"Yo," Izuna said simply, lowering his stance.
Minato grinned. "Yo. Figured I'd find you out here. Everyone else is asleep, and you're still sharpening your kunai."
Izuna cracked a faint smirk. "Perfection doesn't sleep."
Minutes later, they stood together in a wide clearing under the moon. Minato raised his palm, chakra gathering into a swirling sphere, brighter than before.
"This is what I wanted to show you," Minato said, voice brimming with quiet excitement. "I've pushed the Rasengan further — more chakra, better control. But there's still something missing."
Izuna stepped closer, Sharingan spinning gently as he analyzed the sphere. "Bigger, but your chakra flow is spiking on the outer shell. Try layering it — steady pulses, like a heartbeat."
Minato's eyes widened. "Heartbeat rotation… You're a genius."
He closed his eyes, focused — the sphere flickered, tightened, then pulsed rhythmically in his palm. A faint hum filled the air. Minato hurled a marked kunai at an old stump — vanished — reappeared in a flash of yellow light and slammed the Rasengan forward.
The impact roared through the clearing — bark and splinters flying as a deep crater split the stump in half.
Minato landed lightly, breathing hard, but his grin was huge. "Perfect. You always see the thing I miss."
Izuna shrugged. "You'd figure it out eventually."
Minato clapped him on the shoulder. "Maybe. But it's faster with you."
They sat on a fallen log afterward, breath misting in the night air.
Minato leaned back, glancing sideways at him. "So… what about your seal? The Mangekyou one you've been working on for so long."
Izuna's smile faded a little. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. "Still not done. It works — in theory. But if I push too much chakra through it, the backlash could be worse than the blindness."
Minato nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "A seal that slows the chakra flow to your eyes… that's risky work. But if anyone can do it, it's you."
Izuna gave a small huff of laughter. "I appreciate the optimism. Kushina's been helping me, but even Uzumaki seals can't break nature's rules easily."
Minato smiled. "Well, just don't blind yourself before you figure it out."
Izuna rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the faith."
They fell into a companionable silence. The forest around them whispered in the breeze, leaves rustling above their heads like an old lullaby.
"You know," Minato said after a moment, his voice softer, "sometimes I wish I could do what you do. Just sit here and push myself until the pieces make sense."
Izuna gave him a sideways look. "You're doing fine. You don't need me to tell you that."
Minato grinned. "Doesn't hurt to hear it from you."
He stood up, dusting off his flak jacket. "Anyway — don't keep all that brilliance locked up here in the dark. You're not alone, Izuna. Not anymore."
Izuna tilted his head. "You sound like Kushina."
Minato laughed. "Guess her speeches rub off on me."
When they parted ways at the edge of the trees, Izuna lingered in the clearing for a moment longer, staring up at the pale moon.
"The seal… the eyes… the power…"
He closed his Sharingan, letting the red fade to black.
"It's all pointless if I can't protect them when it matters. I'll make it work. I have to."
Above him, the stars blinked cold and silent — guardians of a promise no one else would ever hear.