Fourteen days until the finals.
Naruto stood in Training Ground Forty-Four, his shadow clones dispersing around him as the morning training session concluded. The Forest of Death had become his personal domain over the past weeks—the wildlife avoided him entirely now, and other ninja had learned to steer clear of his training grounds.
He had reached a plateau.
His techniques were refined to near-perfection. His Gate usage had stabilized at seven simultaneous openings with minimal recovery time. His elemental combinations flowed seamlessly. His speed, strength, and combat capability exceeded most jonin.
But it wasn't enough.
Neji Hyuuga was a prodigy of the Gentle Fist—a style specifically designed to exploit vulnerabilities in the chakra network. Even with Naruto's overwhelming advantages, a single well-placed strike to his tenketsu could disable his chakra flow, neutralize his techniques, and leave him vulnerable.
He needed an edge. Something that would make such strikes impossible to land.
The answer had been in his copied scroll all along.
The Flying Thunder God Technique.
He had studied its theoretical framework extensively. Understood the principles of space-time manipulation, the necessity of specialized seals, the chakra requirements for instantaneous teleportation. But the scroll's notes—his father's notes—had been incomplete. References to seal formulas that weren't included. Mentions of refinements developed after the initial documentation.
There was only one person in the village who might possess the missing information.
Naruto formed a simple hand seal and summoned a shadow clone.
"Find Jiraiya. Tell him I require his presence."
The clone nodded and vanished.
Jiraiya had been maintaining his distance as promised.
He had taken a room at a modest inn near the village center, spending his days monitoring his spy network and his nights trying not to drink himself into oblivion. The terms Naruto had set were clear—no approach without invitation—and he had honored them despite the constant ache of wanting to be closer.
When the shadow clone appeared before him, he nearly fell out of his chair.
"Naruto requests your presence at Training Ground Forty-Four."
The clone dispelled before Jiraiya could respond.
He sat frozen for several seconds, his mind racing through possibilities. Naruto was calling for him. Actively seeking him out. After weeks of rejection and barely-tolerated proximity, the boy had actually requested his presence.
Jiraiya was moving before he consciously decided to, his legendary speed carrying him toward the Forest of Death with desperate haste.
The training ground was quiet when Jiraiya arrived.
Naruto stood alone in a clearing, his posture relaxed, his expression carrying that familiar emptiness. But there was something different today—a focused intensity that suggested purpose rather than mere existence.
"You came quickly," Naruto observed.
"You called." Jiraiya kept his voice carefully neutral, not wanting to presume anything. "You said I should provide intelligence when requested. I assumed this was such a request."
"It is."
Silence stretched between them.
"What do you need?" Jiraiya asked finally.
"Information about the Flying Thunder God Technique."
Whatever Jiraiya had expected, it wasn't that. His eyes widened, old memories surfacing unbidden—Minato's grin as he demonstrated the technique for the first time, the flash of yellow that had earned him his legendary epithet, the way entire battlefields had fallen silent when the Fourth Hokage appeared.
"The Flying Thunder God," Jiraiya repeated slowly. "Your father's signature technique."
"Correct. The copied Scroll of Seals contains the theoretical framework and basic seal designs, but the documentation is incomplete. References are made to formula refinements that aren't included in the scroll."
"Those refinements were developed after Minato transcribed the initial notes. He kept them in a separate journal—personal records that were never added to the official documentation."
"Where is this journal?"
Jiraiya hesitated. "I have it. Minato gave it to me before the Nine-Tails attack, in case something happened to him. He wanted to ensure his techniques weren't lost."
"You've had it for twelve years."
The accusation was implicit. Jiraiya flinched.
"I... yes. I kept it safe. I always intended to give it to you when you were ready, when I could properly train you in its use—"
"The journal. Now."
No room for negotiation. No interest in explanations or justifications.
Jiraiya reached into his traveling pack and withdrew a leather-bound book, its pages yellowed with age but carefully preserved. The cover bore no markings, but the chakra signature embedded in its binding was unmistakably Minato's.
He held it out with trembling hands.
Naruto took it without ceremony, opening it to the first page. His father's handwriting filled the paper—precise, elegant, carrying the personality of a man he had never known.
"This contains the complete seal formulas?"
"Everything Minato developed. The original technique, his refinements, variations he experimented with." Jiraiya's voice was thick with emotion. "He spent years perfecting those seals. They're his life's work."
Naruto flipped through the pages, his analytical mind absorbing the information with practiced speed.
"The three-pronged kunai design. The marker formulas. The chakra threading patterns." He paused on a particular diagram. "He developed a method for placing markers on living subjects."
"For protecting important people. He could teleport to anyone bearing his seal, no matter where they were."
"Useful."
Jiraiya watched as Naruto continued his examination, hope warring with caution in his chest.
"Will you... will you need help understanding any of it? I worked with Minato during the development process. I know how the techniques function, even if I can't perform them myself."
Naruto didn't look up from the journal.
"Explain the chakra threading pattern on page forty-seven. The notation is unclear."
It was a request. An actual request for his assistance.
Jiraiya moved closer, looking at the indicated page. His throat tightened as he recognized the specific formula—one of Minato's most elegant innovations.
"This pattern creates a resonance between the user and the marker seal," he explained, his voice steadying as he fell into the familiar role of instructor. "Standard space-time techniques require you to visualize the destination, which limits speed. Minato's innovation was creating a... a pull, I suppose. The marker doesn't just mark a location—it creates a connection that you can feel. You don't teleport to where the seal is. You teleport to where the connection leads."
Naruto absorbed this information, his eyes moving across the diagrams with new understanding.
"The connection is bidirectional."
"Yes. That's how he could sense when someone bearing his marker was in danger. The seal would... resonate differently under threat."
"He could feel the emotional state of marked individuals through the seal."
"In a limited way, yes. Stress, fear, danger—strong emotions created ripples in the connection." Jiraiya paused. "He used it to protect your mother. She bore his marker from the day they were married. He always knew when she needed him."
Naruto's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his posture—a subtle tension that hadn't been there before.
"Continue. The formula on page fifty-three."
They worked through the journal together, Jiraiya explaining the context and reasoning behind each innovation while Naruto absorbed the technical details. Hours passed without either of them noticing, the sun tracking across the sky as master's knowledge met prodigy's understanding.
It wasn't reconciliation.
It wasn't forgiveness.
But it was something.
By late afternoon, Naruto had memorized the entire journal.
"I require materials for seal creation," he said, closing the book. "High-quality chakra-conductive ink. Specialized kunai matching these specifications." He held up a page showing the three-pronged design. "And sufficient practice space for teleportation training."
"I can provide all of that." Jiraiya hesitated. "The materials are expensive. The kunai in particular require a master smith—"
"Cost is irrelevant. Procure them."
"I will. But Naruto..." Jiraiya gathered his courage. "The Flying Thunder God is incredibly dangerous to learn. Minato had two near-fatal accidents during development. If you rush the process—"
"My healing factor will compensate for most errors. And I have shadow clones to test dangerous variations without risking my primary body."
"That's... actually quite practical."
"I know."
Silence fell between them again.
"Is there anything else you need?" Jiraiya asked.
Naruto considered the question.
"No. You've fulfilled the terms of our arrangement. You may leave."
The dismissal stung, but Jiraiya had expected nothing more. He turned to go, then paused.
"Naruto. For what it's worth... your father would be proud. Not just of your power, but of how you've survived. How you've grown despite everything."
"You've said this before. Multiple times."
"Because it's true. And because I hope someday you'll believe it."
Naruto's empty eyes met his.
"Belief requires emotional investment. I have none."
"Maybe not yet." Jiraiya smiled sadly. "But you called me today. You asked for my help. That's more than you were willing to do a week ago."
"I required information you possessed. It was pragmatic, not personal."
"Was it?" The Sannin's smile didn't waver. "You could have found other sources. Could have researched independently. Could have done any number of things that didn't involve speaking to me."
"The journal was the most efficient source of complete information."
"And that's the only reason you called."
It wasn't a question.
Naruto didn't answer.
Jiraiya nodded slowly and walked away, leaving Naruto alone with his father's legacy.
That night, Naruto sat in his apartment, the journal open before him.
Seven devoted women filled the small space—Anko preparing dinner, the others arranged in their customary positions around him. They had learned not to interrupt when he was studying, content simply to be present.
His eyes moved across his father's handwriting, absorbing not just the technical content but something else as well.
Minato Namikaze had been meticulous. Every note was precisely written, every diagram carefully rendered. But scattered throughout were personal observations—moments of frustration, breakthroughs celebrated with exclamation points, jokes that must have made sense in context.
The journal wasn't just a technical document.
It was a window into his father's mind.
Third attempt at the resonance formula failed spectacularly. Kushina says I'm lucky I still have eyebrows. She's not wrong.
Finally cracked the bidirectional sensing problem! Celebrated with ramen. Kushina had four bowls. I had six. No regrets.
Tested the protection application today. Kushina pretended to be in danger just to see if I'd come. I did. She laughed for ten minutes. Worth it.
Small glimpses of a life Naruto had never known. A father who loved his mother. A man who approached legendary techniques with humor and humanity.
Naruto felt nothing about these observations.
But he noted them.
Filed them away alongside all the other data he collected about the world.
And somewhere in the vast emptiness inside him, something stirred at the edges of his awareness.
Not quite feeling.
But perhaps the ghost of what feeling might become.
"You're thinking about something," Anko observed, setting a plate of food beside him.
"The journal contains personal observations alongside technical data."
"Your father's personality, preserved in his notes."
"Yes." Naruto's eyes remained fixed on the page. "He appears to have experienced significant emotional satisfaction from his work and his relationships."
"Most people do."
"I don't understand it. The emotional component is... foreign."
Anko settled beside him, her transformed figure pressing against his side with familiar warmth.
"You don't have to understand it. Not yet. Just observe it. Let it sit in your mind without trying to analyze it."
"That seems inefficient."
"Maybe. But some things can't be understood through analysis alone." She reached out and gently closed the journal. "Eat first. Study later. Your body needs fuel."
Naruto allowed himself to be guided away from the journal, accepting the food Anko provided with mechanical precision.
But his mind remained fixed on the question she had inadvertently raised.
Some things couldn't be understood through analysis.
If that was true—if there were aspects of existence that required something other than observation and calculation—then perhaps his approach to his own condition was fundamentally flawed.
Perhaps feeling couldn't be reasoned into existence.
Perhaps it had to be... experienced.
The thought was uncomfortable.
But it was also, in its own way, progress.
Thirteen days until the finals.
Naruto would master the Flying Thunder God.
He would face Neji Hyuuga with power beyond anything the prodigy could imagine.
And he would continue his slow, uncertain journey toward something that might eventually resemble humanity.
One step at a time.
One observation at a time.
One small crack in the emptiness at a time.