"Father."
Hinata's voice was as faint as a passing breeze. The moment she stepped out of the reassuring aura surrounding Naruto, her posture collapsed into a deep, submissive bow. She hurried to Hiashi's side like a child caught in a shameful act, her shoulders hunching instinctively as if to make herself a smaller target for the judgment she felt was coming.
The biting night wind was nothing compared to the sudden chill in her heart. She had slipped away from the compound in a moment of rare rebellion, and seeing her father standing here—waiting in the snow—she was crushed by a wave of crushing guilt.
Father must be furious, she thought, her mind spiraling. Her memories drifted back to the sparring match earlier that day. Faced with her younger sister Hanabi's fierce, unrelenting strikes, Hinata's Byakugan had seen every opening, every flaw in the attack. But her heart had faltered. She simply could not bring herself to drive a Gentle Fist strike into her sister's small frame.
In the world of the Hyuga, hesitation was a fatal defect. A loss was a loss, and to the clan elders, her soft-heartedness was a stain on the Main Family's prestige. She remembered the icy sigh Hiashi had exhaled after the match—the undisguised disappointment in those pale, piercing eyes. She accepted his anger as a natural law, a just punishment for her own incompetence.
"Oh no..." Across the path, Naruto's analytical mind was racing. The moment he locked eyes with the legendary Head of the Hyuga, his internal alarm bells shrieked. Dragging the clan's heiress around the village after dark and being cornered at a crossroad by her father was the textbook definition of a diplomatic disaster.
I'm done for, he thought, a flash of genuine panic flickering in his mind. He's going to think I'm some street punk luring his daughter into trouble.
But the panic lasted less than two seconds. Naruto's "Underworld" persona—the cold, calculating strategist—immediately overrode the fear. No. Why am I panicking? I've done nothing wrong. I protected her from bullies, treated her to a meal, and was in the process of ensuring her safe return. I have the moral high ground.
Naruto's back straightened imperceptibly. The awkwardness on his face melted into a look of calm, respectful confidence. Though he was acutely aware of the overwhelming chakra pressure Hiashi exerted, his gaze remained steady.
Hiashi watched his daughter scurry toward him, looking as though she wished the earth would swallow her whole. He felt a rare, fleeting pang of heartache. He shifted his gaze to the blond boy who was working so hard to maintain his composure.
He saw Naruto's silly, honest grin—the perfect "Little Sun" mask.
After a heavy silence, instead of the scolding Hinata expected, Hiashi gave Naruto a slight, unmistakable nod. When he spoke, his voice was level, betraying no emotion, yet the words stunned them both.
"Thank you for looking after my daughter."
"No problem at all!" Naruto replied instantly. He puffed out his chest and gave a thumbs-up, his voice ringing with a confidence that seemed to push back the dark. "I'm the man who's going to be Hokage! Protecting the people of this village is exactly what I do!"
The gesture—the blunt, almost reckless enthusiasm—caused Hiashi's eyes to flicker. So, the reports are true, he mused. He has been training with Might Guy. Hiashi recognized the trademark "Power of Youth" pose immediately. He wondered briefly if the boy had inherited Guy's philosophy along with his physical conditioning. But as his gaze lingered on the boy's golden hair and those clear, cerulean eyes, Hiashi's mental fortress wavered.
Those features... they truly are yours, Minato.
A memory surfaced: a gentle yet unstoppable figure, a hero who had guarded every corner of the village with a sun-like smile. The Yellow Flash. Minato Namikaze and his wife Kushina had given everything for Konoha, yet their son—an orphan who should have been heralded as a prince—had survived on the scraps of a village that viewed him as a monster.
An indescribable mix of regret and fatherly gloom surged within Hiashi. He sent a silent thought toward the Pure Land: Minato, can you see him? Your son carries your will. He loves this village just as you did.
For a fraction of a second, the lines around Hiashi's mouth softened. A genuine, fatherly smile nearly broke through his stern facade. In his mind, an invitation was already forming: Please, come to our home tomorrow so we may thank you properly. He could imagine the light that would return to Hinata's eyes if she were allowed a friend.
But the words died in his throat.
He was not merely a father; he was the Head of the Hyuga. That title was a set of iron shackles. He had to answer for the safety of the entire clan. Getting too close to a Jinchuriki—especially one so closely monitored by the Third Hokage and the "Root" of Danzo Shimura—was a political minefield. Any perceived intimacy could be twisted into an accusation of the Hyuga attempting to seize control of the Nine-Tails.
For the stability of the clan, he could not take that risk.
The unformed smile faded. The planes of his face hardened once more into a mask of granite. He gave Naruto one last, formal nod, then turned to his daughter.
"Let's go home," he said quietly.