The classroom was plunged into a suffocating silence. The students stared, their mouths agape, at the boy who had always been the embodiment of a gentle summer breeze. But the Minato Namikaze standing before them now was a stranger. His deep blue eyes were no longer kind; they were the eyes of a predator, cold and scanning the room for the next threat.
Under that piercing gaze, the bolder boys flinched, and many of the girls involuntarily retreated a few steps, their backs hitting their desks.
Is that... really Minato? The question hung in the air, unspoken but felt by all. Akasaka Yu's accomplices stood frozen, their bravado having evaporated the moment their leader hit the wall.
Behind Minato, Kushina's face was a mask of overwhelming shock. But deep within her wide eyes, a spark of something new began to flicker—a hint of joy she didn't yet have the words to name. She had lived her life as a target, a "Tomato" meant to be bruised. To have someone—especially someone she had dismissed as "weak"—tear through the world to stand in front of her was a sensation that left her breathless.
Mikoto Uchiha was equally stunned, though her shock was tempered by an analytical chill. She watched Minato's heaving chest, her mind racing. That speed... It wasn't just fast for an Academy student. It reminded her of the lower-ranking shinobi in her own clan—teenagers who had spent years under the tutelage of Uchiha Jonin. Minato was an orphan with no clan secrets, no bloodline, and no private masters.
How? she wondered. How long has he been hiding this?
"Cough... ack!"
The silence was broken by a wet, hacking cough. Akasaka Yu groaned, a few drops of blood staining the floor beneath him. He was alive—ninja-born children possessed a natural resilience far beyond ordinary civilians—but he remained slumped against the corridor wall, his legs refusing to obey him.
In the hallway, students from other classes had stopped to gape at the carnage. Among them stood a boy surrounded by a small entourage; he frowned at the sight of the cracked plaster where Akasaka had impacted.
Whoosh.
Before the boy could step into the room, a blur of green and tan appeared beside the fallen bully. Shirota-sensei half-squatted, his face etched with a sudden, sharp solemnity.
"Akasaka Yu, can you hear me?"
Shirota lifted the boy slightly, causing a cry of pain to echo through the hall. The teacher's eyes darted to the wall behind the boy. The masonry was spider-webbed with cracks. The force required to do that was staggering.
He looked through the back door into his classroom, his gaze locking onto Minato. In those azure eyes, Shirota didn't just see anger. He saw a trace of something far more dangerous—a cold, lethal intent that no seven-year-old should possess. It was the look of a man who had seen the abyss and was prepared to send others into it.
"Okamoto, Nakatani," Shirota called out, snapping two nearby boys out of their trance. "Get him to the infirmary. Now."
As they carried the groaning Akasaka away, Shirota stepped into the classroom. "Everyone, go to your lunch break. There's nothing more to see here."
The crowd dispersed. The wary boy in the hallway lingered for a second, staring at the cracked wall, before finally turning away.
Only when the room was clear of outsiders did the ferocity in Minato's eyes begin to bleed away. He knew that with Shirota-sensei present, the immediate threat to Kushina was over.
"Minato," Shirota said, walking toward him. "Tell me exactly what happened." His voice was firm, but there was no malice in it. He knew Minato wasn't the type to strike without provocation.
Minato didn't answer immediately. He lowered his head, his golden bangs shadowing his face as he lapsed into a heavy silence.
Shirota's expression soured, sensing the tension. But before he could press further, Mikoto ran forward. "Shirota-sensei! It wasn't Minato's fault. Akasaka and the others were bullying Kushina. He was only protecting her!"
Shirota looked at Mikoto, then at Kushina. The red-haired girl looked small, her head bowed and her cheeks flushed with a mix of shame and shyness.
The teacher sighed, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. "I see." He signaled to Mikoto. "Come with me, Mikoto. I need a full account of the details."
As they stepped into the hallway, Minato finally raised his head. He looked around the room and felt a sudden, sharp pang of loneliness. His classmates—the ones he had laughed with just yesterday—were looking at him with awe, yes, but also with a palpable fear.
The very thing he had tried to avoid had come to pass. He had hidden his strength because he didn't want to be a "genius" or a "monster." He wanted to be part of the village, a peer among peers. He wanted his strength to be a shield, but if the shield was too heavy, it would only push people away.
He let out a soft, weary sigh, then turned to the girl behind him. His face softened, the "beast" replaced by the warm, sun-drenched smile that was his trademark.
"Kushina," he said softly. "Are you alright?"
Kushina nodded instinctively, her gaze lingering on his face. She felt a sudden, strange impulse. She took a step forward and bowed deeply.
"I'm sorry... for what I thought before," she muttered.
Minato blinked, caught off guard. "Sorry? For what?"
He didn't know that she had initially written him off as a "girly, unreliable weakling." He only saw a girl who had been hurt.
Kushina didn't explain. She couldn't. Her heart was racing for a reason she didn't understand. No one had ever risked so much for her. No one had ever looked at her hair and seen something worth fighting for instead of something to mock.
She felt a lump in her throat, her eyes rippling with unshed tears.
"Thank you!"
She blurted the words out—her strange, rhythmic verbal habit trailing the sentence—and her face turned a shade of red that rivaled her hair. Before Minato could find his voice, she spun on her heel and sprinted out the back door, nearly colliding with Shirota and Mikoto as they returned.
Minato stood in the center of the quiet classroom, the echo of her "thank you" still ringing in the air, a small, puzzled smile playing on his lips.