"Minato-kun? Out for your training this early again? As expected of the genius headed for the Ninja Academy!"
On a street in the Hidden Leaf Village, an elderly woman carrying a basket of vegetables smiled at the blonde child emerging from an alleyway. The boy was mid-stretch, his limbs limber and lean.
The boy, Minato, nodded politely. The last lingering traces of sleepiness vanished from his face, replaced seamlessly by a brilliant, sun-kissed smile. It was a look of pure, clean innocence—accentuated by the endearing gap in his lower jaw where a baby tooth had recently fallen out.
"Good morning, Granny Matsui. Though I'm still not as early as you; I heard you setting up your stall just a moment ago."
Upon hearing this, Granny Matsui feigned a look of mock horror. "Oh dear! I didn't wake our future Ninja Lord from his slumber, did I? What a sin that would be."
Minato knew she was teasing. He chuckled and shook his head. "Granny Matsui, I'll stop by to buy some vegetables on my way back later. Please make sure to save some for me."
"Of course, of course. I'll pick out the tenderest leaves just for you."
Granny Matsui waved him off with a smile of her own, revealing a few missing teeth. She couldn't help but sigh inwardly—why couldn't her own grandson be half as charming as Minato?
Minato made his rounds, greeting several other stall owners along the street and effectively pre-ordering his ingredients for the day. The local vendors were more than happy to look after such a polite and endearing child.
However, as he left his home street behind, the easy smile on Minato's face gradually faded, replaced by a look of sober focus. Not long ago, he had received his admission letter to the Ninja Academy. Tomorrow was the official start of the term.
He was now a shinobi-in-training. Ever since the letter arrived, Minato had been consciously pushing his physical conditioning.
He was acutely aware of his standing: he was a commoner. He lacked the prestigious lineage, the secret techniques, and the vast resources of the great clans. If he didn't want to fall behind during his time at the Academy, hard work was his only currency.
Besides, the shinobi world had been restless lately. Even within the safety of Konohagakure, Minato's naturally sharp intuition allowed him to sense the shifting atmosphere.
Lately, one rarely saw shinobi leisurely strolling through the streets. Most were in a constant state of hurry, their expressions grim, clearly burdened by the weight of urgent missions.
Not only that, but he'd overheard shopkeepers complaining about rising freight costs. It seemed the major merchant caravans were clearing their transport lines to prioritize other cargo—supplies that weren't meant for civilian shelves.
Minato had never experienced war, but everything he saw and heard filled him with a quiet anxiety. Standing at the intersection, he looked toward the distant Hokage Rock and whispered, "I hope I'm just overthinking things."
Shaking off the heavy thoughts, Minato did a final check of his physical condition. Satisfied that his ankles, knees, and joints were sufficiently warmed up, he began to regulate his breathing, preparing for the real workout.
He didn't know what kind of specialized training the clan children received before the Academy, nor did he have a perfect roadmap for growth. But he knew one thing for certain: speed, strength, and endurance were the three pillars no shinobi could do without.
Just as he was about to start, Minato glanced toward the corner of the opposite street and murmured to himself, "Are you working this hard because you see the same future I do?"
The moment the words left his lips, a small figure drifted around the corner with a stylish, sweeping turn. It was a boy with messy, blue-white hair—a natural perm—sporting a smile every bit as bright as Minato's.
Tramp, tramp, tramp—
Seeing the boy appear, Minato's smile returned. He tightened his fists. For some reason, seeing this boy—who was clearly his own age—always filled him with a sudden burst of motivation.
"Yo! Minato-san! Out training this early? As expected of you—totally impressive! Then let's see who's faster getting to the Academy gates!"
The boy whipped past Minato like a gust of wind, his challenge trailing behind him like a surround-sound echo. Minato watched his back for a moment, nodded, and then took off in the opposite direction.
Technically, the boy's route was the direct path to the Academy. Minato, however, had his own established training circuit. He had followed this route for a month and hadn't changed it once, despite the boy's daily invitations.
Minato didn't know how the boy knew his name, nor did he actually know the boy. For the first few days, he hadn't even responded. Or rather, he hadn't had the chance to respond—the boy never actually stopped to chat.
But over time, Minato had grown increasingly curious about him. From this stranger, he felt the faint pull of a bond—the kind one might call friendship.
Minato felt a pang of guilt. He realized he still didn't even know the boy's name. Thinking of this, he skidded to a halt and looked back at the retreating figure.
He must be a student at the Academy, too. I'll find out his name tomorrow regardless, but... I'd rather become friends today.
Decision made, Minato pivoted. He abandoned his usual route and gave chase. Fortunately, the boy wasn't sprinting at full capacity; it was a long-distance pace rather than a dash.
It took some effort, but Minato gradually closed the gap. The boy in front seemed to sense him. When he turned his head and saw Minato, he blinked in surprise before flashing a wide grin, revealing two rows of white teeth with a single gap of his own.
He even gave Minato a thumbs-up. Tragically, because he was looking backward, his foot clipped a discarded tin can. He stumbled, nearly face-planting into the dirt.
His speed plummeted. Minato caught up just in time to steady him. The two shared a brief look, not saying a word. With a sudden, unspoken understanding, they both turned their gaze toward the Academy gates, now less than two hundred meters away.
Tramp, tramp, tramp—
Tramp, tramp, tramp—
The moment Minato let go, both boys accelerated. Their eyes locked onto the large kanji for "Shinobi" etched above the gates. Their smiles vanished, replaced by sheer, competitive grit.
Two hundred meters... one hundred and fifty... one hundred... fifty...
In the final sprint, neither boy having received formal shinobi training, their balance wavered under the sheer force of their speed. They looked a bit like clumsy pups scrambling for a bowl of food, struggling to keep their footing as they neared the finish.
Thud!
Almost simultaneously, their feet hit the weathered wooden step in front of the gate. They looked at each other and then lunged forward, palms slapping against the Academy's main door.
Slap!
Slap!
"As expected... Minato-san!" The boy pulled his hand back, clutching his side and wheezing with a grin. "You're seriously fast. But this time... I win!"
Minato didn't care much about the result. He was also doubled over, hands on his ribs, trying to catch his breath.
After a long moment, Minato finally straightened up. He extended a hand toward the boy. "I'm Minato Namikaze. Can I... ask your name?"
The boy looked at the extended hand but didn't shake it. Instead, he met it with a sharp high-five. It was an unconventional greeting that clearly caught Minato off guard.
Before Minato could process the gesture, the boy laughed.
"I'm Tatsuma. Sakamoto Tatsuma."
As the words fell, a notification pinged inside Tatsuma's head.
[Ding!]
[Condition Met: Praise and defeat your opponent.]
[Attributes dropped: Speed +3, Physique +2. Would you like to collect?]
"Yes!"