Naruto Shippuden: girl from whirlpools

coming of Age

Chapter Eight: Coming of Age

Usually Minato liked to keep his sensei up to date on his health and thoughts or seek his advice when he was troubled, but for once, Minato would not pick up his pen. He didn't want to tell Jiraiya that he'd killed a child, and that now whenever a new wave of enemies came over the horizon and his kunai found a new mark, he had doubts about what he was doing. For instance, what was really the difference between taking the life of a child and that of an adult? Why did life seem more precious the fewer years it had been on this planet? Surely those who were older, who had accumulated more life experience and responsibilities, who likely had people at home who loved and depended on them, were more valuable? If the people he was fighting were only here because, like him, they had been ordered to, were they really his enemies, or were they just another passive tool like one sword rebounding off another in the battlefield?

He'd never thought long and hard about what he was doing out here. He was here because he'd been told to come here, and like a good shinobi he did all that was asked of him without question. He did not know who had started the war between Konoha and Kiri; he'd never really cared. Everyone he knew said it was Kiri, but what if everyone in Kiri was saying it was Konoha?

But doubt in itself was pointless. He had to fight because if they lost the war they lost Konoha. When he met his opponent's eyes, he saw ferocity and a hatred that could not be extinguished with reason. Minato carried on killing because it was the only thing he could do, though sometimes at night he wanted to laugh at how ludicrous the world was. Killing to maintain peace. He used to think the ends justified the means, but for months now... years in fact, nothing had changed. There was no end to it. There just was no end.

Mostly, however, he wondered if he was just scared. He knew he would not be forgetting any time soon the night when he was dragged beneath the water by a boy half his age, who flowed around him almost as if he too was water. Minato had been out of his element. He'd thought he was dead, and he'd lashed out without finesse or strategy. Only by pure dumb luck had he survived and he still wasn't sure how. This wasn't like the time he'd nearly been assassinated by the jonin from the rain country. Back then he'd still felt some acceptance that adults were stronger, that this was the natural order of things, but expected that when he became an adult, the threat would have passed.

To find himself so close to mercy at the hands of a baby...?

For the first time in his life he was shaken, but his solution remained the same; he threw himself into training. It was not enough that he was already fast and strong and smart. He needed to be faster, and stronger, and smarter. He needed to approach every opponent as if it could be his last. There would be no more complacency, and no more underestimation of others. He felt ashamed, after Jiraiya had confided in him that power bred arrogance but told Minato that he was different, because now he could see that his sensei was wrong. He'd always thought himself better than others. He'd shied from the responsibilities the Hokage had represented and he'd naively assumed that just being a tool would be enough to change the world.

That was where Danzou was right. Someone like him could not undo generations of hatred and war with only than a knife in his hand.

This tool's life was just not enough for him anymore.

When Shikaku him at the edge of the camp, tying tags to half a dozen kunai, he approached warily. "Hey, Minato," he greeted, lifting a nonchalant hand.

"Hey," Minato responded without looking up.

"Are you ok, man?" Shikaku asked him.

Minato finally glanced at him in surprise. "Mm? Of course, I am," he said. "Why?"