"Your main attacks—"
"Are the toppers to my basic attack chain, I know," I grumbled, wiping some dirt and sweat off my forehead. It was a hot summer day in Konoha. The sun was peeking well over the treetops. The sky was cloudless. Birds were singing, animals were scurrying about—even the delivery men had an extra spring in their step. "Kind of hard to get to that point if you're blocking all my attacks, sensei."
"An opponent won't wait for you to set up your main attacks," Kakashi repeated, the words sounding robotic as they breezed past his mask. It was an old and tired phrase—one he'd said to me six times in the past hour alone. "You're not training to learn combos. You're training to fight. To kill. If you can't execute those moves when you're fighting a stronger, faster opponent, what good are those moves in the first place?"
This again. I'd heard this spiel from him so many times, I was pretty sure I could recite it in my sleep. I rolled my eyes, "But how do I find the moves if you're kicking my ass up and down this field?"
"You dig deep. You fight harder," He crossed his arms over his tank top. We'd ditched our jackets somewhere between the third and fourth set. Lean, sinewy muscle shimmered with sweat as he flexed his muscles and settled into a low stance. He looked dangerous. Ready to leap, like a jungle cat. "Again."
Dirt erupted beneath my sandals as I barreled toward Kakashi, my sword trailing behind me like a shadow.
I'd done some research in the past week about kenjutsu and borrowed some books from the library to get a foundational base on it.
The sword I'd stolen from that vendor, my tanto, was mainly used in addition to longer swords back in the day. Samurai, for example, used the shorter blade in addition to their longer ones.
Having a long blade meant they could maintain healthy distances, but the weight of the blade oftentimes left them open to being rushed. Hiding a secondary blade, like a tanto, meant that they could still defend themselves well in close combat.
I flung myself into the air, opening up the fight with a barrage of kicks. Kakashi blocked them all easily, so I springboarded off his arms, corkscrewing through the air and snapping one of Minato's molds in place.
Snake. Ram. Monkey. Boar. Horse. Tiger.
A swell of chakra pooled in my stomach, burning a trail up my throat and exploding out of my mouth, blistering the air between us. A gaseous ball of red-hot fire belched out in Kakashi's direction.
"Better," Kakashi barked out, slamming his leg down. A slab of earth grumbled out of the ground. My fireball splashed around it harmlessly, petering out. "Two hits and a topper. Quick, efficient, easy to pull off."
"Why do I feel like there's a but coming in there?"
"But it's too avoidable. Maybe you could catch a genin or a fresh chunin off guard with that and burn them alive, but in the ANBU, that level isn't going to cut it," Kakashi said as his shield retreated back into the ground. "They're going to eat you up."
I grunted, landing back on the ground and crouching. If two-hits-and-a-topper combo was too avoidable, and all the other combos I'd tried today were too hard to pull off in the heat of battle, I needed to find a way to bridge the gap between the two.
Hitting harder was out of the question. In my current level of physical performance, I wasn't capable of hitting much harder without sacrificing a large amount of setup time, which was a big no-no. Kakashi's trying to prepare me for fighting people faster than me.
Taking more time might fly in the face of that and make him more mad, which'll give him more of a reason to tighten up and whoop my ass into the ground. Not ideal.
Plus, I'm not even sure that all of that setup would make a crazy amount of difference. I'm pretty sure I'm putting just the right amount of power in my punches. Any more power, and I might end up getting diminishing returns.
It's what Minato used to refer to as the Optimal Equilibrium principle. The principle goes as follows: for every action you do in a fight, there exists an optimal value that is neither too high nor too low but just right.
In other words, the Goldilocks effect. Not that Minato would be caught dead calling it that. In his mind, it was just the way of finding out what the optimal level of effort was for everything on the battlefield—yes, he was that obsessed with it.
The idea of wasting even a drop of energy if it didn't win him a fight was something Minato couldn't stomach.
A part of it was his perfectionist mentality. Anything he did, he wanted to do perfectly. Efficiently. He wanted to do everything better than anyone else.
Achieving optimization brought him a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. His sensei, Jiraiaya, thought it was a tad unhealthy and used to call him out for it, but Minato would always argue back, saying that humans were wired to seek progress and improvement, and optimizing processes or outcomes aligned with that innate drive for growth and development.
I knew better, though. Being somewhere in between Minato and Naruto meant that I had a more top-down view of why Minato did the things he did, and this particular principle was born out of his first mission as a chunin, right before he'd begun making a name for himself.
The story itself wasn't grand. It was the kind of story every ninja ended up accumulating by the end of their careers—Minato, fresh on the battlefield, took too long to fight off an enemy ninja.
Some random missing-nin. The mission details had been outdated—they'd pegged the guy as a low C-rank, maybe high D-rank fighter, but the dossier couldn't have been more wrong.
Akira Lenden. The Butcher of the South. Minato would never forget the name. In the time since the mission request had been set up, Akira had developed from a C-rank fighter to a B-rank.
Honestly, Minato had been lucky to escape with his life. People underestimated how much of a jump C to B truly was in terms of rank. He'd somehow emerged triumphant over the missing-nin, but the effort had exhausted him to the point where he could no longer muster enough energy to aid his team.
Akira's men killed them like livestock. It was a filthy, disgusting scene, and one of the few missions Minato had ever failed in.
Well, according to the contract, it hadn't been a failure. He'd done his job. He'd killed Akira. But the lump of coins he got wasn't enough to draw his mind away from the battle. For months after, all he could see were the horrified look on his teammates' faces as they were dismembered, burnt, and left for dead.
That level of failure was unacceptable. So, he began tinkering. Experimenting. Thinking.
Why had he failed? What had caused his exhaustion to set in? Was he overpowering his punches? Running at too fast of a pace. Did he miscalculate the Regulation-Velocity theorem?
In the end, he found that he'd been exhausted because he'd exerted too much energy on his punches and kicks—something that Akira had been blocking anyway. Minato knew that he could've diverted more attention to his jutsu, won the fight faster, and still had enough energy to at least facilitate an escape for everyone.
Optimal Equilibrium, he called it. The perfect value for everything.
For the sake of explaining, I'll denote this optimal value as x-optimal. Mathematically, we can represent the principal effect as follows: given a function f(x), we seek to find the value of x that maximizes or minimizes f(x). Minato did this through a series of complicated calculations I'm not even sure I fully understand.
As much as I love learning from him, I can't fully keep up with everything he did. The Naruto part of me just makes me lag behind a step too much to fully deploy it.
I can, however, appropriate it for my own use.
In fighting terms, like punching or kicking, when I think Optimal Equilibrium, I think power. For every punch I throw, there's an absolute minimal value for that power, and an absolute maximum level, as well.
On the lower end, one of my punches might not hurt at all. On the higher end, I could probably dent a wall if I tried hard enough. Boom. There are your bounds. There's some value in there that is perfect.
Or, um, make it even simpler. Imagine you're trying to bake cookies, and you want to find the perfect baking time.
If you bake them for too short a time, they'll be undercooked, goopy, and not very tasty. On the other hand, if you bake them for too long, they'll become burnt and inedible. Like bricks.
So, you ask yourself a simple question: how do you figure out the sweet spot?
Well, you could start experimenting by baking batches of cookies for different durations. You'd notice that as you increased the baking time from very short durations to longer durations, the cookies improved in taste and texture.
However, there would inevitably come a point where increasing the baking time further wouldn't significantly enhance the quality of the cookies. Instead, you'd probably start to notice diminishing returns, where the additional baking time wouldn't lead to a proportional increase in cookie quality. Eventually, that baking time would make stuff even worse.
In this scenario, you didn't necessarily need to calculate precise mathematical deltas or use equations. Instead, you relied on observation and comparison of outcomes at different levels to determine the optimal point. That was the kind of thing Naruto was good at. With Minato's intelligence and Naruto's uncanny observations skills, this was the kind of approach I'd been applying.
That's how I know my punches wouldn't phase Kakashi, even if I hit harder. The only way I'd do that is, well, if there were two of me.
A lightbulb just spawned in my head.
"Tighten up, Naruto!" Kakashi barked, slamming his fist into my guard. Shockwaves rattled my arms like tin cans.
Another one of Minato's molds jumped out of my skin—a shadow clone, this time. He spawned and looked at me expectantly.
I'd gotten so wrapped up in trying to perfect my form that I'd completely forgotten about one of the first things I'd ever learned—how to make solid clones!
I took a cursory glance at Kakashi, who was watching the whole scene with a bored expression, "I was worried you'd forgotten this jutsu, Naruto. You've changed a lot."
I grinned at him, trying to analyze his stance for weaknesses. I knew he had that blindspot from the headband covering his eye. Upon further inspection, I found that he was slightly favoring his left leg, too. Maybe some lingering soreness? "I've only changed in the ways that matter, sensei."
With a quick nod, I gestured a 2. He nodded, slamming his hands into a seal and spawning two more he wouldn't have to communicate with them, they'd understand instinctively.
One clone darted forward, a swift and deceptive feint, drawing the Kakashi's attention, while the other circled stealthily, positioning for a devastating strike. I began flicking through hand signs.
Ox. Rabbit. Monkey.
As Kakashi reacted to the diversion, the second clone struck with calculated precision, exploiting the opening created by its counterpart. The synchronized attack unfolded seamlessly, each movement carefully calculated to maximize efficiency and overwhelm Kakashi's defenses.
Dragon. Rat. Bird.
The third clone nodded to me and we both made a break for it.
With a flurry of blows, my clones dissipated, right as I hopped into the ring with the third one. I spawned another clone to my left and substituted with the other clone, who spawned one more and substituted with the first one, who substituted back to me—leaving me in my original spot.
Not that Kakashi knew. Without his Sharingan, he'd have no way of knowing. If I hadn't planned it out, I'd have no way of knowing, either. It was too quick for almost anyone to know.
Ox. Snake. Dog.
Kakashi made the obvious choice—he lunged at me. I blocked his hit, and his eye widened in surprise, but it was too late.
My first clone smashed into his face with a fist, while the other blurred behind him, kicking him forward at the same time. My third clone jumped into the air, but Kakashi blocked his strike.
PAW! PAW! PAW!
I nodded, executing another series of transformations with my clones. Once again, Kakashi chose wrong, pulling out a three-hit combo on a clone, which left him open to me—the real deal.
Tiger. Monkey.
Lightning flickering to life on my hand, I roared and sprinted forward, the world around me condensing into a narrow tunnel as my peripheral vision faded into obscurity.
Yeah. Let's see how he likes this.
Now, look, don't try this at home.
The biggest issue with the Chidori—Kakashi's bastardization of the Rasengan, which I already know—is that it often induces tunnel vision in its users due to its intense focus and speed. This tunnel vision is a result of the immense speed at which the user moves while executing the Chidori, creating a perception of narrowing focus as they propel themselves toward their opponent with lightning-fast precision.
It's what I was going through right now.
All he could see was my target, and even though I logically knew he was right in front of me, he looked distant. In that moment, everything else melted away—the sounds of battle, all the noises of the city, even the pounding of my own heart—all drowned out by the relentless roar of electricity coursing through his veins.
The air seemed to compress. The sound of a thousand birds shrieked in my ears.
But it doesn't matter. I don't need to see.
My clone switched with me again. The other two grabbed his arms. I was right in front of Kakashi now, my Chidori alive and well. I saw the electricity illuminate his eye and cut it off, my fist an inch from his face.
"There you have it," I said, ignoring the drip of sweat from my brow as I repeated his words from last week. I grinned as my clones began poofing out of existence. "If you were an enemy, you'd be dead. Is that combo good enough for you?"
"Even better than I could've imagined," Kakashi said, an eye-smile forming on his face. "Let's go out to lunch. My treat."
I was in a good mood after beating Kakashi. We went back to the shinobi district, and this time, I ordered enough food for a small family.
Kakashi didn't complain. He ordered a hefty amount of food himself and ate it with a similar gusto.
It felt so weird being his student. A part of me could vividly remember teaching him and watching him grow from an arrogant, snot-nosed little brat to a leader. A real leader. And now, that same part of me got to see that little brat teach and apply so many of the things that I'd taught to him. It was great.
"Say, Naruto," Kakashi said as I inhaled a plate of dumplings. Damn, no wonder the Akimichi clan is full of so many fat people. If I ate food like this all the time, I'd be wider than the mountains around the city. "Don't mind me saying so, but you've changed a lot. Really, it's been amazing to see."
A compliment. Or, well, what seemed like a compliment. Despite the casual tone he'd used, the eye-smile he was forcing, and the comfortable vibe of the restaurant, alarm bells started going off in my head.
I knew this sort of interaction was inevitable. Naruto, or well, the version of myself that I'd been before the Wave was so vastly different to the one I was now, it was almost impossible to assume nobody would've been tipped off.
Naruto had been boisterous, annoying, and an overall nuisance. Underneath all of those things, he'd been lonely, jealous, and emotionally stunted.
Minato had been ruthless, efficient, and borderline psychopathic. Again, even though I was sure my memories had been split fifty-fifty, right down the middle, Minato had lived more life than Naruto.
It only made sense that more of his personality would bleed into everything I was doing. The only question left was, well, how much?
I was still Naruto. Kind of. I enjoyed pranks, running in the morning, ramen, and all the same things he'd enjoyed.
But, well, some of those things overlapped with Minato. It was hard to tell where he started and I ended. I knew for sure I'd inherited his PTSD, his quirks, his taste in women, and his preferences for cream and earth-based colors. Oh, and his haircut.
But those were just the things I could notice myself. Was it possible I'd unconsciously been mimicking some of Minato's other characteristics, things that felt as natural as breathing to me, but looked alien on Naruto?
Yes. It was definitely possible.
That's why spending so much time around Kakashi was a double-edged sword. If there was anyone who would be able to properly identify all of Minato's traits in me, well, it was him.
I knew Kakashi was smart enough to know things had changed. I wasn't sure if he was smart enough to pinpoint how much they'd truly changed.
"Thanks a ton! It's all because of your help, sensei!" I leaned into Naruto's boyish charm, flashing Kakashi a wide smile as I grabbed a Potsticker.
If I played it smart and kept things vague, I knew I'd come out of this smelling like a rose. Even if Kakashi thought he saw some of Minato in me, it couldn't be enough to truly tip him off.
There's a ton of stuff working in my favor. For one, nostalgia. Right? Is Kakashi really seeing these changes in me, or does he just think he sees them? Would he feel this way if someone else was acting like Minato, or is it just because I look like him?
Plus, what's the reasonable answer? As far as I know, this sort of thing has never happened to anyone before, ever. What's he going to tell himself to justify it?
The truth of what's happened to me is so far-fetched, so incredibly out there, that I could outright tell him and he wouldn't believe me.
I just need to find a way to douse his suspicion without being too heavy-handed.
"I don't think it is," Kakashi returned softly, placing a saucer of tea down. The surface rippled as he gently stirred with a spoon. "Some of it, sure. I've built your foundation, taught you the proper ways to look at things, but I'm not delusional to take credit for everything. Today, that move you used, the Chidori. Do you know how long it took me to create it?"
"No."
"Years," Kakashi stopped stirring and hit the side of the cup with his spoon, before dipping it back in and gently sipping its contents, "And, without my instruction, you've managed to achieve it in a week. A week. I don't know whether to be impressed or concerned."
"It was a cool move!" I defended, putting down my plate of food and staring him down. Maybe I shouldn't have learned the Chidori but for some reason, I didn't think it was too surprising. I mean, Kakashi had learned the Rasengan relatively fast enough. Was it that crazy that I learned the Chidori? "I saw the handsigns you used and practiced it at home."
"Naruto, this level of skill is something on par with some of the greatest ninja to ever walk this village. As much as I'd like to think my teachings have affected you enough to propel you in this direction, I don't know," Kakashi sighed, and rubbed his eyes, "What happened to you in the Wave?"
"You know what happened to me in the Wave."
Kakashi held my gaze. "What specifically? I'm trying to make heads and tails of this. I really am. I noticed the small changes at first. Even your ANBU request was a bit out there, but I could justify it. After today, though…the coordination with your clones, the sealless substitutions, the Chidori of all things…I don't know what could possibly explain such an exponential jump in skill, so I'm coming straight to the source. What happened?"
I wracked my brain, trying to remember everything I knew about Kakashi. I tried to smash it all together into a lie I figured had a better chance of working. "What happened was…I woke up."
"You woke up?"
"I woke up," I repeated, wiping all the emotion off my face. "Being a ninja, becoming Hokage…those weren't goals, they were dreams. Things I needed to believe in to get through the day. I was a lonely kid. No one paid me any attention, no one cared about me at school for the longest time…and then I saw what happened in the Wave. I thought I had it bad, but there were all these people who couldn't defend themselves, powerless in a situation that could've been so much worse if we weren't there. It made everything here feel so stupid. So what if Sasuke doesn't want to be friends, or if Sakura doesn't want to go on a date with me? Real people have real problems. If I'm serious about this, I need to back it up with work and study. That's what happened."
Kakashi was quiet for a while, his eye never leaving me as he sipped his tea again—all without taking his mask off, by the way. Eventually, he settled on, "I see. Well, I'm glad you're taking things more seriously. I'm impressed."
He didn't buy the lie. But, given the fact that I was still coherent, he didn't think I was lying enough to do something drastic, meaning I was right. Kakashi was still suspicious, but his brain was drawing blanks. So, for now, I'd bought myself more time.
I went to speak again when a third person joined the table.
Excuse my French, but she was easily the fucking finest woman I'd seen since I'd gained the mind of someone who wasn't a toddler. She had a slender frame and light brown eyes.
Her hair—black with a purple tint was styled in a short, spiky, fanned-out ponytail. She wore an outfit of thin metal mesh that fit the lines of her body, basically rendering her naked. I'm pretty sure if I looked hard enough, I could see her nipples—not that I would.
Staring at a random ninja was a one-way trip to Poundtown, with a capital P. Not the good version of it, either.
She capped off the look with a tan overcoat that had a purple in-seam and a pocket on each side, a dark orange mini-skirt that barely covered her butt, a dark blue belt, and pale grey shin guards.
"Hey, scarecrow," The mystery lady said, popping one of my potstickers in her mouth. Not the one I wanted her to pop—Kami, was Minato this horny all the time? She glanced at me dismissively. "What's up with the daycare routine? You babysitting this kid?"
"Hello, Anko. No, this is my apprentice, Naruto," Kakashi said plainly, gesturing between us. His words dripped with politeness, but the look he was giving me was unreadable. "Naruto, this is Anko. She's a tokubetsu jōnin, and a highly skilled kunoichi."
I smiled at her. "Pleasure to meet you, Anko! Always nice to meet one of my sensei's friends."
"Same, kid. Good to meet you," Anko said, giving Kakashi a quick glance before bending over and pinching my cheeks. "Look at him all polite and stuff! He's so adorable!"
I frowned as she pinched my cheeks and said, "Yeah, and you're hot as fuck."
Kakashi, who was taking a sip of tea, sprayed the liquid all over Anko's face and began heaving. Between heaves, I swear I heard giggles. Anko's face dropped as she grabbed the napkin off my lap and began wiping the tea.
Anko gave me a disapproving look, "Alright, punk. Kakashi, why did you call me here?"
"I, um," Kakashi said, gasping for air. "The mission. You—giggle—wanted help on a mission, right?"
Anko pulled up a chair and ignored Kakashi's laughter. "Oh, shit. The bandit one? Yeah, I'm still looking for one more teammate. You in?"
"Not me," Kakashi said, recovering from his bout of giggles. He pointed his chopsticks at me. "Him. I want you to take Naruto."
"Naruto?"
"Me?"
"Yes," Kakashi answered us both, dabbing at his mask with a napkin. "Naruto, you asked me for a mission to make some extra money. Anko, you told me you needed a pair of hands."
"Yeah, not his pair of hands," Anko snapped. "They're more likely to reach for my butt than they are to kill someone!"
"Hey, smokeshow, they can do both," I replied, ducking as Anko threw a plate of cutlets at me. They crashed into the wall behind me. Thankfully, the restaurant was so loud, no one seemed to realize.
"Anko, you owe me a favor," Kakashi reminded her.
"You want to use it for this?" She replied incredulously. "I thought you'd use it for sex, or something. Honestly, I kind of wish you did, over this sort of bullshit."
"I want to use it for this," Kakashi confirmed, sighing and placing his chopsticks down. "Can you wait outside? I'll send Naruto out in a minute so you can get acquainted."
"We'll talk more," Anko said, giving Kakashi a puzzled look. She turned to me and frowned. "Hey, buddy, when we're out there, I don't want your eyes here," She pointed at her chest. "Keep it professional, yeah?"
I bit back the retort that was bubbling on my lips. Something about the look Kakashi was giving me was giving me pause. "Got it."
Anko left the restaurant, but not before grabbing a roll of bread. Kakashi looked at her leave, before turning back to me, "I think some real-world experience will do you some good. Plus, it gives me time to focus on Sakura and Sasuke. Go have fun, and learn. We'll pick back up when you get back. Don't keep Anko waiting."
"I won't, sensei," I said, standing up.
As I walked by Kakashi, he grabbed my wrist and said, "And, Naruto?"
"Yeah."
"We're not done. Not yet."
I had a feeling we weren't. I looked back at him and said, "Whatever you say, sensei."
AN: Hey all! Sorry for the short break, but I'm more than happy to be back. Some more narrative goodness in this one! Kind of a filler chapter, but things should heat up soon as Anko takes Naruto on his first mission! And Naruto tries not to hit on her!
RandomCoolGuy: Definitely trauma-based. Amazing catch!
LightingStrife: Hopefully this chapter answers a few of your questions. I'm going to keep a few beats of canon, especially while we still start out, but they'll fall away eventually, like training wheels. I'm trying to limit my AU-ness to the embellishment of the canon elements we already saw. I don't want to reinvent the wheel completely, but I do want to make sure the parts of the story that relate to Minato make sense, so I'm kind of using the environment of Konoha to do that. I want to create the kind of Konoha that could've molded a demon like him. I hope that makes sense.
See you all soon!
- Maroon