Tap. Tap. Tap.
My dreams of sake waterfalls and a life free of responsibility shattered at the sound. I pulled the pillow over my head.
Tap. Tap. TAP.
"Go away," I mumbled into my mattress. "It's still night."
The tapping got louder, more insistent. With a groan that expressed my profound displeasure at consciousness in general, I cracked one eye open. The faint glow of pre-dawn light filtered through my window, illuminating a silhouette that could only belong to one person.
Minato, perched on my windowsill like some kind of demented bird, pointed emphatically at his wrist where a watch would be if either of us owned one.
I glared at him, but he just smiled that infuriatingly cheerful smile that made it impossible to stay mad at him. With another groan, I rolled out of bed, nearly tripping over an empty sake bottle as I stumbled to the window.
"It's barely light out," I complained, sliding the window open.
"We agreed on before class," he said, looking annoyingly awake and put-together. "This is before class."
"By like, four hours," I grumbled, running a hand through my sleep-mussed hair.
"Perfect for extra training," he replied, tossing a small scroll through the window that I caught reflexively. "I've already set up at the pond. Meet me downstairs in ten minutes?"
I squinted at him. "Make it fifteen, and bring coffee."
"Deal." He leapt off the windowsill, disappearing into the dim morning light.
I stared at the spot where he'd been, contemplating the merits of going back to bed and claiming a sudden, debilitating illness when I saw him later. But I had promised, and contrary to popular belief, I did occasionally keep my word. Especially when it meant learning techniques that would keep me alive someday.
Besides, I had leftovers to pack.
Fifteen minutes later (okay, maybe twenty, but who's counting?), I stumbled down the stairs of our apartment building, a package of last night's leftovers wrapped neatly in cloth and tucked under my arm. Minato was waiting, as promised, with two steaming cups of what smelled like coffee but was probably that weird tea he liked to brew.
"You're late," he said, but with no real heat behind it.
"I'm exactly on time according to Shinji Standard Time," I replied, accepting the cup he offered. The liquid inside was indeed tea, but it smelled strong enough to wake the dead. I took a cautious sip and felt my brain cells reluctantly spark to life.
"What's that?" he asked, gesturing to my package as we set off toward the training grounds.
"Breakfast. Leftover fish and rice. I figured we'd need fuel for another round of falling into the pond."
The streets of Konoha were quiet at this hour, just a few shop owners setting up and the occasional ninja returning from or heading out on missions. The air had that special quality it only gets at dawn—clean and full of possibility, before the day's disappointments set in.
"So," I said, after the tea had worked enough magic for coherent conversation, "where'd you disappear to occasionally after class? I swung by your place from time to time, but you weren't home."
A calculated lie, but a small one.
Minato kept his eyes forward. "Just some extra studying."
"Studying," I repeated. "Right."
"Not everyone spends their afternoons fishing and drinking sake," he replied, but with a smile.
"Their loss," I shrugged. "But seriously, you've been disappearing a lot lately. Got a secret girlfriend I don't know about?"
He laughed. "No. Just trying to get ahead."
'Getting ahead with someone's help,' I thought, but kept it to myself. I'd noticed the pattern—advanced scrolls appearing in his possession, techniques that weren't taught at the Academy, his occasional absences that he never fully explained. Someone was taking an interest in Minato, someone with access to jutsu well beyond genin level. But if he didn't want to share, pressing would only make him more secretive.
We turned down a side street, taking the shortcut toward the Academy training grounds. The sky was lightening quickly now, the stars fading as blue pushed away the darkness.
"Oh look," I said, pointing ahead. "Isn't that Kana?"
A girl with brown hair pulled into a ponytail was walking toward the Yamanaka flower shop, a basket of carefully arranged flowers cradled in her arms. They looked freshly cut, their stems still wet.
"What's she doing up so early?" Minato wondered aloud.
"Probably coming from their greenhouse," I said. "Yamanaka flowers are supposed to be harvested at dawn for maximum potency. Those old geezers at the market mentioned it when I was buying some goodies last week."
As we drew closer, Kana looked up and spotted us. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise.
"Minato-kun! Shinji-kun!" she called, shifting the basket to one arm and waving with her free hand. "You're up early."
"Training," Minato explained with a smile.
"Kidnapping," I corrected. "He's forcing me to exercise against my will."
Kana laughed, the sound light in the quiet morning. "You could use it, Shinji-kun. I saw you sleeping through classes sometimes."
"I wasn't sleeping," I protested. "I was meditating. Very different."
She rolled her eyes, but good-naturedly. "Of course you were."
I glanced at the flowers in her basket—vibrant blooms in shades of purple and white that looked ordinary enough, but I knew better. The Yamanakas weren't just florists.
"Those for the shop?" I asked casually.
"Yes," she nodded. "From our private gardens. Some of these varieties are quite special."
She then glanced at the brightening sky. "I should go. These need to be processed while the dew is still on them. Good luck with your training!"
With a little wave, she continued toward the shop, her long hair swaying with each step.
I watched Kana's retreating form, the basket of suspicious-looking flowers swinging gently at her side.
"So... Kana and Inoichi, huh?" I mused, giving Minato a sideways glance.
He raised an eyebrow. "What about them?"
"Oh, come on. Everyone knows the Yamanakas are planning to marry those two off the moment they hit sixteen." I stretched my arms overhead, enjoying the slight pop in my shoulders. "Political marriages. Very traditional. Very boring."
"That's just a rumor."
"Is it though? The Yamanaka clan doesn't let just anyone handle their 'special' flowers." I made air quotes with my fingers. "Ten ryo says those innocent-looking blooms can either knock you out, make you hallucinate, or spill your darkest secrets. Anyway, forget about that, why don't you tell me exactly what's in that scroll you're so excited to show me."
Minato's face lit up with that particular enthusiasm he only got when talking about new lesson. "It's a chakra circulation technique," he explained, his earlier reticence forgotten. "It's supposed to increase efficiency if mastered properly."
"And how hard is it to master properly?" I asked, already suspecting the answer.
"Most people took three months," Minato admitted. "But I think we can get the basics down faster."
"Of course you do," I muttered. Three months of training condensed into what, a week? Typical Minato optimism.
We reached the Academy training grounds just as the sun crested the Hokage Monument, casting long shadows across the practice fields. The place was deserted, as expected at this hour.
"Perfect," Minato said, scanning the empty training area. "We'll have it all to ourselves."
I set down my package of leftovers on a nearby stump. "Food first, then torture."
"Training," he corrected.
"Same thing when you're involved," I replied, unwrapping the cloth to reveal the containers of fish and rice. "Eat. We've got a long morning ahead."
Minato didn't argue, just sat down beside me and accepted his portion. He unrolled the scroll between us as we ate, both of us studying the complex diagrams while chewing.
"You know, most people bring fresh food to training," Minato said, eyeing my questionable lunch with that perfect-student disapproval he'd mastered.
I waved the fish skeleton at him. "Where's the adventure in that? Besides, it was perfectly good last night."
"Last night? Shinji, it's been sitting out for—"
"Details," I leaned back against the scarred trunk of a training post. "The way I see it, if this doesn't kill me, nothing in enemy territory will."
Minato's laugh was quiet but genuine. "Your immunity system must be as stubborn as you are."
"Speaking of stubborn," I said, "Grumpy-chan was especially touchy in class yesterday. What's got his Uchiha panties in a twist?"
"He's probably just stressed about the upcoming exams. You know how seriously he takes everything."
"That's what I said."
A breeze rustled through the training ground, carrying the faint chirps and songs of birds foraging in the distance. Perfect weather for a nap, honestly.
"Anyway, I've been thinking about the circulation technique here," I said, tapping a section of the scroll with my chopsticks. Minato glanced up from his intense study of the scroll.
"I've been thinking about the same section," he admitted, running a finger along the complex diagrams.
I twirled my chopsticks between my fingers, a habit that annoyed most of our senseis but seemed to amuse Minato. We bounced a few ideas back and forth, each of us approaching the problem from different angles.
"You know," I said, stretching lazily despite my mind working at full speed, "sometimes the traditional approach isn't always the most efficient."
Minato raised an eyebrow. "Coming from the guy who finds the path of least resistance in everything?"
"Exactly why you should listen to me," I replied with a grin. "I'm an expert in efficiency."
He shook his head but couldn't hide his smile. That was the thing about Minato—he never dismissed an idea just because it came wrapped in my casual packaging. Our differing styles somehow produced a surprisingly effective collaboration.
"We can try it on the water walking," he suggested. "Apply the same concept."
"Worth a shot," I agreed, finishing the last of my fish. "But I'm warning you now—if I end up soaking wet at this ungodly hour, I'm going back to bed."
Minato laughed. "Fair enough."
We packed up the empty containers, and I followed him toward the small pond at the edge of the training grounds. The water was still and clear in the morning light, looking deceptively solid.
"Ladies first," I said, gesturing grandly toward the pond.
"Age before beauty," he countered.
"We're the same age, genius."