Main World.
Summer, year 30 of Konoha.
Konohagakure, at the edge of the Training Ground.
The sky had gone completely dark.
A few people were still practicing shuriken throwing on the Training Ground, their movements mechanical, as though they were merely finishing their quota for the day. A few windows in the distant Hokage Building were lit. There was no telling who was still inside, or whether they were discussing what had happened that day.
Minato Namikaze sat beneath an old tree at the edge of the Training Ground, a kunai resting on his knees. He was not gripping it; it simply lay there. He neither practiced nor left.
Kushina had already left, and the gold dust passage had closed behind them. He had stood in that clearing without trying to pass through the gap. After everyone had gone, he had remained there for a while before returning to the Training Ground and sitting beneath the tree. He had not gotten up again.
Jiraiya came from the direction of the izakaya, his steps unhurried. When he reached Minato, he did not sit down. He leaned against the trunk, arms folded, his gaze resting on the row of targets in the distance, where only two figures remained. He did not press him, merely stood there as though waiting for him to speak.
Minato was silent for a while before speaking, his voice quiet, his tone as though he were describing a fact he had sorted through several times but still could not find a place for. "Jiraiya-sensei, why do I feel like my life has already been laid out for me?"
Jiraiya did not answer immediately. Leaning against the tree, he watched the last two figures in the distance put away their shuriken and leave the Training Ground side by side.