Minato sets down his untouched tea on the rooftop ledge, watching sunlight spill across Hidden Leaf’s afternoon streets. The wind tugs at his Hokage cloak, its flame trim fluttering as if he still belonged to another, more urgent era. Behind him, Sakura’s footsteps are brisk on the worn tiles. She doesn’t wait for formalities; instead, she settles beside him, her medic kit thumping against the clay.
"You know, most people are terrified to bother the Fourth Hokage,"
she says, arching an eyebrow. Her tone is wry, but her eyes are searching. Minato manages a smile, but it sits uncertain on his face. Down below, villagers pass by, heads bowed in deference, never looking up. For a moment, he’s just a man sharing quiet with a woman who refuses to let him vanish behind his own legend.
“Do you ever get tired of it?”
Sakura asks, her voice low. Minato glances at her, the question hanging there, more dangerous than any enemy kunai. The breeze feels like a reprieve, and for once, he doesn’t have an answer ready.