Mastering the Elements - Chapter - 64

The birth of Nawaki Senju did more than revive an ancient name.

It changed the very rhythm of life in the Potaru Estate.

The once-quiet corridors were now alive with the comings and goings of visitors, neighbors, and curious shinobi from every corner of Konoha—and even beyond.

The household adjusted in its own ways.

Mikoto oversaw the steady flow of guests, her calm presence a natural buffer against the occasional well-meaning chaos. Tsunade, though weary from childbirth, glowed with a quiet satisfaction every time she looked at her son.

And Naruto…

Naruto found something he had never known he was missing.


It started the first morning Nawaki was awake enough to notice him.

Naruto crept up to the crib, still bleary-eyed from training, and peered over the railing.

“Morning, little guy,” he whispered, tapping a gentle finger on Nawaki’s blanket.

Nawaki turned his tiny head—and smiled.

A bright, toothless, radiant grin.

Naruto froze.

Then, very carefully, he scooped the baby into his arms, holding him close the way Tsunade had shown him.

“…You like me, huh?” he murmured, voice rough with wonder. “Yeah. I think I like you too.”

From that moment on, they were inseparable.

The estate’s staff were astonished to find Naruto carrying Nawaki around wherever he went—through the courtyard gardens, across the breezy hallways, even into the training yard.

At first, Tsunade tried to protest.

“Naruto, you can’t just take him everywhere—he needs rest—”

“But he doesn’t cry when I hold him,” Naruto pointed out earnestly.

Which was true. Nawaki, who fussed and wailed the moment he was set down, would curl contentedly against Naruto’s shoulder and doze off with a little sigh.

The first time Tsunade saw that, she sighed in surrender.

“…Fine. But if he gets fussy, you bring him right back.”

Naruto nodded solemnly. “Promise.”


It wasn’t long before he found a way to improve on the arrangement.

Standing in the garden one afternoon, Naruto clapped his hands together.

“Shadow Clone Jutsu!”

Six Narutos popped into existence in a puff of chakra smoke.

The original grinned at them.

“Alright, you guys—who’s on Nawaki duty?”

“Me!” said the first clone immediately, reaching for the baby.

“Back off, I’m the best at holding him,” argued another.

“He likes me more!”

“He does not!”

Tsunade, watching from her chair, rubbed her temples. “Harry, can you…?”

Harry, standing beside her, just smiled. “They’ll sort it out.”

After a short scuffle—during which Nawaki simply looked on, bright-eyed—one clone was elected “chief babysitter.”

The others vanished in a cloud of smoke, muttering.

It turned out to be exactly what Tsunade needed.

While Naruto and his clones were occupied caring for Nawaki—rocking him, humming silly songs, carrying him from room to room—Tsunade was finally able to rest properly.

Though she tried to pretend she wasn’t exhausted, Harry saw how her shoulders eased for the first time in weeks.

Late one evening, he sat with her by the open shoji screens, Nawaki finally asleep in the next room.

“You’re doing better,” he said gently.

She smiled, weary but soft. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do this at my age. I thought…”

She trailed off, voice growing husky.

Harry reached for her hand and folded it into his own.

“You were never alone,” he told her. “You’ll never be alone again.”

Tsunade swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. “I know.”

And if Nawaki had given Tsunade peace…he had given Naruto something even deeper.

Belonging.

One afternoon, Itachi came home early from an S-rank assignment. He paused in the entryway, taking in the sight:

Naruto sprawled on the floor, back propped against the wall, with Nawaki napping across his chest.

Three shadow clones sat nearby, carefully sorting through wooden toys.

Itachi set down his weapons and came over quietly.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, his voice gentler than usual.

Naruto looked up, grinning. “He doesn’t like to be alone. I get it.”

Itachi lowered himself to the tatami and rested an elbow on his knee.

“…You’re good with him.”

“Yeah,” Naruto murmured, brushing Nawaki’s hair back from his forehead. “I think he’s the first person who really…feels like mine.”

Itachi looked at him for a long time before answering.

“He is yours,” he said softly. “Ours.”



There were nights when Harry lay awake, the house quiet all around him, and thought about the first moment he had come to this world.

He hadn’t arrived in a swirl of triumph or purpose. He had come because the Lady Death had sent him—another assignment in an unending string of assignments that stretched across countless realities.

A thousand worlds he had walked. A thousand civilizations he had watched rise and fall.

He had never intended to stay in any of them.

He was the Enforcer of Death’s balance, not a man who built families, or planted roots, or wondered what his children might grow up to be.


And yet…

Here he was.


Even after all this time, it astonished him how quickly it had happened.

How a single moment—finding Mikoto again—had unraveled his careful detachment.

When he met her eyes that night in Konoha, when he learned about the son he had never held as an infant, the part of himself he thought was long dead had stirred back to life.

He had missed so much.

The first cries.
The first steps.
The first time Itachi had looked up at his mother and smiled.


He had asked their forgiveness for it—more than once.

Mikoto had kissed his temple and told him he was forgiven before he even spoke the words.

Itachi, who rarely showed emotion so openly, had simply nodded and murmured, “You’re here now.”

But even as they tried to ease his guilt, it lingered, a dull ache in the quiet spaces of his mind.


Until Nawaki was born.


This time, he was there from the first heartbeat.

He was there for every dawn when Nawaki fussed and refused to sleep.

He was there the first time the boy wrapped a tiny fist around his finger.

He was there the first time Nawaki recognized his face—and smiled.


More than once, Naruto or Mikoto would find him simply standing over the crib, watching Nawaki breathe, as if trying to imprint every detail in memory before fate could tear it away again.


One warm afternoon, Tsunade woke from a nap to find Harry sitting cross-legged on the tatami, Nawaki lying on a soft blanket in front of him.

The baby gurgled happily, waving a tiny hand.

Harry reached out, tapping his nose with a gentle forefinger.

“You know,” he murmured, “you’re already braver than I was.”

Nawaki squealed in delight.

Tsunade leaned her head against the doorframe, watching them in silence.


It was different, this time.

Harry knew he still had duties. There were still other worlds that would call to him when the Lady Death demanded it.

He knew that nothing—nothing—lasted forever.

But for now, he had chosen to be here, not because duty required it…but because he wanted to be.


He spent less time in the magical trunk now.

Once, the vaults beneath his estate had been his sanctuary—where he experimented with bloodlines, perfected new sealing arrays, and studied the deepest mysteries of chakra.

But lately, the trunks and scrolls remained closed more often than not.

Because there was something more important waiting in the rooms above.

A family.


One evening, Itachi found him on the veranda, Nawaki cradled in his arms, both of them watching the sun set behind the Hokage Monument.

“You don’t go into the trunk as much,” Itachi observed quietly.

Harry glanced over, a faint smile in his eyes.

“No,” he admitted. “Not as much.”

“Why?”

Harry looked back at the infant in his arms—Nawaki’s tiny chest rising and falling in a soft rhythm, his little hand clutching the edge of Harry’s sleeve.

“Because,” he said slowly, “I spent too long believing that power and knowledge were the only things that mattered. That every moment I wasn’t improving was a moment wasted.”

He drew in a breath.

“But I think…I was wrong.”

Itachi didn’t speak right away. He came to sit beside him, folding his long legs beneath him.

“What matters now?” he asked, voice softer than Harry had ever heard it.

Harry turned his head, meeting his son’s gaze.

“This,” he said simply, the answer so clear it almost startled him. “This matters.”

And in the glow of that quiet dusk, as Itachi reached over to gently touch Nawaki’s small hand, Harry felt something settle in his chest.

A peace he had never thought he’d find.



It was just past noon when the Pottaru Estate’s outer gate rattled with a cheerful rap.

Naruto, who’d been napping on the veranda with Nawaki curled against his chest, sat bolt upright.

He squinted across the courtyard—and then broke into a grin so wide it nearly split his face.

“PERVY SAGE!”

Jiraiya stood in the entryway, one hand raised in greeting and the other balancing an enormous gourd slung over his shoulder. His white mane was dusted with road grit, but his smile was as mischievous as ever.

“Yo,” he called lazily. “You gonna stand there gawking, or are you going to help your teacher with his luggage?”

Naruto scrambled to his feet, nearly dropping Nawaki in the process.

“Careful,” Mikoto warned from the doorway, laughter in her eyes as she crossed to rescue the baby.

“Sorry, sorry!” Naruto babbled, pressing Nawaki into her arms and dashing across the courtyard.


Inside, Tsunade had heard the commotion.

She emerged from her sitting room, hands on her hips, expression caught somewhere between fondness and exasperation.

“About time you showed up,” she called as Jiraiya set down the gourd with a dramatic groan.

“Tsunade-hime,” he said, voice softening. “You look good.”

“You look filthy.”

He barked a laugh, stepping forward. “And where’s my namesake?”

Tsunade raised an eyebrow. “Namesake?”

“Well—” Jiraiya cleared his throat. “If you’d been smart, you’d have named him after me.”

She snorted. “Not in a thousand years.”


Naruto bounced in place beside them. “Sensei, did you come to train me again?”

“Eventually,” Jiraiya said, ruffling his hair. “But first I came to see the little one.”

He glanced around. “Where is he?”

Mikoto stepped forward with Nawaki resting in her arms.

The baby blinked up at the tall man with wide green eyes.

Jiraiya leaned down, studying him with a solemn expression Naruto had only seen a handful of times.

“You’ve got your mother’s stubborn face,” he murmured. “And your father’s eyes.”

Tsunade shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t start getting sentimental.”

“I’m not.” Jiraiya straightened. “Just…marking the moment.”


That night, the estate was unusually lively.

Mikoto prepared a small banquet to welcome the guest, and Naruto sat pressed close to Jiraiya’s side, recounting every detail of the last few months.

“And then I did it,” Naruto declared, almost vibrating with pride. “I used the Flying Thunder God Jutsu!”

Jiraiya choked on his sake, coughing so violently that Tsunade thumped his back.

“You—” he gasped, eyes watering. “You WHAT?”

“I used the seal and everything!” Naruto held up a scrap of parchment marked with Minato’s old formula, carefully copied by Harry’s hand.

Jiraiya’s jaw worked soundlessly. He turned to Tsunade, who just shrugged.

“He’s telling the truth,” she said.

“You—” Jiraiya turned back to Naruto, voice strangled. “Do you realize—your father—no one else—no one ever—”

Naruto blinked. “So…it’s good?”

“It’s…” Jiraiya exhaled, rubbing both hands over his face. “Kid, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”


Harry, who had been listening quietly from the head of the table, lifted his cup.

“He’s surpassed every expectation,” he said mildly. “And he’s only going to get stronger.”

Jiraiya slumped back in his seat. “I need a drink.”


Later that evening, as the household settled into sleep, Naruto slipped into the guest corridor, finding Jiraiya standing alone on the veranda.

The old sage stared out across the moonlit garden, his expression unreadable.

“Hey,” Naruto called softly.

Jiraiya turned. His smile was tired, but genuine.

“Hey, kid.”

Naruto walked over, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Did I…do something wrong? With the jutsu?”

“No.” Jiraiya looked back at the night sky. “You just…remind me of how much we all thought was impossible.”

Naruto shifted, uncertain.

Jiraiya rested a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“You’re going to change everything,” he said quietly. “Just like your father did.”

Naruto felt warmth bloom in his chest.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he mumbled.

Jiraiya squeezed his shoulder once. “Me too.”


In the following days, Jiraiya settled into the Pottaru Estate like he’d never left.

He took one of the larger guest rooms—soundproofed, like all the others—and quickly declared it acceptable.

When not with Tsunade and Nawaki, he spent hours watching Naruto’s training, offering advice only when asked, content to see his student growing beyond what he’d ever imagined.


And if sometimes, late at night, he sat with Harry over sake, discussing the threats that still loomed beyond the horizon, they kept those worries carefully behind closed doors.

For now, there was peace.

And in a world like theirs, peace—however brief—was a precious thing.