The sun climbed lazily over the Hidden Leaf Village, casting long shadows over the carved faces of Hokage Rock. A rare hush blanketed Konoha. Shops had closed early, academy students had been let out, and even the ever-watchful ANBU stood still, posted like statues atop the rooftops.
Something historic was about to happen.
Beneath the Hokage Tower, the plaza was filled to the brim. Jōnin and Chūnin stood in formal lines, solemn in their flak jackets. Civilians squeezed in where they could—on steps, balconies, even rooftops—whispering among themselves. Children fidgeted on their parents' shoulders, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"I heard he took down a whole battalion by himself," muttered an elderly merchant, voice hushed with awe.
"They say he can beat the jonin in under a minute," a genin replied, eyes wide.
Then, silence.
Hiruzen Sarutobi stepped onto the stone platform, his robes fluttering in the morning breeze. Though age lined his face, his presence still commanded reverence. The crowd quieted instantly, drawn in by the calm gravity of his voice.
"Another war has come and gone," he began, slowly scanning the sea of faces. "And though the price was high… we endured."
Heads lowered. The air felt heavy with the memory of those who never returned.
"We did not ask for this war," he continued, voice steady. "But we did not run from it. Our shinobi fought with everything they had, not because they were told to, but because they believed in something."
He paused, letting his gaze pass over young Genin, tired medics, and scarred veterans with heavy eyes.
"That belief… that Will of Fire… it burns in all of us. It's what tells us, no matter the cost, we protect what matters: our homes, our comrades, our dreams."
He let that sit—heavy and warm.
"Two great wars have passed under my leadership. That is a burden I carry and will always carry. I did not wish for my reign to be stained by conflict, but I made a promise to the Second Hokage that the Leaf would remain strong, and that our Will of Fire would never fade."
The crowd straightened at those words, pride blooming behind sorrow.
"I have led as long as I could," Sarutobi said softly. "But a time comes when one must pass the torch, not because they are tired, but because a brighter flame is ready to rise."
He turned, raising his arm.
"I now pass that Will of Fire to a shinobi who embodies everything this village stands for."
"A hero of this last war. The man who faced countless enemies and emerged victorious. Student of Jiraiya the Sannin and a son of Konoha."
"Minato Namikaze."
A golden blur appeared beside him, calm and graceful.
Clad in white and red robes that fluttered dramatically, with the kanji for Fourth Hokage painted boldly on his back. Blonde hair glowed under the morning sun, and those gentle, steel-blue eyes swept over the crowd—humble, powerful, serene.
Even the most hardened jōnin couldn't hide a spark of awe.
"That's him," someone whispered. "The Yellow Flash."
The crowd erupted.
Cheers and applause thundered across the plaza. Shinobi raised their fists in salute. Civilians shouted his name. Children screamed "Yondaime" with unfiltered joy.
A little girl dropped her rice ball, too busy staring.
Elderly villagers pressed their hands together in prayer. Veterans who had bled alongside him saluted with pride.
Minato stepped forward and bowed deeply. Hiruzen placed the Hokage cap gently on his head.
Minato turned to face them all, voice calm but full of conviction.
"I will protect this village with everything I have," he said. "With peace as my goal, and all of you as my reason."
The cheer that followed shook the stones of the plaza.
It wasn't just the birth of a new Hokage.
It was the rise of a symbol.
The Yellow Flash wasn't just a hero anymore. He was their future.
Jiraiya stood off to the side, arms crossed, a wide grin tugging at his face as the cheers washed over the plaza like waves.
"Heh… they really do love him," he said, voice tinged with genuine pride.
Beside him, Orochimaru's golden eyes flicked across the crowd.
"They do," he murmured. "After all, he's a civilian."
Jiraiya blinked, then chuckled. "That's why they connect with him. He's not some heir. No clan legacy, no kekkei genkai. Just a kid who rose on talent alone."
He nodded toward the stage.
"No power games. No politics. Just a shinobi who earned their respect."
"Just like us…" Orochimaru said softly, then added with a faint curl of his lips, "But now he's the one wearing the hat."
Jiraiya snorted. "Still hung up on that?"
"No. Just stating the truth. Sensei really knows how to keep power to himself."
"Whatever," Jiraiya said with a scoff. "I just know Minato's going to change this village."
He kept grinning, arms still folded, clearly basking in the moment.
But Orochimaru wasn't finished.
His gaze slid sideways, voice silkier now, colder.
"Tell me, Jiraiya… have you found Tsunade yet?"
The grin faltered.
Orochimaru pressed on, almost casually.
"Did you tell her the elders asked for her return? Of course you did. Let me guess… she refused?"
Jiraiya's jaw clenched. He didn't answer immediately.
Finally, he muttered, "She'll come back. One day."
Orochimaru gave a thin, almost pitying smile.
"Maybe. Or maybe she's smarter than you assume."
Jiraiya turned to him, the grin now gone—but he didn't say anything. Just sighed, then looked back at the cheering crowd.
"We've all sacrificed."
Orochimaru had already begun to turn away when he paused.
Something in Jiraiya's voice made him stop.
His eyes shifted—first toward a tree at the plaza's edge, where a lone boy sat perched silently, a mask covering half his face, silver hair catching the morning light.
Then his gaze rose—up to the Hokage platform.
To Minato.
Then to their sensei standing just beside him.
Orochimaru's voice dropped to a whisper.
"No. Not everyone."
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Gender Bender suggestions
Futanari? If yes then Who?