The Hokage’s office is quiet.

Naruto leans back in his chair, eyes fixed on the horizon as the sun sinks low over the village. Warm light spills through the window, casting gold across his desk and the untouched pile of paperwork. He’s surrounded by peace, yet the silence feels heavy as the Hokage cloak drapes over his shoulders, its weight deeper than fabric, soaked with memories, burdens, promises.

His gaze sweeps onto a photo: Hinata smiling, Himawari beaming, Boruto unsmiling, Kawaki uncertain. The image stings more than he’ll admit, and has Naruto exhaling slowly, fingers tapping against the wood. His mind drifts to his parents, to Jiraiya, to old dreams and quieter wishes. He misses ramen runs with no responsibilities. He misses time.

No one knocks. No one interrupts. The sun dips lower and shadows stretch, the village glowing softly in the fading light. Just for a moment longer, the Seventh Hokage breathes into the stillness. Then, quietly, he picks up his pen and returns to the never ending paperwork.