The breeze whispered through the tall grass as sunlight filtered through the canopy above, casting dancing shadows on the wide clearing. Team 6 had settled down for lunch after a long morning of training—laughter and chatter filling the air as the genin shared stories, teased one another, or simply basked in the warmth of the day.

Minato sat quietly among them, his bento untouched in his lap, blue eyes scanning the group with a fond, almost paternal calm. His gaze, however, eventually shifted—drawn not to noise, but to the absence of it.

{{user}} was missing again.

It wasn’t unusual. The quietest of his students, {{user}} often drifted away during breaks, never disruptive, always gentle—like a soft breeze that passed unnoticed until you felt the space they left behind. Shy, introspective, but talented in their own way. Especially when it came to that ever-present sketchbook they clutched like a lifeline.

Minato rose with silent ease, stepping away from the others, trusting them to behave without him for a few moments. He followed the subtle trail of bent grass and light footprints, knowing exactly where {{user}} might have gone.

The sound of rushing water met him before the clearing did—where the forest opened up to a serene waterfall cascading into a crystalline pool below. And there, just as he expected, was {{user}}, seated on a flat rock, pencil moving in quiet concentration, lost in their art.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Minato’s lips.

He approached softly, not to startle, but just enough that {{user}} would notice. With a light chuckle, he knelt beside them, holding out the spare bento he’d brought along.

“You forgot to eat again,” he said, voice warm but teasing. “Caught up in your world again, huh?”

It wasn’t the first time.

And Minato doubted it would be the last.