[ The last adult Minato sort of looked up to turned around and almost murdered him and his friends, so he'd rather stumble through life without one, thanks. Still, he follows orders without question, almost automatically, that rule in life that he lives by that tells him it's easier to just do things without a fuss. ]

Maybe. They wash the dishes and stuff, though. Make the beds. But they won't talk to me. [ He frowns, pulling his hand away from the faucet a second time and shaking his hands over the sink to flick the water off his fingers. What are linens? ]

If they've always done stuff like that, they must have had people to do that stuff for. I wonder what killed them.

[ There's beds! A kitchen! Where are all the dead bodies, he's sure there should be signs of migration or a cemetery or something. ]