He didn't mean to make him afraid; he meant to show that there's more left for him after he goes back, that this can't be his end because it wasn't. If he's patient enough, he'll find out for himself what there is to live for.

Somehow Minato can't help but feel that Ken has an easier time with that confession than Minato had, who'd choked it off in bitten words into Jaime's shoulder and been unable to cry. He's fervently glad. This is what makes them different, this and why living is hard for Ken. For Minato, it's because he has no experience with it, has no idea how. And he feels like he's betraying his sacrifice for everyone else, leaving them endangered, if he gets too attached. For Ken, it's guilt, he thinks. Creeping, swallowing, pervasive guilt.

"No. Or... not yet." Minato's hand squeezes back. This might not be the 'right' answer, might not be what a psychologist would say, but it's what Minato knows in his heart and has relied on himself. "One day, when you're strong enough to carry your regrets on your own, you can help someone else carry theirs until they reach that point, too. Let us do that for you. You all helped with mine.

"And, Ken-kun..." His eyes are warm now, sad but achingly compassionate. "Shinjiro-san dying should've been 'justice' for your mother, no matter how it happened, no matter who he was. If that's the case...

"Why do you still regret it so much? You don't have to pay for her death, too."