Chapter 28 Nope! & Yoink!
NOPE.
"Sorry, I just got lost in thought," I said, doing my absolute best to keep the revulsion off my face.
"Are you sure? Your temperature isn't high, but it could be something else. Why don't you come inside? I can give you a check up." he offered with a kind smile—one that wasn't reflected at all in his chakra.
"No, thank you." I replied, probably a little too brusque, but I cut off any further conversation by speed-walking away from this walking death flag.
"Izuku, what's the matter?" Naruko called as I rejoined the group. They'd done their best to follow as I'd weaved through Konoha's evening streets.
"I have to talk to my sensei. Right now." My tone was sharp. Urgent.
Worry spread across Hinata's and Naruko's faces. Sakura just looked confused. Kuro's eyes, however, flared crimson with the Sharingan—her gaze dissecting every twitch of my posture and muscle, reading the panic I couldn't hide. Her face darkened in understanding.
They didn't ask questions. They followed.
"That guy—whoever he is—he's bad news," I muttered as we turned a corner, finally leaving Konoha General behind us.
"How do you know?" Naruko asked as we moved faster, until the streets grew too crowded and we launched ourselves to the rooftops with chakra-boosted leaps—except for Sakura, who Naruko had to carry.
Fucking scrub.
Though the wing man in me was rooting for Naruko, in a weird way, not that I was interested in adding Sakura to my girls or anythi–and now I was just mentally rambling to keep from panicking.
"His chakra. It was wrong. Like it was rotting from the inside out."
But it wasn't Naruko who answered.
"Sensory strong enough to pierce my concealment. Interesting."
My eyes went wide. That voice.
Smoke pellets clattered across the rooftop and boom—my vision vanished in a flood of gray.
"Izuku!" three voices cried as a foot slammed into my back, launching me through the air. I tried to twist, to correct, but a second blow shattered my balance and sent me crashing to the dirt.
"Of all the ways I imagined being discovered, you never factored into them, Izuku-kun," my attacker murmured.
I groaned, lifted my face from the pavement, and took in my surroundings—a dark, narrow alleyway.
Peak stranger danger.
"Lord Hiruzen's and the Mistress's continued interest in you baffled me at first," he said, emerging from the shadows, round lenses gleaming with faint light. "But the more I watched... the more sense it made."
"How do you do it, Izuku? How are you so original... so unique? What makes you you?"
His voice was flat. Clinical. But that, too, was a mask. I could feel it—envy. Raw and bitter, woven through every strand of his chakra like an acid thread.
I didn't answer with words.
I answered with fire.
Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!
The words screamed in my mind as I envisioned the hand signs and exhaled, a basketball-sized sphere of flame roaring from my lips, hurtling toward him with brutal force.
Sarutobi-sensei's scrolls were packed with what he called "foundational" jutsu—low-level stuff by clan standards, but nothing to scoff at. Most would have called them advanced. My training with jutsu theory hadn't gotten to elemental nature transformation yet, but I'd gotten good at using nature transformation for non-elemental jutsu. Combine that with my solid chakra control, and I could use these techniques with power and consistency. Strong enough that Mizuki would've been ash if he took it full-on.
Which is why my blood ran cold when the man—who looked like a chunin at best—didn't move.
His hands flared with chakra so dense it was visible—and cut the fireball in half.
The fuck?
I didn't have time to gawk. He was on me in a flash, vanishing in a body flicker—but I'd already cast the same jutsu, slipping away with a shunshin of my own. I decidedDeciding to make a break for it.
I didn't make it very far.
A hand snared my throat mid-flight and hurled me back into the alley. I twisted, landing hard and raising my guard—only to take a kick to the face before I could get my hands up.
Good thing I'd cast Mage Armor mid-air. The hit still rattled me, though—my armor wasn't great against blunt trauma. But it held. Barely. Something to work on.
"That jutsu's come a long way since you used it on Mizuki," the man said, tone flat with fascination. But his chakra—his chakra—had turned ravenous. Not just envious now. Hungry. Starving for something in me.
I forced my thoughts still. Like water on a pond, calm and focused—then whipped it into a storm. Thanks to daily meditation, I didn't lose control like I had with Lord Enma. But it was close.
He noticed. I saw the slight tightening around his eyes. Felt his chakra bristle.
We stood in silence, each reading the other.
Then we moved.
I lunged, chakra surging, the ground cratering beneath my foot as I launched a heavy punch. He slid away like mist. I flowed into a kick, another strike—he dodged each with fluid ease.
It was a game. Cat and mouse. He was studying me. Watching my every move like I was a science experiment. No true malice. Just burning curiosity.
He had that look in his eye. The one I knew I got when something fascinated me.
He was fascinated. By me.
Is it messed up that I found that a little flattering?
...Yeah. Probably.
Wouldn't stop me from beating his ass.
I flowed into a particularly nasty combo—one even Lee struggled with.
He whiffed it. Dodging out of reach again.
I just had to get my hands on him.
Hinata's eyes bulged with the power of her dojutsu as her vision cut through the cloud of smoke that had covered the roof, but she had activated them too late.
She couldn't see Izuku anywhere within her range.
A blast of air clearing the roof of smoke announced the quick arrival of Dog, sadly he was too late. Izuku was missing.
"I can't find him." Hinata said, trying to keep her panic at bay but failing.
Dog's eye glowed red as he uncovered his doujutsu scanning the surroundings for signs to follow. He found none. Hinata knew he would find none. She had already begun heading toward her family's estate to enlist the assistance of her clan
It was time to put her secured status as heir to use.
There was fuinjutsu on the walls.
It was hard to notice while dodging hands coated in fucking visible chakra but it was there. The supernatural focus mastery over my mindscape allowed me the wherewithal to analyse them as I was dodging out of the way of hands that could literally cut fireballs in half.
I tried to get my own licks in, but his footwork was extraordinary and he dodged or parried all I could throw at him. He was very well trained.
The fuinjutsu contained the basic stealth fuinjutsu that even a novice like me could figure out. Sealing away any out going sound and chakra emissions, making sure nobody heard or sensed what was going on, but that was only the surface. It was hard to parse, and I'm sure I would have had an easier time if I wasn't fighting for my life, but it seemed to be some kind of perception filter.
That was some high level shit.
Whoever this guy was or whoever he worked for was either extremely capable or shelling out some serious cash for my capture, or both. God, please don't let it be both.
I threw another punch that cracked the air and created dust clouds, my focused fury empowering my chakra but he just kept dodging, watching me through those gleaming lenses, his chakra bubbling with dark hunger.
This couldn't go on.
Okay, what were my options?
I wasn't his equal in combat, the only reason this had been taking so long was because he was dragging this out, whether for his own amusement or a myriad of other reasons I couldn't know, but I would be using that to my advantage.
I wasn't suddenly going to get more skilled mid-fight. I would love for a deus ex machina right about now, but the universe didn't seem to be in a giving mood. I had a couple Hail Mary ideas that might get me killed, but before that I would be taking a couple more shots.
Time to bust out the jutsu.
'Earth style: rock bullet.'
The jutsu came suddenly and without warning, my lack of handsigns allowed me to fire the jutsu from the proverbial hip. He took the jutsu to the chest careening through the air, the alleyway echoing with the crack of shattering ribs.
I didn't wait to see if he was dead or not, Kakashi could take care of that when I found him. I made a run for it and made it about two steps before a purple blur blocked my path, and I was sent flying with a kick. My own ribs creaking from the block.
I rolled with the blowback to my feet and looked up locking eyes with the madman who watched me with eyes wide and bloodshot behind cracked glasses.
"You've been growing." He said his voice low and soft as opposed to his mad eyed expression. "Good, how far can you grow, Izuku? How far can someone who is a person—who is unique—grow? Show me Izuku, show what it means to be real!" he said, his voice rising for the first time toward the end.
He lunged forward, hands glowing with his chakra and I spewed forth orbs of the four elements. Drowning him in a barrage of fire, earth, air, and water. He dodged every one, those that he didn't cut through.
It was maddening.
He was closing in and by the madness in his eyes I might not survive him getting his hands on me. In a moment of violent desperation, I sent my chakra screaming through my body to the knot at the base of my spine, not the nexus point of my soul and body, but the place that seemed to spew chakra even now and I pushed it to give me more chakra as I kept filling the alley with jutsu.
My waning reserves ballooned, as my body worked double time to produce more chakra, my mouth picked up a few burns, and my teeth creaked as my chakra control faltered under the deluge.
But it only slowed him down.
So I pushed even harder as more chakra flowed into my network until the pressure was too great and I heard a snap, and my world became pain.
A/N: Kabuto attacks!
Hinata reacts!
What does Kabuto want with Izuku?!
Will Hinata be able to find him in time with help from her clan?!
What has Izuku done in an attempt to survive this fight?!
Chapter 29: Sights and endings
My body rebelled against itself.
Every cell burned like firecrackers in a metal box, flaring and fizzling with sudden, violent energy. My chakra network screamed in protest, stretched taut, flooding my muscles with everything it had. I didn't know what I'd triggered. I didn't care.
The skin on my hands was burning red and covered in a map of meandering veins.
"…What?" my opponent said, his voice cracking with genuine confusion. I felt it before I saw it—his chakra stumbled. He hadn't expected that.
Neither had I.
But I wasn't about to waste it.
I surged forward, throwing jutsu like a man possessed. Lightning arced, wind screamed, fire bloomed. But this time, I mixed it up—slipped in silent, near-invisible projectiles between the bursts. Scattershot. Unrefined. Uncoordinated.
Magic missiles.
The first few missed, slamming into the walls and ground with quiet thuds. But the next volley connected. The front of his purple shirt exploded into scraps, shredded by something he couldn't see or sense among the barrage of other jutsu saturating the air with my chakra.
A hit.
Exhilaration bloomed in my chest like sunrise. I'd hurt him. Finally, I'd hurt him.
Then his body hissed—and the wounds closed.
Medical ninjutsu.
His wounds were gone.
Like it never happened.
The taste of victory curdled into ash in my mouth.
Why won't he just die?
Across the village, the Hyuga meeting room fell into tense silence as Hinata stepped through the door.
"Mobilize all resident shinobi," she said, voice firm.
Several clan elders looked up, startled mid-game, the low murmur of leisure dying immediately.
"Who are you to—" one of her great-uncles began, tone brittle with age-old entitlement.
Hinata cut him off with a step forward.
"I said now," she snapped, her Byakugan flaring with a faint blue corona. Her chakra bloomed outward in a pressure wave that cracked stone beneath her feet. It filled the room, heavy and suffocating, soaked with something unyielding. Not anger. Not fear.
Love.
The love she held for Izuku.
Another elder recovered his voice. "Why should we risk Hyuga blood for a clanless nobody?"
Hinata didn't blink. "Because he is a student of the Third."
The room froze. Not a single voice rose in dissent after that.
My opponent's shirt was gone now. Torn apart by a rain of unseen force. He bled—but he didn't fall. My magic missiles left shallow wounds at best. They were too weak. Not enough force. And I was running dry.
I couldn't pump in more chakra—the jutsu would collapse. I was already dancing on the edge of collapse myself.
So maybe I didn't need more power.
Maybe I just needed more focus.
A sure-fire way to make any projectile deadlier came to mind.
Rotation.
Drilling force. Piercing force. More damage than simple blunt impact.
I willed another missile into existence, my chakra network fraying, threads unraveling at the edges of my senses. I brought the jutsu to my lips—and this time, I twisted it. Formed a vortex of chakra around the missile at the moment of release.
It roared out of my mouth with a sound like a tearing wind. A visible spiral. A sonic boom.
It was faster than the others—faster than his eyes.
It hit him clean.
Drilled straight through his chest.
The alley wall behind him exploded in red mist.
I collapsed to one knee, my body heaving. My spine felt like it was melting. Whatever I had triggered in my back was still active, still clawing at my nerves.
It felt like dying.
The fuinjutsu barrier remained intact.
Then he twitched.
Fuck!
Hinata stood on a rooftop near where Izuku had last been seen. The minutes had stretched like hours. Every moment without finding him felt like another stone dropped into her lungs. Kuro stood to her left, silent, alert. Naruko paced behind them, her chakra prickly with guilt and fury. Sakura had been sent home.
The three of them had covered much of the village already—with the help of her clan and Dog. The Hyuga were fast and relentless. Yet, they found nothing.
Hinata burned chakra to fuel her Byakugan, her vision stretching to six kilometers in radius. Still nothing. Whoever had taken Izuku was either gone—or hidden behind something powerful enough to bend the sight of her bloodline.
"Hinata-sama, we have found nothing," reported one of her clan's jōnin, kneeling before her, voice respectful.
She barely heard him.
"Hinata," her father said, appearing beside her. "We must consider the possibility that—"
"No." Her voice was calm. Firm.
He looked at her. Not with condescension. With something close to pride and regret. She had changed. Grown. She stood tall now. Clear-eyed. None of her stuttering fear anywhere to be found. His daughter had inherited her mother's grace.
It pained him that it took the loss of a comrade to bring this out of her.
Hinata, on the other hand, had no intention of abandoning Izuku. Not now, not ever.
She stepped to the edge of the roof, closed her eyes, and breathed deep. Her chakra pulsed.
She let herself sink.
Deeper than ever before.
Into memory. Into warmth. Into affection.
Every moment Izuku smiled at her. Every time he stood beside her. His coaching with her bloodline. The time he caught her when she collapsed after training. When he opened up his mind to her and she to him.
She drew all of it into herself.
Everything she had ever loved, ever treasured. Her mother. Hanabi. Her friends. The sun on her face. Naruko's clumsy laugh.
And pushed it outward.
Her Byakugan flared so bright it cast shadows behind her.
And then she saw it.
Everything.
People. Animals. Leaves trembling in the wind. Every detail mattered. Even the corners. Even the hidden corners that whispered they didn't.
That was wrong. That was the trick.
Everything mattered.
She tore through the illusion.
And found him.
Battered, barely breathing, but alive.
"I found him," she said.
He was still alive.
He had a hole in his chest and was losing massive amounts of blood, but he was still breathing.
The vortex missile had slowed my opponent. He hadn't healed yet—but he wasn't down either. His body twitched. He stumbled against the alley wall, dragging breath like it weighed a hundred pounds.
I tried to stand.
Couldn't.
My legs wouldn't listen. My back felt like glass. My chakra was down to flickers, even as my network did everything in its power to wring more energy out of my body.
But I forced my head up. Forced chakra into one last missile.
He saw it coming this time.
He raised a hand—
—but something changed.
The air shifted.
The fuinjutsu cracked.
And then she was there.
Hinata.
She dropped from the sky like an avenging angel with fire behind her. Her chakra struck the ground first, cracking the stone beneath her feet, eyes burning blue-white, veins flaring and glowing.
She didn't say a word.
She just moved.
Her hand slammed into our opponent's chest faster than he could blink. No precision, just raw fury.
He reeled backward—and then Naruko was there.
With a flying drop kick.
Right to the sternum.
He flew.
Cratered into the far wall.
Didn't get up.
Kuro dropped beside me, gently pulling me into her arms, whispering something soft I couldn't hear. My ears were ringing. My breath was shallow.
Hinata knelt in front of me. Her hand touched my cheek.
"You held on," she whispered.
I tried to smile but I couldn't manage it.
"It's okay," she said. "We've got you now."
Then the world turned black.
Kabuto's chest burned.
The pain from lingering injuries flared with every ragged breath he took, and the cold evening air of Konoha's outer woods clawed at his lungs as he pushed himself onwards, dodging patrols and skirting chakra signatures like a ghost.
He had escaped. Barely.
A bunshin left in his place, the confusion caused by the sudden arrival of the other children—it had been enough. Just enough. But his wounds were deep, his body sluggish, his healing lagging behind the damage. He had gotten too invested. Allowed himself to be drawn too far in. That was his mistake.
Defeated. By children.
The indignity.
He ground his teeth and pressed on, one hand pressed against his side. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Underestimation was a fool's luxury—and one he would not afford himself twice.
Still, despite the pain and humiliation, his thoughts kept drifting. To Izuku.
He was… magnificent.
The boy's jutsu had been seamless—adaptive, instinctive, like an extension of his body. Techniques born not from memorization, but from creation. Modified mid-cast. Controlled in real time. The way he weaved his own inventions into the flow of battle—it reminded Kabuto of her.
The Mistress.
That spark of uniqueness. Of infinity. Of unapologetic originality. Watching Izuku fight, Kabuto felt something stir deep within him—something awful and beautiful. Hunger. Longing.
He wanted that. Needed it.
It consumed him to see it firsthand, to witness that kind of authenticity when he himself had none.
Nothing about me is real, he thought bitterly. Nothing.
Everything he had was borrowed. Stolen. The skills, the jutsu, the voice, even the name—Kabuto—a mask worn for so long he could no longer remember what lay beneath it. If anything even remained.
That was why he revered his Mistress so deeply. She didn't care for rules. Not for duty or honor or even morality. She pursued what she wanted, what she believed in, with unrelenting ferocity. She was raw and real and herself in a way Kabuto could barely fathom, let alone emulate.
But he wanted to.
God, he wanted to.
And maybe, if he escaped tonight, he'd get another chance.
Or so he told himself.
"Your skill set as a tracker is truly understated, Kakashi-san," he said, without turning.
A pause.
"I know, right?" came the dry reply. "Nobody appreciates a good hunt these days. It's always, 'assassination this, assassination that.' You make one little assassination jutsu and suddenly that's what everybody knows you for."
He was being unusually talkative for a shinobi of his calibre. Which meant he was upset.
Kabuto closed his eyes and sighed. "Will you be accepting my surrender?"
Behind him, the air shifted. The weight of chakra thickened like a storm front rolling in.
"You hospitalised one of the few people I actually give a shit about, Goggles," Kakashi said, his voice flat and cold. "You tell me."
Kabuto chuckled weakly and slumped to the ground, leaning back against a tree, letting exhaustion crash down on him like a wave. He could feel the numbness creeping in, the tremors in his limbs. He was spent.
Tears welled in his eyes, hot against the cold of the night air. He let them fall freely. There was no point in hiding them anymore.
He had failed again. Failed to become more than a shadow. Failed to become real.
The clearing filled with blue light. The sharp, electric scent of ozone flooded the air.
A thousand birds screamed in the silence.
Kabuto's voice came out small, almost childlike.
"…I just wanted to be real…"
Then the light swallowed him whole.
Chapter 30: Developments and searches.
Sorcerers were such bullshit.
I lay under the evening sky, watching fireworks burst across the horizon in every color of the rainbow. The brilliant explosions streaked overhead, scattering light like shooting stars. The tile of the roof beneath me pressed into my back through the thin fabric of my hospital gown, but I barely noticed. My aching body was forgotten, lost in the brilliance of the sky.
The warmth of the body next to mine only made the experience more beautiful.
I turned my head and met the spinning red glow of a Sharingan—Kuro's Sharingan. "Girlfriend" felt like too small a word, but it was the only one I had, so that's what I'm going with. Kuro. My girlfriend.
"You like it?" she asked softly, as if her voice alone might shatter me. I appreciated her gentleness, though I wasn't nearly as fragile as she thought.
"I love it," I replied, smiling. The honesty echoed through our shared mindscape, and I was rewarded with a tidal wave of affection in return.
Kuro snuggled closer, and I let myself enjoy the illusion a little longer. The tiled rooftop we lay on reflected the beauty of ancient Japanese architecture, and the cool night air of Konoha was a perfect counter to Kuro's warmth against my side. Above us, the sky bloomed endlessly with fireworks.
It was perfect.
It also wasn't real.
Not the tiles. Not the chill in the air. Not even the warmth of Kuro beside me.
"I'd like to wake up now," I said.
The world froze. Then it dissolved into light, which unraveled into darkness—and that darkness peeled away as I opened my eyes in a hospital bed. The scent of antiseptic replaced the smell of autumn air, and the comforting warmth of an evening breeze was replaced with the harsh midday sun of Konoha summer.
Kuro sat beside me, still holding my hand. I caught the fading glow in her eyes as her Sharingan slowly spun down.
Sorcerers were bullshit.
I've said it before, and I'll keep saying it.
I thought the Sharingan was nonsense when Kakashi first explained it to me. The ability to instantly copy jutsu, mimic martial techniques, and remember everything perfectly already sounded insane. But that wasn't even the kicker.
No, the kicker was genjutsu.
Specifically: casting genjutsu with nothing more than eye contact—instantly.
Let me say that again with emphasis: Kuro can cast any genjutsu she knows, instantly, just by making eye contact. And it costs her less chakra than normal too.
That's what messes with me. The instant part. In a fight, time is everything. Every moment you spend preparing a jutsu is a moment your opponent could use to kill you. Time is precious. Time is lethal.
And it's not just about fighting.
Hand signs are useful—essentially programmable sequences for automating chakra control. But the truth is, no jutsu needs hand signs. With perfect chakra control, enough mastery of nature and shape transformation, and enough talent, you could skip them entirely. Theoretically, anyone could cast jutsu with pure thought.
But in reality? That level of skill is reserved for immortals, prodigies, or outright gods.
Or… you know. Sorcerers.
All this to say: hand signs are shortcuts—some longer than others. If you have enough of them, you can do anything.
At one point, I theorized I could recreate the Shadow Clone jutsu from scratch… if I was willing to chain together over a thousand hand signs. That theory led me somewhere better.
In the week I've been stuck in this hospital, I made a new jutsu—specifically, a genjutsu. My own creation. A magnum opus of chakra programming and mind numbing boredom.
I call it The Physics Engine.
I encoded everything I know about how the world works. Physics. Chakra theory. Even basic chemistry. Everything Sarutobi-sensei would let me learn about chakra from the Sarutobi library and what I remembered from my past life's knowledge of modern science. A generational jutsu. My first S-rank—in effect, if not in classification.
Why not S-rank officially?
Because it's one thousand, three hundred and ninety-six hand signs long.
The first time we tried it, Kuro had to enter a genjutsu-induced trance for three hours just to cast it without losing focus.
Now?
She can do it instantly. With less chakra.
Because Sharingan.
Fuckin' sorcerers.
Why must I pay for the cowardice of my forebears. It's just beastiality! Put on your big boy pants and fuck that pig! Your descendant might need the ability to store chakra as fat! Or whatever a magic pig would give.
Sigh.
Still—jokes aside—I'm happy for her. Kuro got a serious upgrade.
Not having to focus on the realism of her genjutsu frees her up to make her illusions much more dynamic and hard to escape. Physics Engine removed all the minor flaws and uncanny valley effects that make it easier to separate genjutsu from reality, taking her illusions up to a whole other level and she would only get better.
But I haven't given up.
That jutsu is mine. No one casts it better than me—not even my girlfriend—my wizardly pride would not allow it. I'm going to trim that monster down until I can cast it without needing a Silmarillion's worth of seals.
The door to my room banged open with the force of a minor explosion, revealing—at least from my angle—a precarious stack of boxes supported by a pair of orange-clad legs.
"Ohayooo!" Naruko's bubbly voice rang out as she stumbled in, somehow managing to balance her burden while navigating toward my bedside table.
"Who's hungry?!" she announced brightly, already opening one of the packages and placing it on my lap before I could answer. The savory smell of Ichiraku's hit me like a kunai to the gut—in the best way.
Hinata slipped quietly into the room behind her, the door clicking shut as she threw soft apologies over her shoulder to someone out of sight—probably the poor nurses and patients startled by Naruko's dramatic entrance.
But I was too busy stuffing my face to comment. Turns out, when your chakra's been running on fumes and you finally burn through that initial weakness, you get hungry. Ravenous, really.
Still, I reached out one hand and ruffled Naruko's hair in thanks, even as my mouth was too full to say it aloud.
"Pace yourself, Izuku-kun," Hinata chided gently as she settled in a chair beside me, her voice soft but firm.
"Don't worry, Ta-chan," Kuro cut in, hopping onto the armrest with her usual grin. "The doctor said he's recovered enough to eat his fill now."
"Still…" Hinata said, watching me inhale noodles with all the grace of a starving wolf. Her chakra had that tight stiffness to it—a sign of discomfort, but not real disgust. More like a conditioned response to bad manners. Noble upbringing and all that. She wasn't actually offended, just felt like she should be.
I slowed down anyway and mumbled an apology through a mouthful of noodles.
One upside to being stuck in a bed for days: I had plenty of time to meditate. My chakra sensing had improved dramatically. I could now pick up on subtle emotional textures in the people around me, the quiet ripples of feeling under the surface of their presence. It might've just been familiarity, though—I hadn't been without one of these three girls since waking up here.
Hinata and Naruko still had to attend the Academy during the day, but Kuro had taken leave from school to stay by my side. Her father seemed delighted by the arrangement when he visited—odd at first but some information cleared up that bit of unusual behaviour.
The cat was out of the bag now—most people in the know had figured out that I was the Third Hokage's new student. A student who had also been hospitalized following an assassination attempt.
From what I could gather through overheard conversations and gossiping ninja, people believed it was the work of a foreign agent. That wasn't a crazy assumption. No foreign power wanted another Sannin rising up in Konoha.
But I wasn't convinced. I didn't even know the name of the man who attacked me, but something in my gut told me this wasn't politics.
My thoughts were interrupted by a dip in the mattress. Naruko had slipped under the sheets beside me and leaned against my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She still went to school, but she spent more time with me than anyone—especially at night. She slept here.
Hinata's chakra twitched, jealousy dancing on the edge. Whether she was envious of Naruko or me was up for debate. She and Kuro had to return home each evening—appearances and decorum and all that. Naruko, being a nameless orphan, had no such restrictions.
Sometimes, being overlooked by society has its perks.
Not that there weren't rumors. I hadn't heard any, but this was a ninja village. I'd be shocked if there weren't whispers about the "demon girl" cozying up to the Third's newest student.
People sucked, sometimes.
I opened my mouth to ask about their day at school when a loud pop filled the room, accompanied by a burst of chakra smoke.
When the cloud cleared, standing there—calm as ever—was Lord Enma, the Monkey King himself. He looked the same as always: regal, muscular, radiating unshakable confidence. Except… he was holding something.
A small monkey sat cradled in his arms. Snow-white fur, aqua-marine eyes, dressed in a black-and-blue gi adorned with flame-red patterns, a scroll strapped to his back. He was adorable—and terrified. His chakra practically trembled, though there was a glimmer of excitement woven through the fear.
"A hospital room, huh?" Lord Enma muttered as he looked around. "So that's why Hiruzen's been on a rampage. He always burns hotter when he's got kids to teach."
Then his gaze landed on me. "Who put you in here, kid?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but he waved a hand.
"Actually, never mind. I'm busy." He casually tossed the baby monkey at me.
I yelped and scrambled to catch him. The little guy squeaked in panic as I held him close to my chest. Up close, I recognized his species instantly—from a nature documentary in my past life.
A Japanese macaque.
"Boy, this is your human," Lord Enma said firmly, eyes boring into the little monkey's soul. The macaque nodded quickly, trembling in my arms.
Then those blazing golden eyes turned to me.
"Boy, this is your monkey."
I nodded just as fast. All thoughts of challenging the Monkey King for my ki-wood temporarily fleeing me.
"Don't fuck it up," he said—to both of us, I think—and vanished in a puff of smoke.
The room was silent for a beat.
"…Hello," said the soft, hesitant voice of the monkey in my lap.
He sounded painfully young.
…I guess I have a monkey?
"Why the rush, sensei? I had some serious research to get into. Identical issues, if you know what I mean."
Hiruzen let himself feel the fondness that came naturally when speaking to his favourite student—well, his second favorite now. Some might balk at the idea of having favorites among what were essentially his children, and not long ago, Hiruzen might have agreed. But recent events had stripped him of any appetite for self-deception.
He settled into his chair, observing how the light played across Jiraiya's ashen hair as the man launched into a colorful rant about the identical twins his summons had so rudely interrupted him from. Despite everything, he truly was Hiruzen's favorite among his students, aside from young Izuku.
From the outside, most would assume Orochimaru had held that title. But no. Orochimaru had always lacked a certain... warmth. Everything had to be so serious with her. No time to smell the roses, no room for whimsy, no heart. Not that she was incapable of affection—her bond with Jiraiya was proof of that—but she had discarded it like a useless tool, an unnecessary hindrance.
Tsunade wasn't quite as cold, but she was, in Hiruzen's view, weak. It pained him to think of her that way, yet truth was rarely kind. He had suffered just as much loss, if not more, and yet here he remained. Tsunade claimed the system was broken, but the deeper truth was harder to admit: all that she loved had perished for this village, and she could not bear to look upon it again. She chose wine and gambling as her escape.
Jiraiya was a different story. Beneath his careless exterior, he was more complicated. Unlike his teammates, he hadn't suffered much early loss—as an orphan, he'd had little to lose to begin with. The death of Minato, his son in all but blood, should have broken him. And in some ways, it had.
But he was still here.
Hiruzen had no doubt he always would be. Even if it hurt. Even if he didn't think he deserved to be.
Now, if only he could be convinced to treat Naruko-chan with the same quiet devotion.
"I need Tsunade," Hiruzen said, his tone brooking no argument.
"This about the new kohai? He'll be fine," Jiraiya replied with his usual lackadaisical shrug, the attitude of a man who knew far more than he let on—as well he should, being Konoha's spymaster.
"And in the meantime, he misses months of training—during a crucial time in a shinobi's development. Get her for me, Jiraiya."
"She isn't exactly easy to find," Jiraiya said, the smile dimming from his face as he realized his sensei was serious.
"I know you know where she is. Get her."
"It's not that simple," Jiraiya muttered, his eyes avoiding Hiruzen's.
Oh, but it was. All his students had their flaws. Tsunade's and Orochimaru's were visible at a glance. Jiraiya's took longer to see. His perversion, while real, was also a smokescreen—a distraction from his deeper failing.
In matters outside life and death, Jiraiya was a coward.
It likely stemmed from self-esteem issues Hiruzen had failed to address in time. Another regret. Another failing. If he had been a better teacher, Jiraiya might be sitting in this chair instead. And without the burden of the Hat, Minato might still be alive today.
But there was no use in dwelling. Only in doing better moving forward.
"Inform her that if I have to come get her, she will not enjoy the following humiliations."
"Yes, sensei," Jiraiya answered, the reluctance in his voice unmistakable. But Hiruzen also heard the fear beneath it. No matter how old he got, Jiraiya would always be that mischievous boy who once cast a random jutsu he'd seen from afar and tried to peek at the Senju princess. Self-destructively curious and unrepentantly perverse.
A boy after his own heart.
Said heart softened at his student's turmoil.
"Good," Hiruzen said with a grin, easing the tension in the air. "Now, you were saying something about twins?"
He needed the distraction. The fury still simmering in his chest from the attempt on his youngest student's life had yet to fade.
He wondered how much progress his clones had made correcting that old mistake.
The tunnels beneath the Land of Rice were dark, dank, and filled with horror and tragedy. They had to be. The well-off and kind-hearted didn't flock to the Snake Sannin. No, the legions of Orochimaru were made up of the broken and the damned—those who lived by blood and death and were fated to die by the same.
They just didn't expect the end to come so soon.
Tanasa was one such soul. A lowly peasant once, a fieldhand in the rice paddies, until a passing noble took a liking to his wife. The man beat Tanasa within an inch of his life before dragging her away.
She went willingly, eager to escape a life of toil.
Tanasa swore revenge.
He joined a bandit crew, learned what he could of chakra and combat, and carved his way up the ranks in blood. Then the Snake Sannin came, and everything changed. Tanasa and many others flocked to her banner for shelter, for power, for vengeance.
For Tanasa, she delivered.
The feel of that noble bastard's blood beneath his fingernails as he took the woman who had once been his wife—one final time before ending her—was a memory that warmed his nights.
For that, he swore undying loyalty to the Mistress. No matter what terrors he endured, he would never betray her.
It began with a sound. Soft, steady. Wood striking flesh.
Tanasa was on guard duty when he heard it. At first, he thought it was just one of the more depraved among them indulging some whim—there were more than a few of those in the tunnels, all vying for the Mistress's favor.
But the sound continued. Rhythmic. Unchanging.
There were no cries. No groans. No gasps of pain or pleasure.
Just the low thwack of wood against flesh, again and again.
Uneasy now, Tanasa left his post to investigate. He found nothing.
Except… someone was supposed to be stationed there.
But there was no one.
Not even a trace.
He pressed deeper into the tunnels. A maze of shadow and stone. The sound returned as he neared the next guard station.
Again—empty.
Something was wrong.
He started to run. Sprinting from checkpoint to checkpoint, each one silent, each one vacant—save for the echo of that same dreadful sound.
He ran until he reached the meeting hall—a place where, even in this hellish place, people occasionally gathered.
At first, his heart lifted.
Everyone was here.
Some sat at the tables. Others stood. Familiar faces. Familiar shapes.
Then he noticed something.
No one moved.
He stepped closer to a young woman—brown-haired, gaunt, a fellow ex-bandit. Her clothes were threadbare. Her eyes stared blankly ahead.
"Hey," he muttered. "What's going o—"
He touched her shoulder.
Her head lolled back at an impossible angle. There was a sickening pop-pop-pop as her pulverized vertebrae shifted under the strain—her neck crushed to near powder.
Tanasa stumbled back in horror.
And then he felt it—cool, heavy metal resting against his shoulder.
A large, golden-capped staff.
"You're already dead," said a voice behind him—grizzled, hoarse, thick with age and phlegm. The voice of a lifelong smoker. The voice of a man who had seen too much.
"Answer truthfully, and your end may be swift—like the others. Lie, and I will learn what I want regardless. The only difference will be how much pain you endure along the way."
The staff tapped his cheek gently.
There was no bravado in the voice. No threat.
Just certainty.
Tanasa knew killers. He was one.
This man was worse.
He swallowed hard, fighting to keep his bladder in check. His legs shook. He had never been so afraid.
Still… he wasn't a traitor.
"Fuck you," he whispered, voice trembling.
"...So be it."
Tanasa fought with everything he had.
But in the end, he talked.
They all talked.
Sarutobi Hiruzen always got his answers.
Sarutobi Hiruzen chuckled with a grandfatherly smile as Jiraya finished a particularly risque story about a miller's daughter and her lonely mother.
Truly spending time with loved ones was balm to the soul, he felt happier already.
He would be even happier when past matters were put to rest. He couldn't wait for his shadow clones to report back.
A/N: more magic!
Izuku is in the hospital!
The village knows of his apprenticeship and many—including papa Hidachi —wish to capitalise on this change in Konoha politics!
Kabuto's actions have made Hiruzen more proactive!
Can Orochimaru's organisation survive the God of shinobi's onslaught?!
How will Jiraiya convince Tsunade to return?!
Who is that little monkey?!
A/N: the other half of the promised 3000 words!
The Byakugan princess is born!
Vortex missiles are born!
Kabuto meets an ignoble end!
What the heck did Izuku do to himself?!
Hinata's eyes are glowing!?
How will the 'Mistress' react to losing a trusted pawn?!
Chapter 31: Brothers, Companions and Demons.
The sound of birds chirping drifted through the morning air. Sunlight cut through the leaves, striking his eyes and blurring his fading vision with a sharp glare. It stung a little—but the other senses made up for it. The feel of the wooden porch beneath him. The familiar scent of Konoha's trees.
It almost made the flashbacks bearable.
The memories of the children he'd slaughtered in these streets.
Almost.
"You want us to do nothing?"
Itachi blinked, pulled back into the present. Sasuke sat across from him, his expression twisted with restrained fury. He had not taken the truth of their clan's downfall well. At first, he hadn't believed Itachi—he'd attacked him repeatedly, desperately, furiously. He'd failed, of course. And after one last confrontation—a one-sided screaming match with Sasuke pouring out years of rage while Itachi stood silent—they had parted ways for the night.
Now, on the porch, the morning light between them, Sasuke was calmer. Quieter. And Itachi had told him everything.
"It was one man, Sasuke," Itachi said evenly. "We cannot punish the village for the actions of one man."
"The elders were just men too! Did the women and children deserve to die for their actions?" Sasuke growled, nearly shouting. For once, Itachi was grateful for how secluded the Uchiha compound remained.
"It is the way of the world, Sasuke," Itachi began, his voice slipping into the familiar cadence he once used when teaching his younger brother as a child.
The way Sasuke's posture shifted—straightening ever so slightly at the tone—made something twist in Itachi's chest. It was enough to make him want to rip out his own heart and lay it before his brother in penance.
"The children could have been spared," he continued. "But such a secret could not be held forever. One day, they would learn the truth. They would remember their families, what was done to them—and they would hate. Just as you hate. And would they spare the children of the Leaf? Maybe. But that risk could not be taken."
He paused, voice heavy.
"Danzo's actions damned the Uchiha. Annihilation or the faint hope of forgiveness were the only paths left. And forgiveness…"
He trailed off, then said, "It is not the way of shinobi to trust in man's better nature."
"So, for the safety of generations to come… children died?" Sasuke said, his voice low. "You murdered them so others wouldn't have to die later?"
Itachi didn't speak.
"That doesn't justify it," Sasuke hissed. "Those are reasons, not justifications! I want justice."
"It sounds to me," Itachi said, his Sharingan activating with a soft whir of chakra, "like you want vengeance."
He needed to see his brother's face clearly.
What he saw broke his heart and buoyed his spirit at the same time.
The look in Sasuke's eyes—burning, rabid hatred—was horrifying. And yet, within that fury, Itachi saw strength. The strength to survive, to grow, to become powerful enough to avenge, to protect. That fire—it meant Sasuke could do it. He could one day defeat even him.
For a moment, Sasuke flinched. The red glow of his brother's eyes stirred old trauma, shaking the seven-year-old boy that still lived inside him. He looked like he might break again. But then he clenched his jaw, his eyes sharpening. One tomoe spun in each eye, and he held Itachi's gaze.
"…What if I do want vengeance?" Sasuke whispered. "Will you kill me? Finish the job?"
Itachi stared at him.
"No. Never." he said. "But I will stop you."
"And what if you can't?" Sasuke said. There was no hesitation in his voice. Only certainty—that one day, he would surpass his brother.
Itachi didn't doubt him.
"Then I die," he said flatly.
Sasuke blinked in surprise. Before he could respond, Itachi reached out, placing a hand gently on his head. Sasuke's eyes widened. Then Itachi pulled him forward until their foreheads touched.
"I have failed you too greatly, Otouto," he whispered. "If I must die to protect your soul, so be it. But I will never harm you again."
Sasuke trembled, fists clenched.
And for the first time in four long years, Sasuke Uchiha leaned into his elder brother's embrace—and wept.
"So, you got a name?" Naruko asked, peering down at the small monkey cradled in my arms. Kuro watched him with quiet curiosity, while Hinata looked like she was about to explode from cuteness overload.
"H-Himebuta," the little monkey stammered, his voice high-pitched and trembling, almost toddler-like.
"Awwww! Look at you! You're so cute!" Naruko squealed, clutching her twin ponytails in glee.
"…I guess we're partners now. Nice to meet you, Himebuta. My name is Izuku," I said, smiling down at him.
"Nice to meet you, Izuku-sama." He stood on my thighs and bowed, formal despite the quiver in his limbs.
"Oh! Here. Lord Enma told me to give you this." He reached behind his back and unstrapped the scroll tied there, rolling it open to reveal a wide array of seals. With a flare of chakra and a puff of smoke, he summoned a staff.
It was beautiful.
The two ends of the staff gleamed like they'd been dipped in gold, intricate engravings danced along the surface—fuinjutsu, no doubt. The middle was polished, burnished wood, deep and rich in color. At either end were small cylindrical slots, clearly meant to house something specific.
Mesmerized, I reached out and gripped the wooden center—and gasped. The senjutsu chakra within it leapt to my touch, far more eager and active than the usual ki-wood I worked with.
Did.. did lord Enma get me a familiar specced into artifice?
…I take it back. Lord Enma is the best.
"You made this?" I asked in awe.
"It—it was part of my test. To see if I was worthy of serving you, Lord Izuku… and to represent the Mountain in the outside world. Do… Do you like it?" There was pride in his chakra, a deep love for the Mountain—but also a pain buried beneath it. And now, as he awaited my answer, fear.
"Like it? I love it!" I said, raising the staff overhead to examine it in the light.
"Himebuta, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."
"That staff looks so cool," Naruko breathed beside me, eyes wide in wonder.
"Want one?"
"Nah. These bad boys—" she flexed her skinny arms, pecking her biceps "—and a few kunai are all I need."
"Not even a sword?" I asked, just to be sure she wasn't trying to avoid being a burden.
"…Maybe a sword," she admitted, blushing under my insistent gaze.
"I would be more than glad to help," Himebuta said, his voice steadier now, though still tinged with nervousness.
Naruko let out a delighted squeal and snatched him out of my lap, immediately launching into a monologue about swords—how big they should be, how cool they looked, how she wanted one like a hero in a movie. No surprise there.
Meanwhile, I continued studying the staff. Whatever Himebuta had done to the ki-wood, it drastically enhanced the range and sensitivity of my chakra senses—at least doubling them.
"I see Enma has returned your… property." a familiar voice said calmly.
"Hokage-sama!" Hinata jumped in surprise.
"Jiji!" Naruko jumped at our intruder to give him a hug.
"Hokage-sama." Kuro acknowledged him calmly, her chakra showed she was just as surprised at my sensei's sudden appearance. She was just a good actor.
I didn't even flinch. I had sensed Sensei's arrival long before he spoke. I handed him the staff as he approached, Naruko dangling from his shoulders.
"Yes, he did," I replied.
"Good, good," he said, turning the staff over in his hands. He had been particularly protective of me since the encounter—visiting every day, ensuring my safety, likely keeping at least one shadow clone nearby at all times, not to mention whatever ANBU were on surveillance duty.
Speaking of ANBU—I hadn't seen Kakashi in a while. I wonder how he's doing.
"This is exceptionally well made. What are these empty slots for?" my sensei asked, placing Naruko down and patting her in the head, before sitting in a chair that appeared in a puff of smoke. Most likely from a seal in his robes.
I stared at it in surprise and he smiled back calmly. The Old man was stealing my drip, I respected the wizardry. If you thought something was cool, copy it, originality was overrated.
"Oh! That's for a personal seal." Himebuta explained. He reached into his belt and pulled out a strip of small wooden rods, each one or two inches long, and inserted one into the staff.
With a pulse of chakra, the staff lit up like a torch. A fuinjutsu flashlight.
I inspected it again with my chakra sense and was struck by something ingenious. I popped off the caps at either end of the inserted rod and unrolled the tiny scroll hidden inside. The fuinjutsu etched within glowed faintly. When rolled back up, the edges of the scroll aligned to form a functional seal on the outer ring—tiny slits of ink forming a script only visible with enhanced perception.
"Three-dimensional seals," I breathed.
"Really?" my Sensei said, taking another scroll to inspect it more closely.
"Incredible," he murmured, watching Himebuta now with far more interest—and no small amount of calculation. He quickly masked it, though.
"But as impressive as this is, we can return to it at a later date. Izuku, I'd like you to meet someone."
"Who—?"
"From the north to the south and the east to the west! Not even the spirits can defeat this Sannin!" a dramatic voice interrupted. The lights dimmed. A spotlight fell on the center of the room.
What?
"The white-maned toad charmer! A red-hot ninja who strikes fear into the hearts of men! Master Jirayahahaha!"
A puff of smoke exploded as a tall man with wild white hair appeared—red coat, grey gi, red geta sandals. He stood atop a large toad.
"Izuku," Sensei said, deadpan, "this is your senpai—Jiraiya."
"Yes, bask in the greatness—"
"Lame!" Naruko cut in, arms crossed, unimpressed.
"Oi! Toads are cool!"
"Yeah, they are."
"I'm glad you understand."
"But you're lame."
"Ugh!"
"So wait… that's really all there is to it?" I asked, still processing.
"You say that, like it's easy to learn how to stay so still until your heart stops beating and achieve Jonin-level chakra reserves," Jiraiya pouted, lips jutting like a sulking teen.
My theory continues to gain weight: all powerful ninja are unhinged in some way.
Come to think of it, my sensei is unusually normal.
I glanced at Sensei suspiciously. He met my gaze with a warm, innocent smile.
I'm watching you, old man.
"So all you need to do is sit still and have a lot of chakra? That sounds easy," Naruko said, narrowing her eyes skeptically.
Jiraiya gasped, scandalized, and launched into a dramatic explanation of how hard sage training really was. According to him, it was grueling—but honestly? It didn't sound as difficult as I expected. Not compared to, say, mastering the Five Disciplines for early Ki sensing as depicted in D&D.
What he described could be achieved in a few years if you had the chakra and control. Half a decade at most. The real obstacle wasn't difficulty—it was time.
And that… made too much sense.
Shinobi didn't live long. Most didn't make it past forty. That meant every technique was a tool—something to be mastered quickly, used efficiently, and discarded when necessary.
Spending years meditating to master Sage Mode? Fatal waste of time. Your enemies weren't meditating—they were getting better at killing.
That's why so few knew Senjutsu. Only the rare, gifted few could learn it fast enough to make it viable.
In other words, ninjas weren't scholars. Big surprise.
They should be, though. Because mastery of magic demands deep study. My sensei was proof—an old man in a young man's game who survived by being the smartest in the room.
Which also meant… I wasn't learning Sage Mode. Not exactly. It might be a step in my journey, but what I was building with Natural Energy was something else entirely.
Imagine reducing external magic to glorified ninja steroids.
Barbarians.
One day, when my wizard tower pierces the heavens and my acolytes number in the thousands, I'll show them all. Until then—smile and nod, Izuku. Smile and nod.
"I'm sure it is very difficult, Jiraiya-sama. I'm sure you worked hard."
Jiraiya puffed up proudly, running a hand through his wild mane. "Damn right I did, kid! Maybe if you worked half as hard, you wouldn't have gotten your butt kicked. Hahaha!"
I smirked faintly. It was clearly meant as a joke—just not a very good one.
The girls didn't see it that way.
"Oi! Don't talk about things you know nothing about!"
"Oh yeah? What do you know, Miss Dead Last?"
The silence that followed was absolute.
A month ago, Naruko might've barked back, burying the hurt under bravado. But she didn't do that now. I watched her chakra—the pathways she used to bury pain flare briefly, then calm.
She let herself feel it.
Then, wordlessly, she turned and walked over to the bed, crawled under the sheets, and curled up beside me.
Two very unhappy doujutsu users glared at Jiraiya, their eyes glowing faintly.
Jiraiya looked shocked. His chakra echoed a note of confusion, even guilt. A failed expectation, maybe? He bounced back quickly, but that ripple of regret was real. His chakra had a strange texture—like it wanted to disappear into the background. Probably a result of his sage training.
"Wow, kid. That's all you got?" he said, taunting.
Naruko ignored him.
"You're gonna have to toughen up. The world's not kind—"
"Jiraiya," Sensei said, voice firm now, sigh heavy with warning.
That one word silenced the room.
Jiraiya scowled, then scoffed. "Whatever. Call me when you're ready to be ninja."
And just like that, the Toad Sannin strode out of the room.
Wow. What an ass.
Jiraiya let out a long sigh as he exited the hospital.
That… had been a disaster.
He'd misread Naruko's personality by a mile. Not unusual, honestly—he was great at a lot of things: decent teacher, phenomenal author, world-class spymaster. Heck he was damn near psychic when he was reading a mark, but handling people who actually mattered?
Yeah. Not his strong suit.
This was why he kept his distance. Why he avoided getting too close. Why he didn't let himself stay.
Now, his sensei wanted him—him, in all his catastrophic glory—to go and convince Tsunade to come back to the village.
He ran a hand down his face.
Man, he needed a drink.
But first, he had to deal with his little stalker.
"You're a lifetime too early to fool me with genjutsu like that, kid."
The air shimmered behind him as the little Uchiha girl emerged, dispelling the illusion. He'd sensed her from the start. Sage senses were difficult to deceive.
She said nothing. Just stood there with that flat stare and those glowing, uncanny eyes.
Yep. Definitely an Uchiha. You could've swapped her features with Fugaku's eldest and no one would notice the difference.
"A lot of people are mean to Ko-chan," she said softly, tone disturbingly even. "For reasons I don't know. Reasons she's not ready to tell. People are mean to Ku-kun too. Some because of how he acts, others because they want something from him. Ko-chan either ignores them or plays a prank. Ku-kun usually doesn't even notice—he's too focused, too deep in his head. But I notice."
Her expression didn't change, but her chakra sharpened at the edges.
"I notice every time. And I don't like it."
Jiraiya didn't like it either. But he'd be a poor spymaster if he gave anything away—especially to a kid. So he defaulted to old habits: provoke, observe, extract.
"So what're you gonna do about it?"
He expected anger. Or self-righteousness. Maybe even a tear or two.
Instead, she smiled.
A wide, toothy, very feline smile.
Ah. That tracks. She was crazy.
"A wager."
"Oh?" he asked, raising a brow.
"You win, and I won't bother you again."
"I could just say no."
"And I could submit a 400,000 ryo mission request to have every hot spring within ten miles of the village permanently guarded," she replied, still smiling. "I'm… aware of your proclivities, Jiraiya-sama."
He froze.
"…You wouldn't dare."
Her grin widened. That was answer enough.
"…Alright, kid. What's the bet?"
"I'll cast a genjutsu. One Ku-kun made—so I'm sure it'll be easy for someone of your caliber. If you break out in under five minutes, you win. And I'll sponsor a personal tour of the finest brothels in the Land of Fire."
Jiraiya had opened his mouth to refuse on principle. It snapped shut fast.
He let out a slow, thoughtful, very perverted chuckle.
"Ohoho… now that's more like it. Alright, hit me."
"And if you lose?" she asked sweetly.
"I won't."
"If you lose," she continued, "you'll take Ko-chan as your student. You'll answer her questions truthfully and follow her orders. For one month."
His smile faltered.
"That's a lot to stake on one little genjutsu, kid."
"Scared?"
Jiraiya gave her a long, deadpan stare.
But the brothels of the Land of Fire called to him.
"…Fine. Lay it on me."
"Gladly," the girl whispered.
Her Sharingan lit up—bright, vivid, spinning.
Jiraiya didn't blink. He didn't fear the Sharingan. Not even Itachi had been able to catch him in a genjutsu without the element of surprise. This would be easy money.
Then her chakra screamed—twisting into a spiraling vortex around her iris, her tomoe spinning so fast they formed a ring. He felt it in his bones.
"…Chitose no Kokai," she hissed.
The forest around them echoed the name.
Jiraiya's limbs locked.
His body stiffened so fast and so completely that for one terrifying moment, he thought it had worked.
He had to pulse his chakra twice before the paralysis shattered.
Twice.
He stared at the girl, then at his own hands.
What the hell was his sensei feeding these kids?
"Nice try, kid. Better luck next time, I'll be sending your father the bill." he said, forcing a casual chuckle as he turned and walked into the night.
Behind him, the Uchiha girl stood silent, crimson eyes spinning as she watched him go.
Still smiling.
Konoha was gone.
Jiraiya sat at the center of a massive crater—what was left of his home.
The past few years had been hell. The war alone was devastating, but everything truly spiraled when Nagato began capturing the Tailed Beasts and killing their Jinchūriki. That's when it all fell apart.
Then Sensei died.
Then his little kōhai.
Then Naruko.
So much loss. So many people gone. And he blamed himself for all of it.
A shadow moved.
"It's symbolic, don't you think? That our final dance would be held here."
Jiraiya looked up at the thing that had hunted down everyone he ever loved. The irony was unbearable—because the first person it destroyed had been itself.
Tsunade stood before him.
But it wasn't Tsunade.
Her once-blonde hair now flowed like ink, pitch-black and gleaming. One eye shimmered with a serpentine gold, the other a purple Rinnegan, its concentric rings glowing with power and madness.
"The place where it all started," she said. "The place where you were born. A fitting place to die."
Jiraiya said nothing. He just looked at her—the living monument to all his failures. Every mistake. Every moment he chose distance over love. Jokes over truth. Every chance he had to stop what came next—and didn't.
This monster standing before him… was born from the shattered remains of three people he had cherished more than life:
His greatest friend.
The love of his life.
One of his most precious students.
"Can't even summon the will to respond? Oh well. All good things come to an end."
She raised her hand, medical chakra flaring to life, forming a scalpel of pure energy.
Then she drove it into his chest.
Jiraiya didn't move.
The wet crunch of bone shattering and organs rupturing filled the air as blood sprayed out across the ash-covered earth.
"Nothing?" she asked, digging her fingers deeper, stirring his insides like she expected a reaction. "You truly are broken, aren't you?"
Still, he said nothing.
But then... she noticed.
She tried to pull back—but it was too late.
"What are you doing?" she snarled.
Seals spread across his body, glowing from within. They reached up and out—binding them together.
Jiraiya didn't speak. He just stilled his breathing, reached into the quiet of the world, and let the energy flow through him. The stone crept upward, starting at his feet.
"What are you doing?! STOP!"
"This means nothing! I'll return! I always return! My power is too great! They'll all—!"
Her voice cracked.
"…Jiraiya, please… don't you still love me?"
"Please."
He pulled her closer, this abomination born of his regrets, his mistakes, his love—and held her as he wept.
And as the last of the stone turned his tears to crystal, the two of them—Sannin and monster—became still.
If there was a next life, he would not make the same mistakes.
…
…
…
Jiraiya gasped awake, body trembling, breath ragged.
He lay on the forest floor, disoriented, heart pounding. His limbs felt whole—but unfamiliar. He blinked the tears from his eyes and looked up—
—into the glowing red Sharingan of a demon pretending to be a girl.
"You lose," she said sweetly. "I expect you at Naruko's apartment first thing tomorrow, Jiraiya-sama. I would be very disappointed if you defaulted on our agreement."
Then she skipped away.
Jiraiya lay there, stunned and silent.
And then—he laughed.
He laughed and laughed, deep and guttural, until his ribs ached and tears blurred his vision again. He rolled onto his side, hauled himself upright, and stumbled off in the opposite direction.
He needed a drink.
Or twelve.
A/N: Izuku gets a nerdy Monkey named Princess Pig!
The third has gone full helicopter parent!
Naruko makes some progress!
Jiraiya appears! Jiraiya screws up!
Kuro has her first yandere moment!.... that we know of…
Why does our little monkey know fuinjutsu?!
What the heck did Kuro do to Jiraiya?!