Jiraiya strode through the streets of Konoha with the easy confidence of a man who had seen it all. The familiar sounds of merchants calling out their wares, the laughter of children darting through the market, and the rhythmic tapping of sandals on stone filled the air. The village hadn't changed much, though the weight of unseen tensions still lingered beneath the surface. His return was long overdue, but it wasn't nostalgia that brought him back this time—it was a boy with golden hair and a mischievous smile, a boy who carried a legacy greater than he even realized.
As he approached the Hokage Tower, Jiraiya smirked, already anticipating the old man's reaction. If he knew Sarutobi, he was probably hunched over his desk, shuffling papers and sipping tea like a weary grandfather—either that or doing something even more questionable.
The guards barely had time to react before Jiraiya shoved the doors open, his voice booming. "Hey, old man! Guess who's back—!"
His words died in his throat. There, in the dimly lit office, Hiruzen Sarutobi sat in his chair, crystal ball resting before him, his expression one of serene concentration. Jiraiya blinked, then leaned forward, peering closer. The ball reflected soft ripples of water, pale mist swirling around the delicate wooden walls of what was unmistakably the women's bathhouse.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Jiraiya's eyes widened comically as they flew three inches out of his sockets , then he slapped himself as if that would fix what he was seeing along with his eyes. "Sensei…" he began, voice strangled somewhere between horror and admiration.
Sarutobi, utterly unbothered, took a slow, dignified sip of his tea. "An old man must be aware of all village activities."
Jiraiya's mouth twitched, then he burst out laughing, shaking his head as he collapsed onto the couch opposite the Hokage's desk. "I knew you were a pervert, but this is next level!" He pulled out a small notebook and started scribbling. "Hold on, this is gold. Inspiration like this doesn't come often."
The Third Hokage glanced at him over his cup. "Still writing those books, are you?"
Jiraiya grinned. "And they're bestsellers, thank you very much."
Sarutobi sighed, setting the teacup down. "If only you put that much dedication into being a proper shinobi."
Jiraiya stretched, cracking his neck lazily. "If I did that, who would give the world its much-needed literature?" He waved a hand dismissively. "But that's not why I'm here. I heard rumors about the kid."
The warmth in Sarutobi's expression dimmed slightly. "Naruto?"
Jiraiya's smile faded. "I wanted to check in on him. Last I heard, the village was still treating him like dirt."
The Hokage hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. "Naruto is… doing better than expected. He has a home now."
Jiraiya frowned. "A home?"
Sarutobi nodded. "He's been adopted."
Jiraiya froze. His casual posture disappeared, replaced by something sharper, something far more dangerous. His dark eyes narrowed. "What?"
The Hokage exhaled softly, as if he'd expected this reaction. "Naruto has been legally adopted by a woman named Sayori Arata. The Daimyo himself approved it."
Jiraiya sat forward. "Who the hell is Sayori Arata? Why would the Daimyo personally approve something like that?"
Sarutobi leaned back, his face unreadable. "She's an incredibly wealthy woman with political influence. And she's… unusual."
"Unusual how?"
The Hokage hesitated. "She has ties to the Uzumaki clan. She is also very influential with the women of the village but I won't say more on that even my own Anbu have their ears open for her name being mentioned."
Jiraiya's stomach twisted. His instincts flared with something he couldn't name. The Uzumaki? That clan has been decimated, scattered to the wind after their village was destroyed. "And you let her take Naruto? Besides so what if she is influential with other women?" His voice was dangerously quiet.
The Hokage's gaze didn't waver. "It wasn't my decision to make. The Daimyo overruled any objections."
Jiraiya's fingers dug into his knee. Something about this felt… wrong. "You're acting like your hands are tied, but when have you ever just let things happen?"
A flicker of something unreadable passed through Sarutobi's expression. "She's… powerful, Jiraiya. Even I must be careful how I approach this."
Jiraiya's unease only grew. If Sarutobi was this hesitant, then something was truly off. He studied the older man's face, searching for cracks. "Why do I feel like you're scared of her?"
Sarutobi's lips pressed into a thin line. "Because I am."
That sent a chill down Jiraiya's spine. He had seen the Professor fight wars. He had seen him face down the likes of Hanzo the Salamander and the Kazekage without breaking his composure. But here he was, openly admitting that this woman—this Sayori Arata—was someone to fear.
Jiraiya stood abruptly, his casual demeanor gone. "I'm going to find her."
Sarutobi's eyes flickered with something cautious. "Be careful."
Jiraiya scoffed. "Please. I can handle one rich woman with a superiority complex."
The Hokage sighed, watching Jiraiya make his way to the door. Just as Jiraiya was about to leave, Sarutobi muttered under his breath, almost too soft to hear—
"If she hears you talking about her… she'll know."
Jiraiya paused, fingers on the doorknob. His gut twisted again. "What the hell does that mean?"
But Sarutobi didn't answer.
As Jiraiya stepped out into the evening air, he exhaled slowly, scanning the rooftops, the alleyways, the shadows that flickered in the dim glow of lanterns. The feeling of unease clung to him like a second skin.
For the first time in a long time, he wasn't sure what he was walking into. How can a woman become so popular with other women in this village.
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