"Cough, cough! Gentlemen, what are you discussing? May I know?"
A familiar voice rang out. Jiraiya had already altered his appearance. After all, how could he investigate a mysterious organization while using his true face?
He couldn't be sure how many people knew him, but the number certainly wasn't small. Better to stay cautious.
With a quick hand seal, Jiraiya used the Transformation Jutsu, taking on the guise of a man in his early thirties.
The three men at the table immediately grew alert, watching the newcomer with wary eyes.
One of them, a composed young man in his late twenties, frowned.
"And you are…?"
"I'm Jiraiya, a struggling writer wandering the shinobi world!" Jiraiya replied cheerfully.
He deliberately used only his given name. In the ninja world, many people shared the same name—the family name was what truly mattered.
The men exchanged glances, still cautious, though their suspicion eased slightly.
Jiraiya, noticing their wariness, simply waved to the tavern's waiter.
"Bring us a few more pots of sake!"
Soon enough, the sake began to flow, and Jiraiya blended into their group with surprising ease.
The one in his late twenties introduced himself as Zorro, the eldest of the three. The second was Hayata, and the last—whom they had mentioned earlier—was Sosuke.
Sosuke, though the youngest of them, was already twenty-three.
Before long, the alcohol had loosened tongues, and the four of them were laughing like old friends.
"Cough… ugh… drink, keep drinking, Brother Jiraiya!" Zorro slurred, his cheeks red from drink.
"But tell me, you look like a man of means. How is it I've never heard of you in the Umbrella Organization?"
"Ah, Zorro, my family was wealthy once," Jiraiya sighed dramatically, his expression pained.
"But fifteen years ago, during a great shinobi battle, everything was destroyed. I had no choice but to sell our family's mines and wander the world. The past… is too painful to recall."
His performance was flawless—grief, resignation, all painted vividly on his face.
The others fell silent, their expressions sympathetic. Sosuke, in particular, seemed deeply moved. He too had been scarred by war. His village had been trampled under the feet of battling shinobi, leaving him disillusioned with the very system that birthed such destruction.
That despair was what had driven him toward the Umbrella.
"Brother Jiraiya," Sosuke said at last, "no need to linger on the past. Why not join us? We can help you enter the Organization. Better that than drifting without purpose."
"As long as you've got skill," Hayata added, "rising through the ranks is no problem at all!"
"Our Organization exists for a simple goal," Zorro said, his eyes shining.
"To guide people toward peace and happiness—and to end these endless wars. If you do well, you may even meet the higher-ranking adults. There are many comrades like us who share the same ideals."
Something in his words struck a chord with Jiraiya. The passion seemed genuine. And the Organization's goals—at least as described—didn't sound like the twisted ravings of a cult.
If anything, his curiosity grew stronger.
"Oh? Higher-ranking adults, you say?" Jiraiya asked, narrowing his eyes. "So there really are people above you?"
"Of course!" Zorro leaned forward eagerly.
"But meeting them isn't easy. You need resolve, proof of your loyalty, and contributions to the cause. Only then will the more advanced members reach out to you."
"And when they do," Hayata added, "it's always one-on-one."
"They're remarkable people," Zorro said with deep admiration.
"Only those who study the Red Doctrine, accept it in their hearts, and form their own understanding are worthy to become true members. The advanced ones are all elites—firm in their beliefs, unwavering in their will."
His gaze burned with longing.
"I hope one day to be chosen as a member of the Spark. What they do is dangerous, yes… but it is sacred."
Jiraiya had gotten what he needed from the conversation. The man in front of him must have joined the Organization some time ago, but his rank clearly wasn't high.
There wasn't a single trace of chakra on him.
In this world, no matter how talented someone was, an ordinary person without chakra could never climb far up the ladder of any shinobi organization.
That much, Jiraiya was certain of.
Eventually, everyone drank themselves into a stupor—except Jiraiya. In the end, he was the one who paid for the sake and even booked them rooms for the night.
By dawn, the group began to stir, rubbing away their hangovers and recalling the events of the previous evening.
When Zorro spotted Jiraiya stepping out into the morning air, he threw an arm over his shoulder, grinning widely.
"Come on, brother! Today, I'll take you to the Organization's initiation ceremony!"
He bid farewell to Hayata, then set out with Sosuke and Jiraiya.
As they walked along a narrow forest path, Jiraiya asked casually, "So the Organization's base… is it hidden deep in the mountains?"
"Not exactly. You'll see soon enough," Zorro replied with a knowing smile.
"The Organization is still growing, so secrecy is important. We already work in a half-hidden state, but there are always those who would rather see us crushed."
From his tone, it was clear Zorro himself didn't know the full details. He was only repeating what he'd been told—or what he believed.
The trees grew taller as they pressed on, their branches dripping with dew from the previous night's light rain. Grass sparkled faintly in the morning sun, the scent of damp earth heavy in the air.
Then Jiraiya's expression shifted, his senses sharpening.
No way… right when I was making progress? I can't blow my cover now.
Through his perception, he felt several hostile presences waiting ahead. The leader's chakra was particularly distinct—it wasn't refined, but enough to mark him as trouble.
Bandits.
Zorro and Sosuke would never be able to handle them. Even the weakest bandit could cut them down.
"Damn it. Looks like I'll have to reveal myself…" Jiraiya muttered under his breath.
He couldn't stand by and watch his companions die—not when he had just gained their trust.
"Oi, boys, look what we've stumbled on here!"
A rough voice echoed as a group of armed men stepped out of the undergrowth, blocking the path. Their leader smirked when he noticed the supplies Zorro and the others were carrying.
They weren't much, but to him, it meant coin—and easy prey.
Sosuke's face paled instantly, panic clear in his eyes.
But Zorro and Hayata… wore faint, almost playful smiles.
So focused on the bandits, Jiraiya didn't notice it at first. He was too busy debating whether to unleash his real identity.
"Very well! I am Jiraiya, the Toad Sage of Mount Myōboku—!"
Before he could even finish the declaration, Zorro suddenly lunged forward, his body moving like a blur.
Hayata followed right behind, flanking the bandit leader from the opposite side.
Their speed wasn't remarkable to a shinobi, but to Jiraiya it was still surprising—because neither of them had chakra. Nor did they bear the killing aura of samurai.
And yet, the force behind their movements carried the weight of trained fighters—comparable at least to fledgling genin.
"Mighty Fist—Bull Roar!"
Zorro's fist struck out, and with it came a sound like a bellowing ox. His punch crashed into the bandit leader's chest.
The man spat blood, sent flying backwards like a kite cut loose from its string.
...
TN:
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