A scorching fog filled the streets.
In a hot spring along Konoha's Hot Spring Street, several women were playing and relaxing in the steaming water.
"Oh, it's been so long since I've visited a hot spring. Why does your skin feel so smooth lately? Let me touch it!"
"Stop it, that tickles! You're one to talk—you've definitely gotten curvier since last year. What's your secret? Let me pinch it and see if it's real."
Their playful splashing stirred waves across the water's surface.
But not far from the bath, hidden in the wall, a nearly imperceptible hole allowed a single lecherous eye to peek inside.
Outside, a tall man with long, spiky white hair crouched against the wall. He wore a red-gray cloak, wooden sandals, and a forehead protector engraved with the kanji for "oil." A massive scroll was strapped to his back.
Suddenly, an ANBU appeared beside him.
"Jiraiya-sama, the Hokage is aware of your return and has requested you report to the Hokage Building immediately."
"Tch, what a pain! This was just getting good… I still need material for my next book. That old man must be using his crystal ball to spy again. How else would he know I'm here?"
Jiraiya turned around with a theatrical sigh, his usually firm expression melting into exaggerated regret.
If anyone else had spoken about the Hokage like that, they'd be dragged off by the Uchiha Police Force. But this was Jiraiya of the Legendary Sannin—one of the Third Hokage's personal students. The ANBU said nothing.
Seeing the ANBU remain silent, Jiraiya sighed again.
"Alright, alright, I'll go see him. You go on ahead."
"Yes, sir."
With a flicker, the ANBU disappeared.
Jiraiya hopped down from the wall. He had returned at the old man's summons. The lead he'd tracked down about Orochimaru had gone cold, and he'd found nothing useful. Something big must be going on in the village if the Hokage had gone to such lengths to call him back.
As usual, he planned to gather intel in his own way before showing up at the Hokage's office.
——
That evening, at a pub in Konoha.
Disguised as a plain villager, Jiraiya sat at the counter drinking sake, casually gathering information.
After a few rounds and building rapport with the bartender, Jiraiya got to the point.
"Hey, boss, I just got back from doing business in the capital of the Land of Fire. Seems like a lot has changed around here."
The bartender, wiping the sweat off his bald head after clearing away some dishes, gave him a knowing look.
"L, you've been gone too long. It's late now, not many customers left. I'll sit and chat with you."
L was one of Jiraiya's usual aliases when gathering intel around Konoha. After several visits, he'd naturally become acquainted with the pub owner.
Jiraiya poured the man a drink. They clinked glasses and downed them in one go.
"Phew—nothing like a cold one after a long day," the shop owner sighed.
"So, boss, tell me—anything big happen in the village lately? Gotta know what's going on if I want to keep my business afloat."
The man waved a hand, chuckling.
"Haha, Brother L, plenty has happened lately—though I don't know if any of it will help your business."
"That's fine. I've been away too long. I just want to know how the village is doing. After all, I'm still a son of Konoha. That hasn't changed."
Jiraiya's words struck a chord with the bartender.
"Alright, Brother L, your drinks are on the house tonight. I'll fill you in. I keep my ears open."
They talked and drank for over two hours until the shop owner eventually dozed off at the counter.
Jiraiya placed some ryo and his sake cup on the table, then closed the door behind him as he left.
Canceling his transformation, he stretched his arms.
Looking up at the moonlit sky, he suddenly remembered his earlier promise.
"Crap. I completely forgot about the old man. He's probably still waiting at the Hokage Building… I better get over there quick or he'll scold the hell out of me."
Just as he was about to head out, he noticed that Ichiraku Ramen's lights were still on across the street.
"I did drink a bit too much… A hot bowl of ramen might sober me up. The old man's waited this long, what's a little more?"
He pushed open the curtain and stepped inside.
"Boss, still open this late? Gimme a big bowl of char siu ramen!"
The middle-aged chef in a white uniform and matching hat turned around.
"Jiraiya? Long time no see. Give me a moment—it'll be ready soon."
While he waited, Jiraiya chatted idly.
"Boss, why so late tonight? You usually close earlier."
The chef didn't stop what he was doing.
"Sigh… Because of a kid."
"A kid?"
Jiraiya raised an eyebrow, puzzled.
"Yeah. His name's Naruto. Don't know when it started, but people in the village started calling him the demon fox's reincarnation. Nobody likes him. He only ever comes here late at night. I can't do much for the boy, but I can at least make him some ramen."
"…Naruto?"
Jiraiya whispered the name in shock.
At that moment, a young voice came from outside the shop.
"Who? Who's calling me?"
A small boy walked in.
Jiraiya turned to look at him.
He couldn't have been more than five or six. Golden hair, three whisker-like marks on each cheek, and bright blue eyes.
He wore a faded yellow-green shirt with a red swirl on the chest and tattered blue shorts. His clothes were wrinkled and stained with dust.
Despite the boy's energy, it was obvious from his thin arms and sallow complexion that he'd been malnourished for a long time.
For a moment, Jiraiya felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Maybe it was the alcohol, but Kushina and Minato's faces seemed to blur into Naruto's. The resemblance was too strong.
Memories surged through him, and tears welled in his eyes.
"'Naruto'… Sensei, I've decided—that's the name I want to give our child," Minato had once said.
"Haha, really? I came up with that name while eating ramen," Jiraiya had joked back.
He steadied himself and looked at Naruto again.
Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the boy beat him to it.
"Did I scare you? I'm sorry…"
Those words—spoken so casually—were full of guilt and self-blame.
Jiraiya froze.
How much judgment and prejudice had this child endured to make "I'm sorry" his instinctual reaction?
His heart ached.