The atmosphere in the rain-soaked chamber was suffocating. For a long while, no one spoke. The steady rhythm of water striking metal echoed in the background like a heartbeat. At last, Jiraiya broke the silence.
"Whether you are Nagato or Yahiko," he said, his voice deep, steady, carrying the weight of conviction, "at this time, the ninja world does not need us tearing each other apart in pointless internal strife."
His words, though calm, dispersed the invisible tension that had been pressing down on everyone present. The oppressive silence eased ever so slightly.
Jiraiya's gaze lingered on Nagato for a brief moment before shifting toward Danzo, who stood a short distance away, his Root operatives flanking him in the shadows.
"And you, Danzo." Jiraiya's tone sharpened suddenly, like steel drawn from a sheath. His eyes hardened, no longer carrying the warmth of a teacher or comrade. "If you don't want to die here, then take your Root ninja and leave. Now."
Danzo's brow furrowed, displeasure flashing across his face. His single visible eye narrowed in irritation, and beneath that expression simmered wariness.
"Jiraiya," he said in a low, rumbling voice. "Are you… giving me an order?"
"Not an order," Jiraiya answered coldly. "Advice. Advice you'd be wise to follow."
At that moment, Kakashi, standing at Jiraiya's side, adjusted his grip on the tanto in his hand. His Sharingan spun silently, its crimson glow fixed upon Danzo. The subtle movement of the blade and the unwavering eye sent a clear message: if Danzo resisted, Kakashi would act without hesitation.
Danzo caught the gesture from the corner of his eye. His lips twitched in irritation, cursing Kakashi inwardly for his cunning display of silent intimidation. But more than Kakashi's actions, what truly enraged him was Jiraiya's unyielding stance. To be spoken to like this, forced into retreat despite being the head of Root—the shadow backbone of Konoha—was humiliation he could scarcely tolerate.
He swept his gaze across the gathered shinobi. Nagato and Konan stood calmly, their Rinnegan and sharp eyes ever watchful. Kakashi's presence was sharp as a drawn blade. And Jiraiya… Jiraiya was a Sannin, a force no one could underestimate. Danzo knew well that in this room, he did not hold the advantage. The power within him, his hidden trump card, was not yet perfected. If he chose to clash here, the outcome would be disastrous.
Grinding his teeth, Danzo fell silent. He could not afford reckless action now.
"Kakashi," Jiraiya said, his voice softening but still carrying authority. "Escort Lord Danzo out."
"Understood." Kakashi stepped forward. His expression was calm, his movements measured as he raised a hand in a guiding gesture. "Lord Danzo. This way, please."
For a heartbeat, Danzo's gaze met Kakashi's. What he saw in the younger man's eye was not hostility, but a chilling stillness—calm, composed, unyielding as stone. It was infuriating.
Danzo exhaled sharply through his nose, his cloak rippling as he turned. Without another word, he strode toward the exit, his Root shinobi falling into silent formation behind him. The sound of their steps faded into the distance, swallowed by the endless corridors of the tower.
Only when their figures vanished completely did Jiraiya turn back toward the two who remained: Pain and Konan. His shoulders eased ever so slightly, though his face remained resolute.
"All right," he said quietly, almost wearily. "Now that I'm the only Konoha ninja left… can we finally speak as we should?"
His voice carried no hostility, but an undeniable firmness, the tone of a man shouldering responsibility greater than himself.
Nagato did not immediately reply. His Rinnegan eyes, vast and cold, remained locked on Jiraiya, as though peering into his very soul. The silence stretched until Konan, ever the voice beside him, spoke.
"What do you want to talk about, sensei?" she asked, her voice calm but edged with curiosity.
Jiraiya inhaled slowly, choosing his words with care. "Let's stop this world-ending disaster together. We don't have much time left."
Both Nagato and Konan stiffened slightly at his phrasing. Jiraiya continued before they could interject.
"From what I've gathered, the impact of that falling planet… it may only be the beginning."
At those words, Black Zetsu, who had been lurking quietly in the background, froze. His formless shape rippled unnaturally, and he hissed, "What did you say?"
Jiraiya's eyes shifted briefly toward Zetsu, his face betraying no surprise. "According to the prophecy I received from Mount Myōboku, the Sharingan has awakened a curse. That planet is not the true end—only the opening act. Everything… originates from Uchiha Gen's curse."
His words fell like stones into still water, creating ripples in every heart present.
"The ninja world can no longer afford division," Jiraiya pressed on. "Nagato, Konan… I hope Akatsuki will join us, not as enemies, but as allies. Together, we may have a chance to stop what's coming."
His gaze turned fully upon Nagato then. It was not the gaze of a master pleading with a student, nor a shinobi bowing to power. It was the steady look of one equal speaking to another, requesting cooperation.
He hesitated a moment, then added in a quieter tone: "As for Danzo's actions… Konoha will not shield him."
The subtle pause in his voice said more than a direct threat ever could. He was not protecting Danzo, not this time. If Akatsuki chose to settle accounts, Konoha would turn a blind eye. In the face of annihilation, some individuals were simply… irrelevant.
"If you want to act," Jiraiya concluded, "Konoha will not stop you."
His voice was calm, free of anger or malice. But that serenity was more decisive than rage. His stance was clear. Between the shadow elder of his village and the disciples he had once guided, Jiraiya had already chosen.
Konan tilted her head, studying him. "You've changed, sensei."
"Hmm?" Jiraiya looked at her curiously.
A faint smile played at her lips, laced with subtle teasing. "Didn't you just say you were a Konoha ninja?"
Jiraiya blinked, caught off guard. Then, after a brief pause, he coughed twice and forced a grin, reverting to his usual, more playful persona. "Cough, cough… Well, sometimes I'm also a great sage, you know. Titles can be flexible."
He tilted his head dramatically, feigning nonchalance, his tone light, trying to cut through the grimness of their discussion with a trace of humor.
Konan's lips curved faintly, though she chose not to expose his deliberate change of tone. For a fleeting moment, the weight in the air lifted.
But Nagato did not smile. His expression remained solemn, though his gaze upon Jiraiya softened, the iciness of moments before fading slightly.
"You're right," he finally said, his voice quiet but firm. "The ninja world has no time for further strife. If destruction is coming, then… we must unite."
He straightened, his tone carrying determination. "So, I'll trouble you, Jiraiya-sensei… persuade the Five Great Shinobi Nations. They must be brought together."
Jiraiya inclined his head slightly, though in his mind he interpreted Nagato's words differently. To him, it sounded less like Akatsuki leading the nations, and more like him being tasked with uniting them himself. A heavy burden indeed, but one he could not refuse.
As the three exchanged their final words, Black Zetsu's shadowy voice interrupted once more.
"Jiraiya," he murmured, his tone oddly cautious, "do not return to the village alongside Danzo. Travel separately."
Jiraiya raised a brow. "Are you afraid Danzo will try to harm me?"
Zetsu's formless body quivered slightly. He leaned forward, his tone carrying a strange mixture of warning and inevitability. "Killing you, and then placing the blame upon Akatsuki… that is exactly the sort of thing Danzo would do."
For the first time, Jiraiya's eyes narrowed. He could not deny the possibility.
---
Meanwhile, far away in Konoha, deep beneath the village where shadows lingered, the Root base was silent as a tomb. In this suffocating stillness, a lone figure emerged from the darkness.
Orochimaru.
His pale face was calm, unreadable, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. A cloak draped over his slender frame, his movements graceful yet unnervingly serpentine. Each step he took was noiseless, as though the darkness itself welcomed him.
The air grew colder as he ventured deeper into the hidden sanctum. At last, he entered the innermost ritual chamber. There were no windows here, only stone walls and several dim oil lamps casting flickering light across the floor. Shadows writhed against the walls as though alive.
Danzo was absent. That was the opportunity Orochimaru had been waiting for.
Unrolling a long sealing scroll upon the floor, Orochimaru's fingers traced the engraved patterns, his tongue flicking briefly across his lips in anticipation. His golden eyes gleamed with perverse excitement.
Muttering under his breath, he began weaving hand seals, his chakra flowing outward in waves that resonated with the runes etched into the scroll.
"Edo Tensei… Impure World Reincarnation."
The incantation was low, almost reverent. At once, the ground trembled faintly, the ritual circle flaring to life. From the earth itself rose a wooden coffin, ancient and foreboding. With a heavy thud, it struck the floor.
The temperature in the chamber seemed to drop several degrees, and even the air thickened, resisting every breath. The coffin lid creaked slowly open, releasing a surge of gray-white smoke that coiled like serpents through the room.
A pale hand gripped the edge of the coffin. A figure emerged—silver-white hair gleaming faintly in the lamplight, eyes sharp and merciless, his very presence carrying crushing pressure.
Senju Tobirama.
The Second Hokage.
His gaze was immediately alert, sweeping the chamber with razor-sharp awareness. The cold aura he exuded made the air nearly unbreathable.
Orochimaru's lips curved into a serpentine smile. He clasped his hands together and bowed slightly, though his golden eyes gleamed with undisguised ambition.
"Welcome back… Lord Tobirama."
His voice was low, smooth, reverent. Yet beneath that respectful tone lay hunger—a desire that even the shadows seemed to recoil from.
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