Day one of training.
Naruto stood in the center of Training Ground Forty-Four, surrounded by three hundred shadow clones. Each one worked on a different aspect of his combat preparation—Gate optimization, elemental combination, speed enhancement, Gentle Fist countermeasures.
The work was methodical. Efficient. Precisely calculated to maximize his capabilities before the finals.
Jiraiya appeared at noon.
"Naruto! I've been thinking about what you said, and I—"
"No."
The Sannin deflated slightly but pressed on. "Just hear me out. I know I made mistakes. I know I wasn't there when I should have been. But I'm here now, and I want to help—"
"No."
"There are techniques I can teach you. Sage Mode, for instance. The ability to draw natural energy from the environment and—"
"No."
Jiraiya opened his mouth to continue, but Naruto had already turned away, resuming his training as if the legendary ninja wasn't there.
The Sannin stood in awkward silence for several minutes before finally leaving.
Day two.
Jiraiya arrived earlier this time, catching Naruto during his morning warm-up routine.
"I brought scrolls," he announced, holding up a bundle of documents. "Rare techniques from Mount Myōboku. Things that have never been taught outside the toad clan. I thought maybe if you saw what I could offer—"
"No."
"You didn't even look at them!"
"I don't need to. My answer is unchanged."
"Naruto, please. I'm trying to make things right. I know I can't undo the past, but—"
"Then stop trying." Naruto's flat voice carried no anger, no frustration—just simple statement of fact. "Your presence here is unproductive. Your offers are unwanted. Your guilt is your own burden to manage."
"I just want to help."
"Your help is not required."
Jiraiya's shoulders slumped, but he didn't leave immediately. He stood at the edge of the training ground, watching Naruto work, his expression carrying pain that the boy couldn't—or wouldn't—acknowledge.
After an hour, he departed.
Day three.
"What if I just observed? I wouldn't interfere with your training. I'd just watch, and if you had questions—"
"No."
Day four.
"I spoke with the Hokage. He thinks it would be good for us to—"
"The Hokage's opinions regarding my personal relationships are irrelevant. No."
Day five.
"Your mother would have wanted—"
Naruto's killing intent spiked so suddenly that Jiraiya actually stumbled backward.
"Do not," Naruto said, his voice carrying ice, "speak to me about what my mother would have wanted. You didn't know her. You weren't there. You have no right to invoke her memory."
The killing intent faded as quickly as it had appeared.
"No."
Jiraiya left quickly that day.
Day six.
No Jiraiya.
Naruto trained without interruption, noting the absence without any particular feeling about it.
Perhaps the Sannin had finally accepted his rejection.
Day seven.
Jiraiya returned.
"I'm not giving up," he announced, his voice carrying renewed determination. "You can reject me every day for the rest of your life, but I'm not going to stop trying. That's what family does."
"We are not family."
"Blood says otherwise."
"Blood is irrelevant. Family is built through presence, support, and shared experience. You have provided none of these things. Therefore, you are not family."
"I want to change that."
"Your desires are not my concern."
Day eight.
"I brought ramen. Ichiraku's—I heard it's your favorite."
"It was. I no longer experience preferences."
"You still need to eat."
"I have adequate nutrition provided by others."
Jiraiya looked at the untouched ramen container, then at the boy who wouldn't even acknowledge his offering.
"Who provides your meals now?"
"Seven women who have chosen to care for me despite my inability to reciprocate their affection. They are more family to me than you have ever been."
The words hit Jiraiya like physical blows.
"Seven... women?"
"Their identities are not your concern. Leave."
Day nine.
Jiraiya arrived with a different approach—sitting at the edge of the training ground in silence, not attempting conversation, simply watching.
Naruto ignored him entirely.
After four hours, the Sannin spoke.
"I watched you in the arena. When Neji was about to kill that Hyuuga girl. I saw you move—saw you stop him—saw the anger in your eyes."
Naruto didn't respond.
"You felt something. For her. That means you're not as empty as you claim."
Still no response.
"Maybe that's where we start. Not with training or techniques. With feelings. With learning to feel again."
Naruto finally turned to look at him.
"My emotional state is not your project to fix. Leave."
Day ten.
"I have information about your parents. Stories about Minato and Kushina that no one else knows. Things they would have wanted you to hear."
For a moment—just a moment—something flickered in Naruto's empty eyes.
Then it was gone.
"You're attempting to manipulate me through emotional appeal. It won't work."
"I'm trying to connect with you. To give you something of the parents you never knew."
"If you wanted me to know my parents, you should have been present during my childhood to tell me. You weren't. The opportunity has passed."
"It's not too late—"
"It is. Leave."
Day eleven.
The pattern continued. Jiraiya would arrive with some new offering—techniques, stories, food, simple company—and Naruto would reject him without hesitation.
The devoted women watched these encounters with varying reactions.
Anko, ever-present in the shadows, observed with cold satisfaction. The man who had abandoned her boy deserved every rejection he received.
Sakura and Satsuki, informed through the invisible network the devoted shared, felt conflicted. Family was important—shouldn't Naruto at least try to connect?
But they didn't voice these concerns. Naruto's decisions were his own.
Ino, Hinata, Tenten, and Temari maintained their positions of devoted support, trusting that Naruto knew what was best for himself.
They all agreed on one thing: no one would pressure him to accept someone who had failed him so completely.
Day twelve.
Jiraiya arrived looking exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes suggested sleepless nights, and his usual boisterous energy was notably absent.
"I don't know what else to do," he admitted quietly. "I've offered everything I can think of. Training, techniques, stories, company. You've rejected all of it."
Naruto continued his training without acknowledgment.
"I understand why you're angry. I do. I failed you in ways that can never be fully addressed. But I'm here now. I'm trying. Doesn't that count for something?"
"No."
"Then what would? What could I possibly do to earn even a chance?"
Naruto paused.
For the first time since these daily encounters began, he actually stopped his training to face Jiraiya directly.
"You want to know what would earn a chance?"
Hope flickered in Jiraiya's eyes. "Yes. Anything. Tell me what you need."
"Answer one question."
"One question?" Jiraiya straightened, relief evident in his posture. "That's it? Ask me anything—techniques, history, your parents, the village, whatever you want to know."
Naruto's empty eyes fixed on the legendary Sannin with an intensity that made the older man's relief waver.
"If you can answer this question correctly," Naruto said, his voice flat and measured, "I will allow you to train me. I will accept your presence. I will give you the chance you're asking for."
"Deal. What's the question?"
Naruto was silent for a moment.
Then:
"What day is my birthday?"
The training ground went utterly still.
Jiraiya's confident expression froze.
His mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
No sound came out.
"I..." He swallowed. "Your birthday. It's..."
He knew the answer. He had to know the answer. October 10th—the day the Nine-Tails attacked, the day Minato and Kushina died, the day their son was born.
But as he stood there, facing the cold blue eyes of the boy he had abandoned, the words wouldn't come.
Because he realized something terrible.
He had never celebrated it.
Never sent a gift.
Never acknowledged the date in any way.
For twelve years, October 10th had been the anniversary of his student's death—a day of mourning and memory for Minato. He had spent those days drinking, reminiscing, honoring the Fourth Hokage.
He had never once thought about the child who was born that same day.
Never considered that the anniversary of his grief was also the birthday of an orphan who had no one to celebrate with.
"I know the date," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "October 10th."
"Correct." Naruto's voice carried no acknowledgment of victory or satisfaction. "You know the date. Now tell me—in twelve years, how many times did you acknowledge it?"
Silence.
"How many gifts did you send?"
Silence.
"How many messages? Letters? Any indication at all that you remembered the day I was born?"
Jiraiya's eyes had begun to glisten.
"I thought so." Naruto turned away. "You know my birthday. You simply never cared enough to do anything about it. The date existed in your memory as the day your student died, not the day his son was born."
"Naruto—"
"You failed the question."
"I answered correctly! October 10th—you said if I answered correctly—"
"I said if you could answer. You could not. You knew the information, but when asked directly, you hesitated. Because you realized, in that moment, what your knowledge of the date actually represented."
Naruto resumed his training, his back to the legendary Sannin.
"Twelve years of birthdays. Twelve years of a child sitting alone while the village celebrated the demon's defeat. Twelve years where a single card, a single message, a single acknowledgment that someone remembered he existed might have made a difference."
His voice remained flat, emotionless—but the words cut deeper than any blade.
"You know my birthday, Jiraiya. You simply never cared enough to do anything about it. And that tells me everything I need to know about what kind of family you would be."
"Please—"
"Leave. Do not return tomorrow. Do not return ever. We are finished."
Jiraiya stood frozen, tears now streaming openly down his weathered face.
He had failed.
Not because he didn't know the answer.
Because knowing the answer only proved how completely he had failed.
A grandfather who knew his grandson's birthday but had never once acknowledged it.
A family member who remembered the date of death but not the date of birth.
A legendary ninja who could face down armies but couldn't face the simple truth of his own abandonment.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Naruto didn't respond.
"I'm so sorry, Naruto."
Nothing.
Jiraiya turned and walked away, his legendary posture broken, his shoulders slumped with the weight of twelve years of failure finally acknowledged.
He didn't look back.
He couldn't.
In the shadows, Anko watched him go.
Her hands were clenched into fists, her transformed body trembling with suppressed emotion. Part of her wanted to chase after the old man and hurt him for what he had done—for what his absence had cost her boy.
But a larger part of her simply wanted to go to Naruto. To hold him. To be there in a way Jiraiya never had been.
She emerged from hiding and approached the training ground.
Naruto sensed her immediately—he always did—but didn't acknowledge her presence.
"I heard everything," she said quietly.
"I assumed as much."
"Are you... okay?"
The question hung in the air.
Naruto considered it carefully.
Was he okay?
He didn't experience okay in the way others did. Didn't feel the relief of finally rejecting someone who had hurt him, didn't feel the satisfaction of winning the confrontation, didn't feel the lingering pain of old wounds reopened.
But something was there. Something that wasn't emptiness.
"I don't know," he admitted.
It was the most honest thing he had said in years.
Anko moved closer, her maternal instincts overriding any hesitation.
"Can I hold you?"
Naruto looked at her—really looked, taking in her devoted expression, her transformed figure, her unwavering presence that had become a constant in his life.
"Yes."
She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her chest, her massive form enveloping him in warmth and softness. Her hand found his hair, stroking gently, the gesture as natural as breathing.
"You did the right thing," she murmured. "He didn't deserve your forgiveness. Didn't deserve anything from you."
"I know."
"I'm proud of you."
"For what?"
"For standing up for yourself. For not letting him guilt you into a relationship he never earned. For being strong enough to say no."
Naruto stood motionless in her embrace, processing her words.
Proud.
She was proud of him.
It was strange—being proud of someone implied emotional investment, implied that his actions mattered to her beyond simple devotion.
And somewhere in the emptiness inside him, something responded to that.
Not quite feeling.
But closer than before.
"We should continue training," he said finally.
"In a minute." Anko's arms tightened. "Let me hold you for just a little longer. You've earned it."
Naruto didn't argue.
For just a moment, surrounded by warmth and acceptance, he allowed himself to simply exist.
It wasn't happiness.
But it wasn't nothing, either.
And that was more than he'd had for a very long time.
Across the village, Jiraiya sat in a bar, drinking heavily.
The bottle in front of him was already half empty, and he showed no signs of stopping.
"October 10th," he muttered to himself. "Twelve years. Twelve goddamn years."
He could have sent something. Anything. A card, a present, a message through the Hokage. Something to let the boy know that someone out there remembered. That someone cared.
But he hadn't.
Because he had been too wrapped up in his own grief. His own loss. His own pain.
He had mourned Minato every October 10th.
And he had never once celebrated Naruto.
"I'm sorry, Minato," he whispered to his drink. "I failed him. I failed both of you."
The bottle offered no absolution.
Neither did the night.
Seventeen days until the finals.
Naruto trained with renewed focus, the encounter with Jiraiya filed away as processed data.
The devoted women surrounded him with increased attention, somehow sensing that he needed their presence more than usual.
And somewhere in the growing complexity of his emotional awakening, a new understanding took root.
Family wasn't blood.
Family was presence.
Family was the people who showed up, day after day, even when you couldn't give them anything in return.
Family was Anko's arms around him.
Family was six other women who had chosen him despite his emptiness.
Family was earned, not inherited.
And Jiraiya had never earned anything.