Chapter 107: Little Brother
"YOU IDIOT!"
The words were a verbal thunderclap, followed immediately by the real thing—a fist wrapped in the terrifying promise of the Strength of a Hundred.
Jiraiya, still preening from his 'generous' offer, had zero time to react. There was no defensive stance, no substitution. Just a blur of motion and a meaty THWUMP! as Tsunade's fist connected squarely with his midriff.
The legendary Sannin didn't so much fly as he cannonballed backwards. He hit the ground, bounced, carved a shallow trench in the mud, ricocheted off a training post with a hollow bonk, and finally came to a stop head-first in a soft patch of earth, his sandaled feet kicking feebly in the air.
Tsunade stood where he had been, slowly unclenching her fist. A vein throbbed at her temple. She looked genuinely, profoundly irritated.
"J-Jiraiya-sensei!" Minato yelped, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He took a half-step forward, torn between concern and the instinctive fear of getting between Tsunade and her target.
Brutal, Ragnar observed internally, his expression unchanged. The fact he survived to adulthood in the original timeline is a testament to his durability. He recalled vague, system-provided knowledge fragments about this man's future—impaled on massive rods, vital organs destroyed, yet clinging to life through sheer will to pass on a final message. A cockroach-like tenacity, it seemed.
From the dirt mound, a single hand emerged, giving a shaky but unmistakable 'OK' sign.
SCHLOOP.
Jiraiya wrestled his head free of the earth, spitting out mud and grass. His face was a masterpiece of fresh bruises and comical indignation. He blinked, then broke into a pained, lopsided grin. "Tsunade! You're back! That's great! But, uh, what was that for this time?"
Tsunade crossed her arms, the picture of righteous fury. "Ragnar is my brother. You are not, under any circumstances, to lead him down your… particular path of degeneracy."
"What?" Jiraiya looked genuinely baffled, swiping mud from his cheek. "Your brother? But your brother is that snot-nosed little—" He stopped, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Wait, when did you get another one?"
"Yeah! Since when did I have a brother and a sister?!"
A new, younger voice piped up, bright with curiosity and a touch of outrage.
Perched on the branch of a nearby tree, squatting like a little blond monkey, was a boy. He couldn't have been more than six or seven, a Konoha forehead protector tied rakishly around his spiky, straw-colored hair. His eyes were wide and blue, brimming with restless energy. He bore a striking, youthful resemblance to the future Uzumaki Naruto.
Ragnar's gaze sharpened. Senju Nawaki.
"Nawaki!" Tsunade's anger momentarily evaporated into shock. "What are you doing here?" Her tone shifted from surprise to rising alarm. She hadn't known her baby brother was anywhere near the front lines.
"Nawaki, you little scamp!" Jiraiya cried, equally surprised.
FWUMP. Nawaki hopped down from the branch, landing with a child's practiced clumsiness. He beamed, running towards Tsunade with arms outstretched, clearly expecting a hug.
Instead, Tsunade's hand shot out, snagging him by the ear.
"OW! Hey! Let go!" Nawaki yelped, squirming. He was scrawny, no match for his sister's grip.
"Who gave you permission to come here?" Tsunade hissed, bending down to his level. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this place is?!"
"It hurts!" Nawaki whined, tears of genuine pain welling in his eyes. Tsunade's hold wasn't cruel, but it was firm—a sibling's disciplinary pinch.
His watery gaze then landed on Ragnar, and a spark of childish jealousy ignited. "So it's true!" he accused, his voice trembling. "Sister has a new brother, so she doesn't want her real brother anymore! Hmph!"
"Don't be ridiculous," Tsunade snapped, releasing his now-red ear. "Don't change the subject. When did you arrive? And you're leaving. Today. This is no place for you."
"No way!" Nawaki stamped his foot, puffing out his small chest. "Why can you come but I can't? I'm the last man of the Senju clan! I can't just hide!"
"A man? You're a child!" Tsunade retorted, her worry morphing back into exasperation. "What was the old man thinking, letting you come here?" She muttered the last part, a clear indictment of the Third Hokage's judgment.
"He's right, Nawaki," Jiraiya chimed in, adopting a rare tone of seriousness. "This is a battlefield. It's not a game."
"Brother Nawaki, Jiraiya-sensei is correct," Minato added gently, his kind smile meant to soothe.
"Tch, I'm not scared!" Nawaki declared, his earlier bravado returning. He crossed his arms, a proud glint in his eye. "My new boss is protecting me! With him around, I'm not afraid of anything!"
Tsunade facepalmed. Gods. The heir to the Senju clan… calling someone else 'boss.' Grandfather would be spinning in his grave. A cold, murderous intent briefly flickered in her eyes. She needed to meet this 'boss' and have a very firm… discussion.
"What 'boss'?" she asked, her voice deceptively calm. "Who?"
"Ahem!"
Nawaki immediately straightened up, puffing out his chest. He marched to the center of their loose circle, striking a dramatic pose.
"My boss," he announced, his voice taking on a reverent, story-telling tone, "is a legend. He comes and goes without a trace, a dragon you never see head or tail! When enemies see him, they turn and run! He has three heads and six arms, a face of pure ferocity, and a body like a mountain! A single roar from his lips can shatter an enemy's courage and freeze an entire army in their tracks!"
Silence followed his proclamation.
Then…
THWOK! THWOK!
Two perfectly formed, smoking lumps appeared on top of Nawaki's head. He let out a screech, clutching his skull. "OWWW! Sister, why'd you hit me?!"
"Three heads and six arms?" Tsunade growled, her fist still raised. "Is he a person or a summon? And if a roar scares them, how useless are these 'enemies'?"
"Pfft—HAHAHA!" Jiraiya lost it, laughing uproariously. He clearly thought this was a product of a hyperactive child's imagination, a heroic archetype cobbled together from campfire tales.
"I'm not lying! I swear!" Nawaki cried, tears now streaming down his cheeks, a mixture of pain and frustrated honesty.
"Then tell me. Who. Is. It?" Tsunade's voice dropped to a dangerous purr. Her knuckles cracked audibly.
"It's Rakshasa! The ANBU Rakshasa!" Nawaki yelled, defiance in his tear-filled eyes. "I'm Rakshasa's little brother! No one would dare bully me with him around!"
Huh. Ragnar's internal monologue was a flat line of surprise. I don't recall this.
Tsunade's eyes flicked instinctively to Ragnar, who met her gaze with utter blankness. She understood immediately. Nawaki was spinning tales. Only a handful of people knew Rakshasa's true identity, and a six-year-old boy on the periphery wasn't one of them.
"Rakshasa? That ANBU prodigy?" Minato murmured, his expression turning thoughtful. He'd heard the rumors circulating among the chunin and jonin.
"Rakshasa…" Jiraiya's laughter died, replaced by a look of genuine respect and curiosity. The stories of the Ninth Team's exploits, and the whispered truth that a single operative named Rakshasa had been the core of that destruction, had reached even his ears.
"Nonsense," Tsunade scoffed, redirecting her glare to Nawaki. "I know Rakshasa. He doesn't have three heads. And how would you know him?" Her patience was fraying. First sneaking onto a battlefield, now telling blatant, grandiose lies. He needed a lesson, and he needed it now.
Seeing the storm gathering in his sister's eyes, Nawaki did something unexpected. He lunged forward, not to attack, but to grab Tsunade's raised hand with both of his small ones.
"Sister!" he pleaded, his eyes wide and earnest. "You can hit me! I won't fight back! Just… just don't hit my face, okay? But after you're done… please, tell me what Rakshasa is really like? Is he young? Is he majestic and cool? Can you introduce me? I admire him so much! Really! I… I want him to be my teacher!"
He finished, looking up at her with the absolute, starry-eyed faith only a child can muster.
Tsunade stared. For a moment, she was utterly speechless. The sheer, stupid, earnest gall of it… It short-circuited her anger, replacing it with a wave of exasperated, fond disbelief. This kid…
"NAWAKI!"
Her roar of pure, unadulterated frustration echoed across the entire Konoha encampment. It was followed immediately by the sharp thwacks of disciplinary strikes and the high-pitched, dramatic howls of a little boy who had perhaps pushed his luck a tad too far.
The scene that unfolded was… visceral. Jiraiya winced and looked away, whistling innocently at the sky. Minato averted his eyes with a pained, sympathetic smile.
Ragnar watched, his face an impassive mask. The kid brought it on himself.
Sometimes, a little brother just needed to be disciplined.
(End of Chapter)
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