"Let's go." Jiraiya dusted off his clothes and called to Naruto, who was still waving his bruised fist.
"Where?" Naruto asked on reflex, but his feet were already following.
He'd only just met this peculiar white-haired man, yet he felt no wariness—maybe because of the popsicle, maybe because of the goofy yet oddly comforting aura.
Without looking back, Jiraiya swept an arm grandly. "Taking you for barbecue!"
Any normal kid would've cheered at the word barbecue.
Naruto, however, froze as if paralyzed, head down, tiny fists clutching his shirt.
"Huh?" Jiraiya sensed the halt and turned. "What's wrong, brat? You were lively a second ago."
Naruto didn't look up, voice muffled with hurt far beyond his years. "You… go ahead… I—I won't eat it."
"Then let's get ramen instead."
He'd walked past the grill-house countless times, smelling the smoke, watching happy families troop inside.
Yet whenever he tried to approach, clerks glared, drove him off, while diners whispered fear and disgust.
Each rejection had carved another scar.
Only the ramen stand never chased him away.
Jiraiya took in the lowered head, the rigid shoulders, and understood.
His face darkened, a flicker of pain in his eyes, but he masked it with booming laughter.
"Haha! Playing coy, runt? One little punch and you sulk? Come on—today this sage is in a good mood. Grand feast as your apprenticeship gift!"
He shot out a huge hand, seized the back of Naruto's collar, and hoisted him like a chick.
"Hey! Put me down! I'm not going! I won't eat!" Naruto thrashed, short legs kicking air.
He was terrified—terrified of that familiar shame of being shunned.
But how could he match Jiraiya's strength?
No matter how he flailed, Jiraiya strode steadily toward the Village's most famous grill-house.
At the doorway, the scent he both craved and feared drifted out, and Naruto's struggles quieted.
He trembled, small face painted with dread, ready for the inevitable scolding and ejection.
But no one drove him away.
"Welcome, Lord Jiraiya—please come in!" the greeter beamed.
Jiraiya shot him a warning glance.
When the man's eyes fell on the dangling boy, the smile froze, then stiffly returned. "This… young guest is welcome too."
Naruto gaped, blue eyes wide with disbelief.
"That's better!"
Laughing, Jiraiya carried the stunned child inside and asked for a quiet booth.
Only when set on soft cushions, staring at the clean table and glowing grill, did Naruto snap back.
He glanced at Jiraiya—already muttering over whether to order sake—then at the oddly respectful waiter, and a thought struck like lightning: 'This white-haired geezer… is seriously amazing?'
Sizzling meat sang on the iron; rich aroma filled the room.
Jiraiya flipped the slices, laying perfectly charred pieces onto Naruto's plate.
"Wow! Delicious!" Naruto's cheeks bulged like a happy hamster, praise garbled.
For the first time he sat in a barbecue shop without fear of expulsion, tasting such flavor.
It felt like a dream.
Mouth full, he lifted his greasy face. "Toad Sage, why… why was that waiter—and everyone—so respectful?"
"Haha!" Jiraiya preened, thrusting out his chest. "Because this sage is a great Ninja!"
"Great Ninja…" Naruto savored the words, blue eyes shining with longing.
He wanted to be like that—respected wherever he went, not feared.
Seeing the admiration, Jiraiya's eyes narrowed; time to stoke the fire.
He leaned close, voice hushed as if revealing a cosmic secret.
"And… hey, kid, here's the kicker."
He paused, ensuring every bit of Naruto's attention, then declared smugly, "The Fourth Hokage—yeah, the one carved on Hokage Rock—was my pupil. Impressed?"
Naruto nearly sprayed meat across the table.
His eyes bulged; he forgot to chew.
"The… Fourth Hokage?! Your student?!"
Hokage—the summit of his dreams!
And this goofy white-haired man had trained one?
Shock gave way to a wilder thought.
He jabbed himself, babbling, "Then… then that means… the Fourth is… my senior?!"
Jiraiya's smug grin froze; his face went comically blank.