"War... is nothing more than a group of lingering old men commanding hopeful youths to the front lines."
"Using their hot blood and lives to fill the gaps in the trenches," Hiruzen Sarutobi said despondently.
For various reasons, Asuma's relationship with his father had always been strained. Usually, no matter what the Third said, Asuma would find an angle to argue back. But this time, faced with his father's weary lament, Asuma found himself speechless. He couldn't find a single word to refute him.
"Old man... you really have grown old," Asuma muttered softly.
"Yes, yes, I am old." The Third Hokage looked at his vibrant son, the corners of his mouth turning up in a faint smile. He lifted his pipe, lit it, and took a long, satisfying drag.
Indeed, he was past his prime. The future would eventually fall onto the shoulders of the young. Seeing his father like this, Asuma clicked his tongue in feigned annoyance, but for some reason, he felt closer to the old man than he had in years. They walked side-by-side, chatting about nothing in particular, the atmosphere more harmonious than it had been in a decade.
Suddenly, the Third's gaze sharpened. Not far off, he spotted Jiraiya—eyes wide and lecherous, staring at a passing woman with a look of pure, unadulterated scandal.
Hiruzen rubbed his forehead. This student of mine... he never changes.
Upon spotting his teacher, Jiraiya rubbed his hair sheepishly and hopped over. Tall and broad with a boisterous grin, he exuded a certain rugged charm, even if his eyes tended to wander whenever a beauty walked by. Most notably, he wore a forehead protector engraved with the kanji for "Oil" rather than the standard Leaf symbol.
The Third couldn't help but laugh. Of his three students, Jiraiya was the only one who still treated him without a hint of estrangement.
Tsunade, of course, had grown cold toward him after the bloodline experiments; her attitude had shifted long ago. Orochimaru, ever since Nawaki's death, had been consumed by his experiments, his emotions withering away.
Yet, if Hiruzen had to choose a favorite, it was always Orochimaru. Anyone would be biased toward a genius who could perfectly inherit their mantle. Orochimaru had top-tier talent, a knack for management, and the patience to study the essence of ninjutsu. At one point, Hiruzen had truly wanted him to be the Fourth Hokage.
But he had been disappointed. Orochimaru didn't care for the title, and Danzo's machinations had only driven a wedge between teacher and student. Their core philosophies had diverged: Hiruzen wanted to stoke the "Will of Fire" and personal connections, while Orochimaru pursued eternal truth at any cost. As they drifted apart, Orochimaru and Hiruko only grew closer.
Jiraiya was a different story. He had been a "late bloomer," a civilian talent who found his own brilliance over time. Though he spent most of his years abroad, he had returned just in time for the brewing storm.
"Yo, Sensei! Asuma! Long time no see. How's life treating you?" Jiraiya waved.
"I'm well, Jiraiya. And you?"
"Couldn't be better!"
Asuma merely nodded; he wasn't particularly close to the Sannin. Jiraiya's smile faded slightly as he looked toward the horizon. "Sensei, things are getting a bit out of hand this time. I couldn't stay away. Minato is doing a great job as Hokage, and with Hiruko helping him, he'll likely become the greatest Hokage the world has ever seen."
The trio decided to head to one of the luxurious buffet restaurants Hiruko had recently built in the village. They grabbed a private room to talk seriously.
Meanwhile, Hiruko stretched his limbs. He didn't feel like rotting in the lab today, so he accepted an invitation from Anko. The girl wanted to treat him to a meal to thank him for his guidance on her ninjutsu.
Hiruko walked through the streets of Konoha, a local snack in one hand and a container of his own brand of "French Fries and Cola" in the other. He watched the smiles on the villagers' faces and nodded with satisfaction. It was a shame war was imminent; if he had a few more years to develop, he could probably steamroll the entire shinobi world.
He arrived at the new BBQ joint he'd opened. Anko was already there, scrutinizing the menu. As Orochimaru's student, she was quite close to Hiruko, often dragging him out for food or pestering him with questions.
"It's rare for you to treat me to a place like this," a voice said from across the table.
Sitting opposite Anko was a girl of similar age, dressed in a white silk-like wrap dress over a red short-sleeved shirt and fishnet underpinnings. Her black hair was slightly curled, giving her an entirely different vibe than the tomboyish Anko. Despite her youth, she already possessed a certain mature, ladylike charm (Shōfu).
Anko looked up and laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, no, I'm treating someone else. I just brought you along for the ride."
"You're treating someone?" Kurenai Yuhi looked surprised. As Orochimaru's pupil, Anko had a formidable reputation, and most people were too intimidated to befriend her. Kurenai was curious: who could have earned Anko's favor?
Anko grinned. "Yeah. Honestly, you probably know him too."
"?" Kurenai tilted her head in confusion.
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