The campfire crackled low, casting flickering shadows over the clearing. They had set up camp near a stream, the air cooling as night fell. Kushina sat quietly beside Ryosuke, her eyes fixed on the flames. Minato tended to the merchant's wound—just a scrape—but did it with the quiet focus he applied to everything.
Jiraiya returned not long after, carrying a bundle of dry wood. He dropped it with a thud near the fire and stretched with a satisfied grunt.
"Well," he said, breaking the silence, "you kids didn't do half bad."
Minato looked up. "Could've been faster. I didn't react until the kunai hit the tree."
"You reacted fine. It's your first real ambush—those moments teach more than any drill," Jiraiya replied, settling onto a rock. He glanced at Kushina, then at Ryosuke, his gaze lingering a beat longer on the blood-smeared edge of Ryosuke's cloak. "You all worked like a team. You protected the client. You covered each other. That's what counts."
No one spoke.
Jiraiya leaned forward, elbows on knees, voice lowering just slightly. "Ryosuke… that was your first kill, right?"
Ryosuke nodded once. "Yes."
"You did what you had to." Jiraiya didn't sound apologetic or soft. Just firm. "Don't chase the feeling. Don't run from it either. Just remember it. Learn what it changes."
Ryosuke met his gaze. "It didn't feel like anything."
Jiraiya gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. "That's fine. But be careful if it stays that way."
He leaned back, casting a glance at Kushina, who hadn't moved. "And you," he added, voice lightening a touch, "nice job watching your teammates' backs. That was clean taijutsu, even if your guard was sloppy."
She scoffed. "I would've gotten him."
"No doubt," Jiraiya said with a smirk. "But you didn't have to. That's the point."
He stood, dusting off his hands. "Get some rest. I'll take first watch."
As he walked toward the edge of the clearing, he looked back once more. The firelight caught in his eyes, the hint of a smile on his face.
"They're growing," he muttered to himself. "Faster than I thought."
---------------
---------------
Nara Compound, Late Evening
Steam curled from their teacups, unhurried and silent, like the quiet between thoughts.
Inoichi's thumb ran along the edge of the page before he read aloud:
"Betrayal is not the act of violence. It is the stillness that follows—when the ones you trusted pretend they never heard your screams."
He didn't look up. Neither did Shikaku. They sat like that for a moment, both still, as if they were back on a silent mission, watching from the shadows.
"…He's not writing about a war," Shikaku said. "He's writing about coming back from it."
Inoichi nodded slowly. "There's more."
He flipped forward a few pages and found the one he had marked earlier:
"The boy of red hair wept not when the city fell. He wept when the whispers told him it was necessary. For peace. For balance. For the future."
Shikaku murmured. "....he's not being subtle."
Inoichi leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "He doesn't want to be. That's the point. It's buried in metaphor, yes, but only just enough. Anyone paying attention can hear what he's really saying."
Shikaku tapped the cover of the book. "He wants people to feel what he felt. That helplessness, the anger. He's not just telling a story—he's lashing out."
There was a long pause, then Inoichi chuckled under his breath.
"What?" Shikaku asked.
"He called them 'kin of shifting sands.' The ones who helped burn the red city."
Shikaku blinked. "That's clever."
"And this," Inoichi continued, pointing:
"The empire promised him safety, peace. A name on the wall, a room in the palace, and no more questions. But his pen refused to forget. Ink spilled where blood once had."
Shikaku let out a breath, not quite a sigh. "He's saying Konoha wants him to be silent, or well, not make any trouble at least."
Inoichi finally closed the book, hands resting on the cover like a priest over a sealed casket. "Do you think the Hokage's read this?"
Shikaku replied, voice low. "I'm not sure, but he will read it, soon."
The room grew heavy. The air was still, as though even the tea steam had frozen mid-air.
"He's dangerous," Shikaku added. "Not because of his power—but because of his voice. The village can handle a strong shinobi. But someone who can turn pain into stories this compelling?"
"That's how you start revolutions," Inoichi whispered.
Neither said anything for a long while.
Shikaku suddenly broke the tension,"He's telling us exactly how he feels."
.
.
.
Meanwhile,
near Aoshima Crossing,
Land of waves.
The sound of clashing feet and shifting dirt echoed through the trees. Evening light filtered through the canopy in long orange shafts. Jiraiya's foot scraped across a loose patch of gravel as he came to a stop, barely evading a sharp feint from Ryosuke.
The boy didn't follow through, didn't overextend. He just stood there—breathing calmly, stance low, fingers twitching slightly from the high-speed exchange.
Jiraiya exhaled through his nose. "You're getting faster."
Ryosuke gave a slow shrug, as if the compliment didn't register. Or maybe it did, and he simply didn't care.
They circled again.
"You know," Jiraiya said, tilting his head, "you used to flinch every time I threw a punch at your head."
That was a time when he had just come back from his clan and loved ones being destroyed, his mind was disturbed and he had mild symptoms of PTSD at that time, but Ryosuke wouldn't say that.
He lunged instead—quick and tight, chakra channeled into his palm for a fast strike. Jiraiya parried, twisted, went for a sweep. But Ryosuke adjusted. No wasted motion. He wasn't just reacting anymore—he was reading him.
They broke apart again.
Jiraiya rolled his shoulder, eyes narrowing. "That's twice now. You're not just better. You're reading my weight shifts."
Silence again, just wind and breath and distant birdsong.
"I paid attention during the fight," Ryosuke finally said. "The ambush. I was tired of watching."
Jiraiya's mouth twitched, not quite a frown. "You've seen death now. It usually slows people down."
"Not me," Ryosuke replied.
'That was the problem', Jiraiya thought,'He was faster, sharper, and something in his eyes had changed. Not rage. Not pain. Just... focus. Full of deliberate resolve.'
He launched forward again, pushing harder this time. More clones. More chakra. Ryosuke dodged, absorbed, redirected. He didn't overpower Jiraiya—he adapted. Adjusted his angles. Avoided unnecessary effort. And then—he slipped a strike past the defense and tapped Jiraiya's shoulder.
A light hit. But it would've been a blade if they weren't sparring.
Jiraiya stepped back. "That's enough."
Ryosuke blinked, surprised. "You're stopping?"
"Yeah." Jiraiya's tone was unreadable. "I've seen what I needed to see."
He turned away, hands in his pockets. Ryosuke didn't follow.
Behind his calm exterior, Jiraiya's thoughts spun,'He's almost at Jōnin level already. And he doesn't even realize it. Or maybe he does… and just doesn't care.'
That last thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
'Minato trains because he wants to be the best. Kushina fights because she has fire in her soul. But Ryosuke? Anybody close to him can see, he wants vengeance, I was hoping to get close to Ryosuke and perhaps influence him to move on but now, I am not so sure, I am that capable.'
As they headed back toward camp, Jiraiya glanced at the boy walking beside him—composed, quiet, always thinking.
---------------
The trees whispered with a light breeze. Ryosuke wiped the sweat from his brow, walking toward the edge of the clearing where their makeshift camp was set.
Footsteps—fast, light, and unmistakably hers.
"Ryosuke!" Kushina burst through the trees, practically glowing. Her red hair trailed behind like a banner, eyes shining with excitement. "That was amazing! You actually landed a hit on Jiraiya-sensei!"
Ryosuke blinked, pausing mid-step.
She didn't stop, didn't give him time to deflect. "You were like—whoosh, bam! And then you dodged that clone like it was nothing! Seriously, when did you get that fast?"
"I've always been fast," he said simply, but the faintest tug of a smile crept onto his face.
Kushina rolled her eyes and jabbed his shoulder. "Yeah, but not this fast. You looked like you were teaching him something out there!"
From behind the trees, Minato watched quietly.
His hands were in his pockets, posture relaxed, but his eyes betrayed something else. A flicker of hesitation. A tiny sting in the chest. He'd trained just as hard. Harder, maybe. But the gap was widening—and not in his favor.
Kushina turned to wave at Minato. "Did you see that? Wasn't he amazing?"
Minato smiled faintly and nodded. "Yeah… he was."
But before the silence could stretch too long, a voice cut in—
"I wouldn't feel bad, kid."
Jiraiya stepped out of the trees, arms crossed, a faint smirk on his lips. "You've got something different. Talent, yeah—but more importantly, heart."
Minato blinked. "Sensei?"
"I've decided," Jiraiya said. "From now on, I'm taking you on as my personal student."
Kushina gasped. "Seriously?! That's amazing!"
Minato's eyes widened. "Me?"
Jiraiya nodded. "You've got the mindset for it. You're curious. Careful. You think before you strike—and more importantly, you've got that spark. The same kind I saw in my old teammate once."
Minato's expression brightened, a quiet but genuine joy settling over him. "Thank you… I'll do my best."
Kushina nudged him playfully. "Look at you, student of the great Pervy Sage himself."
Jiraiya groaned as Kushina seemed to have found his nickname,"Don't call me that."
The laughter that followed was light and genuine. But as it faded, Jiraiya's eyes lingered on Ryosuke, standing apart, the light catching just the edge of his face.
He hadn't said a word since the spar ended. No boast, no laughter. Just silence and that distant look in his eyes—like he was already somewhere else. Somewhere far away.
'He's already almost caught up to most Jōnins… I would have to go in to sage mode to have a decisive victory. '
Jiraiya thought,'And he's still just a genin. Barely even that.'
Power wasn't the issue. That much was clear.
'But power's not the answer. It never was.'
He folded his arms, gaze narrowing slightly.
'The Great Toad Sage's words still echoes in my head... A child born in the time of great upheaval. One who will either save the world—or destroy it.'
Jiraiya's jaw tightened.
'Could it be him? Ryosuke? I thought it was Minato at first, with his monstrous talent and his bright, sunny personality but Ryosuke, the way he fights… the way he writes… the way people are drawn to him without even realizing it. He's not normal. He was never normal.'
A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his temple—not from the spar, but from the thought.
'If he's the one… then what do I do?'
'Sage Arts. He could teach him. Mold him. Shape him into something better. Something brighter.'
But then he remembered the way Ryosuke's chakra had flared during the spar—dense, cold, suffocating. Like it was meant to crush, not protect.
'There's a darkness in him. Not like Orochimaru's hunger, but something colder. More controlled. A kind of grief pretending to be logic. His quest for vengeance seems to have influenced his chakra.
If I give him more power, will I be guiding a savior… or handing the world to its destroyer?'
He exhaled slowly, letting the sounds of Kushina and Minato's laughter wash over him like static.
Turning to them, he forced a wide grin. "Alright, enough fanfare. Let's wrap up the day before I start writing poems about how proud I am."
Kushina chuckled,"You write poems?"
Minato gave a small smile,"Please don't."
But Jiraiya's mind was still elsewhere.
He glanced one last time at Ryosuke—still standing still, still silently smiling but still unreadable.
'I need to watch him', he thought, 'Carefully.'