He turned to me, that lazy grin spreading across his face, eyes half-shut like he was already half-drunk on his own ideas. "I'm heading out, kid. Got a book to write. Adult stuff—you wouldn't get it."
I tilted my head, playing dumb. "What book?"
Jiraiya's grin faltered, just for a second, before he leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "An *adult* book. Not like that flop, *Tale of the Utterly Gutsy Shinobi*. That one tanked—nobody got it. This time, I'm writing what *I* like. Something with… flavor."
I smirked, already knowing where this was headed. *Makeout Paradise*. The sleazy masterpiece that'd make him infamous, a hit he'd ride for years. I could picture him now, hunched over a scroll, snickering at his own dirty jokes. "Sounds like a real page-turner," I said, dry as dust.
He laughed, loud and rough, clapping me on the shoulder. "You're a sharp one, Menma. But before I go, I've got something for you. A technique—big leagues. Took me years to nail it. The Rasengan."
My pulse kicked up a notch, but I kept my face blank, bored even. The Rasengan? I'd mastered that trick two years ago, back when I was four, spinning chakra in my palm until my hands blistered. A secret I'd kept locked tight. But I couldn't tell him that—not yet. "Rasengan, huh?" I said, scratching my chin like it was news to me. "What's it do?"
Jiraiya puffed out his chest, all swagger and pride. "Pure chakra, kid. Shaped, spun, packed into a ball of raw power. No seals, no fluff—just boom." He stepped back, hand out, and chakra flared to life in his palm. It swirled, tightened, glowing blue and fierce, the air buzzing as it took form. He thrust it forward, and a training dummy exploded into splinters, the crack echoing sharp across the field.
I let out a low whistle, keeping it casual. "Neat trick."
"Neat?" He barked a laugh, smug as hell. "It's a damn work of art. Took me three years to perfect. Think you've got the guts to try it?"
I shrugged, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Sure. Let's see."
He blinked, thrown off. "See? Kid, this isn't some kunai toss. It's—"
I cut him off, hand snapping out. Chakra surged, wild and fast, spinning in my palm. The hum filled the air, and in seconds, a Rasengan flared to life—smaller than his, tighter, the blue light flickering across my face. I held it steady, then let it fade, the chakra scattering like ash.
Jiraiya's jaw hit the dirt. His eyes bulged, voice cracking. "What the—how—?"
"I'm a genius," I said, shrugging like it was nothing. "Picked it up a while ago."
He staggered, hand clutching his chest like I'd punched him. "A *while ago*? How long's 'a while'?"
"Two years," I said, watching the color drain from his face. "Mastered it when I was four. Took me a week."
He choked, a strangled sound escaping him. "Four? A *week*? Kid, that's—Even Minato—" His voice snagged, eyes darkening, something raw and broken flashing through them.
My chest tightened, but I didn't flinch. Minato. My father. The name hung there, heavy, a ghost neither of us could shake. I saw it in Jiraiya's stare—the way he traced my face, my hands, seeing *him* in me. The genius, the hero, the shadow I'd never outrun. I let the silence stretch, then spoke, quiet but firm. "I'm not him. But I'm damn close."
Jiraiya exhaled, a rough, shaky breath, his hand falling limp. "Yeah. You are."
The air thickened, loaded with things we wouldn't say. I sliced through it, voice sharp. "I don't need the Rasengan. I need something stronger. Something that'll grow with me."
He frowned, brow creasing. "Like what?"
I locked eyes with him, steady as steel. "Sage Mode."
The words dropped like a kunai, cutting the quiet clean in half. Jiraiya's eyes went wide, shock rippling through him. "Sage Mode? How the hell do you even know about that?"
I shrugged, keeping it light. "Read about it. Second Hokage's scrolls—ramblings about harnessing nature energy. Senju lineage stuff. Caught my eye."
His jaw tightened, voice dipping low. "Caught your eye? Kid, Sage Mode's no bedtime story. It's dangerous—lethal. You're *six*."
"I know," I said, calm as a stone wall. "But I can handle it. I need it."
He shook his head, exasperation leaking out. "You're a walking disaster, you know that? Fine. But first, you've gotta prove yourself to Garaga. Ryuchi Cave's not some playground—those snakes'll chew you up and spit you out."
I grinned, a flicker of heat sparking in my chest. "Garaga's mine already. He just doesn't know it."
Jiraiya's laugh was short, biting. "Cocky little punk. Garaga's a monster—might even rival Manda someday. You've gotta earn his respect, or you're snake food."
"I'll handle it," I said, voice steady. Garaga was a gamble—those petrifying eyes, that venom, that temper. Jiraiya didn't know him, not really, but I did. Another life, another Garaga—older, bitter, scarred. This one was younger, greener. If I played my cards right, I could make him a friend, not a foe. My Uzumaki body, laced with the Nine Tails' chakra, could take the hit if it came to that.
Jiraiya sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can't do this here—too many eyes. We'll head to the outskirts."
I nodded, adrenaline buzzing under my skin. "Lead on."
---
The forest outside the village was a mess of shadows and silence, trees old and gnarled, clawing at the darkening sky. Jiraiya stopped in a clearing, moss soft underfoot, air cool and still. "Here," he said, jerking his chin. "Summon him."
I bit my thumb, blood beading, and slammed my hand down. "Summoning Jutsu!" Chakra flared, smoke exploded, and Garaga appeared, his massive coils sprawling across the clearing, scales glinting like wet jade.
His slitted eyes narrowed, voice a low hiss. "Again, brat? Less than a day since you last dragged me out. You're begging to be stone."
I stepped up, chin high. "Take me to Ryuchi Cave. I want to learn Sage Mode."
Garaga's head snapped back, a hiss bursting out, half-laugh, half-scoff. "Sage Mode? You? A runt still dripping from your mother's teat?"
I crossed my arms, jaw tight. "I'm serious. Let's make a deal—give me a test. I win, you take me there."
His gaze turned cold, a rumble shaking the ground. "Foolish. Ryuchi Cave breaks the weak. Fail, and you're a mindless husk—or a meal. You're not ready."
Jiraiya stepped in, voice gruff. "Menma, this is brutal—worse than Mount Myoboku. You sure about this?"
I didn't waver. "Dead sure. And if I survive, Garaga—will you be my summon? Loyal?"
Garaga's tongue flicked out, tasting the air, his eyes glinting with menace. "Survive first, runt. Then we'll talk."
I climbed onto his head, gripping the rough scales, cool against my hands. Jiraiya hesitated, then sighed, leaping up beside me. "I'm his mentor. I'm coming—make sure he doesn't get swallowed."
Garaga's laugh rasped like dry leaves. "Suit yourself, toad sage. Ryuchi Cave spares no one."
The world smeared into streaks of shadow and green as Garaga surged forward, the forest blurring past. My heart hammered, excitement and dread twisting tight. Ryuchi Cave was a roll of the dice—power at a steep price. But I'd pay it. For the Uchiha, for Naruto, for the future I'd claw into existence.
---
The cave yawned ahead, a jagged mouth of rock and darkness, the air thick with damp earth and a sharp tang—venom, blood, something old and hungry. Garaga stopped at the threshold, voice a hiss. "Last chance, brat. Back out."
I slid down, landing light. "No. I'm in."
Jiraiya dropped beside me, face hard. "Stay sharp, Menma. This place'll rip you apart—body and soul."
I nodded, bracing myself, and stepped into the black.
The tunnels twisted, a maze of slick stone and echoes, shadows flickering like ghosts. Whispers hissed through the dark, brushing my ears. Then—light, faint and wavering, spilling from an archway.
I crossed through, and the cavern opened up, vast and cold, stone walls gleaming with scales. Three figures stood waiting, draped in silk and shadow, their eyes like black gems—Ichikishimahime, Tagorihime, Tagitsuhime. The snake princesses. Their beauty cut like a blade, all sharp edges and poison, their smiles promising ruin.
Jiraiya's breath caught, a choked whisper slipping out. "Oh, sweet damn…"
I jabbed him with an elbow, sharp. "Focus, old man."
He coughed, straightening, but his grin crept back, eyes locked on them. "Right, right. Duty calls."
Ichikishimahime glided forward, voice smooth as silk. "A child seeks Sage Mode? Bold… or stupid."
I met her stare, steady. "Maybe both. I'm here to learn."
Tagorihime's laugh shattered the air, brittle and bright. "We'll see if you live, little one."
Tagitsuhime smiled, cold and thin. "Fail, and you're ours—forever."
I swallowed, the stakes sinking deep. But I'd come too far to fold. "I won't fail."
Jiraiya's hand landed on my shoulder, his grin fierce. "That's my kid. Show 'em what you've got."
The princesses circled, slow and sleek, predators closing in. The trial loomed, my shot at power dangling just out of reach.