A gust of dry wind blew through the cracked borderlands between Wind Country and Fire, carrying the scent of sun-scorched stone, old blood, and travel. The sun was dipping westward, but the light still danced gold off the edge of Jiraiya's cup, illuminating the faint trace of citrus pulp inside.
He took another sip of lemonade—cool, sweet, a little too sour—just like his thoughts.
His disciple sat not far from him, cross-legged on the smooth rock, hands in a slow mudra cycle, synthesizing chakra with such composure that it hurt to look at. Beside the boy, a half-eaten watermelon glistened in the light. A black-feathered crow was pecking at it rhythmically, unfazed.
Jiraiya exhaled slowly. "I've trained a lot of kids. But this one…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Itachi's shoulders were tense, fingers trembling slightly as dark chakra bled from his skin. His Sharingan had activated unknowingly. Around him, that strange crow-aura—a shimmer of midnight feathers—flickered and pulsed. The natural energy concentration was climbing again.
Too much.
"Gah!"
Beiyuan, quick and instinctive, shot forward. Its claws barely brushed the boy's arm, but that was all it needed. A smooth stream of balanced Sage chakra was introduced, stabilizing the chaos. The black energy withdrew into Itachi's back and solidified into half-formed wings, sleek and radiant, but still unstable.
Beiyuan tilted its head. Not bad… but not enough.
Itachi opened his eyes, disappointment flickering across his face. "Failed again."
Jiraiya approached, folding his arms as he looked over the dark wings. "Don't be too hard on yourself. This is beyond what most full-grown Sannin can do. You've only been training Sage Mode for months."
That was true. What he didn't say was the part gnawing at him—he himself had spent years with Fukasaku and Shima and still couldn't maintain perfect balance alone.
"And tomorrow," he added, voice brightening slightly, "we head back to Konoha. Your first official missions as a Leaf shinobi begin."
Itachi's eyes lit up faintly. A smile touched his mouth, something rarely seen in the wild. "We're really going back?"
"Yup. Time to show the village what you've learned."
Beiyuan fluttered up onto Itachi's shoulder, eyes narrowing. Something felt... off.
The crow sensed what Jiraiya didn't say aloud. The truth was, Jiraiya had nothing left to teach him.
Rasengan? Forbidden. It was Minato's legacy, not to be shared lightly. The signature techniques of Mount Myōboku were sacred and incompatible with the Crow Path. Even the basic missions of guidance and experience were being outpaced. Jiraiya was falling behind his own student.
Instead, he'd come to a new plan: real-world training. Let the boy sharpen his fangs where it mattered—in the field.
With his status as a Sannin, their missions wouldn't be low-level. No D-rank delivery nonsense. Everything came either directly from the Hokage's desk or higher.
It would also give Itachi something else he needed: reconnection. Family. Home.
As the three resumed their trek through the plains, toward the forests of Fire Country, the mood lifted—but only slightly. Konoha's skyline was still distant, and the journey long. But the idea of familiar faces—Fugaku, Mikoto, even little Sasuke—pulled Itachi forward with eagerness unspoken.
Still, Beiyuan couldn't shake the unease in the wind.
By the third day of travel, they reached a border outpost. A squad of Konoha shinobi stationed there saluted sharply as Jiraiya approached.
"Lord Jiraiya! You've returned earlier than expected."
"Mm," Jiraiya grunted, scratching his head. "Anything happen while we were gone?"
The leading chunin hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, sir. There've been developments. First, Lord Danzo has resumed his position as an advisor to the Hokage… and regained control of the Anbu training corps."
Jiraiya's brows furrowed. "Hiruzen just stripped him of that last year."
"There's more," the ninja said grimly. "The village has announced a new S-class traitor. Name: unknown. Codename: Flying Thunder God Magician."
Jiraiya blinked. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"
He took the wanted scroll the ninja handed him. His eyes skimmed the description, then the portrait—crude, blurry, more a sketch than a likeness.
Pale skin, split into black and white. Sharp features. Uncanny.
It looked… familiar.
Beiyuan leaned over Jiraiya's shoulder. Then it froze.
That face. The one it fought during the ambush in the forest. The one it nearly killed. The creature made of Yin and Yang chakra. The thing that had mimicked Obito, but was not Obito.
Beiyuan tilted its head, eyes narrowing.
That thing doesn't even exist.
And yet, here it was. Labeled as real. Blamed for crimes. Given form, given sin.
Jiraiya snorted. "Flying Thunder God Magician? What is this, a stage name? Did he also juggle kunai while vanishing into thin air?"
The stationed ninja explained quickly, "Sir, the individual is said to have learned Flying Thunder God through experimentation… Orochimaru was involved. The creature was an artificial being. Inhuman."
Beiyuan clacked its beak slowly.
So that's the angle. Blame Orochimaru. Blame someone.
In Konoha's shadows, truth was optional.
"Assassination attempt on the Hokage," Jiraiya muttered. "And you expect me to believe that thing failed to kill the old man? Sounds more like a scapegoat."
His tone was quiet, dangerous.
"Orochimaru again…" he added, mostly to himself. "Always behind the curtains."
He stared at the portrait longer than he needed to. Somewhere deep inside, a part of him recoiled. He'd loved Orochimaru once, in the way comrades do. Admired him. Trusted him.
And now, this.
Beiyuan said nothing. But its feathers bristled.
The ninja added one more detail. "Also, our squad was reassigned from the border of the Land of Grass. The village has concentrated units there. We believe something is brewing."
The air stilled.
The Land of Grass.
Beiyuan's eyes narrowed, burning red.
So that's where it was happening. That's where they had gone. The truth—or a shadow of it—was stirring in the dark.
Jiraiya rubbed his jaw. "If this 'magician' exists, and he's using Flying Thunder God… then this isn't just politics anymore. That technique—only a handful of people in history have mastered it."
He paused.
"Unless…"
Unless it wasn't about the technique at all. Unless it was just a convenient lie. One more myth to hide a greater sin. One more shadow puppet for Danzo to throw into the light.
They walked away from the outpost in silence.
Jiraiya's expression was thoughtful, pained.
Itachi's eyes were on the trees ahead, wondering what Konoha had become in his absence.
And Beiyuan's mind was miles away, soaring toward the borders of the Land of Grass.
Because somewhere out there… the real enemy was moving.
And he—the crow of death, the shadow of the Uchiha—was going to meet it again.
This time, not to warn.
But to finish what had begun.