The walk back to their apartment from the Hokage Tower, after Genma had delivered the mission report and the subdued bandits, was a quiet one. The adrenaline had long since faded, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness and the acrid aftertaste of their first C-Rank mission as a reconstituted team.
Izumi and Renji had already headed to their respective homes, needing a little break.
Kasumi was waiting, of course. Her usual impassive mask was firmly in place, but Ryuu saw the flicker of tension in her dark violet eyes, the slight tightening of her jaw as she took in his mud-stained clothes and the faint scent of old blood that probably still clung to him despite the river cleanup.
She didn't ask for details immediately. That would come later, in the privacy of their small rooms, where she would meticulously dissect his actions, his decisions, his control – or lack thereof. For now, she simply nodded, a silent acknowledgment that he had returned, and that the mission, whatever its cost, was over.
"Go clean up, Ryuu," she said, her voice low. "Dinner will be ready soon."
He nodded, too tired to argue, too raw to engage. He moved towards the small washroom, the image of Kenta's fallen form a persistent, unwelcome guest in his mind.
Later, after a sparse meal eaten in near silence, Kasumi finally spoke. "Genma-sensei's preliminary report to the Hokage mentioned your… effective use of elemental jutsu. And your improvisation." Her gaze was searching. "He also noted your hesitation."
Ryuu flinched. "I… I am working on it, Kaa-san."
"You must," she stated, not unkindly, but with an undeniable firmness. "Hesitation in our world is a death sentence, not just for you, but for your team."
She paused. "The Hokage has approved an intensified training schedule for Team Twelve. Genma-sensei will focus on unit cohesion and advanced tactics. Your individual development… will continue with me, under his oversight. We will refine your Ice Release. Control. Precision. but also… application."
The Cursed Seal on her arm was an unspoken elephant in the room. Konoha now owned a piece of her, and by extension, a piece of him. His Ice Release was no longer a secret to be hoarded, but an asset to be molded, controlled by the village.
Thankfully the major headache — Shimura Danzo — was gone and Minato had promised to remove the seal once things had settled down. The two of them were already part of the village at this point, and in all honesty, Ryuu didn't hold any grudge against Minato for what he had done.
They were being foolish. The political structure of this world was far more complex than he had originally thought. They feared revealing their strength, but it only resulted in distrust.
Of course, this was only Ryuu's perspective. A flawed one that lacked the truth of the matter.
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The following weeks settled into a grueling rhythm. D-Rank missions were fewer, replaced by punishing team training drills with Genma that pushed them to their absolute limits, forcing them to anticipate each other's moves, cover each other's weaknesses.
Renji's raw aggression was slowly being tempered with tactical awareness, Izumi's precision was being integrated into team maneuvers, and Ryuu was being drilled relentlessly on quick decision-making and committing to his actions, his sensory skills honed to a razor's edge.
Evenings were no respite. Kasumi, now with Genma's and Minato's official sanction, pushed Ryuu harder than ever with his Ice Release. The focus was still on minute control – perfect manifestation of his Ice Release, creating patches of ultra-slick ice no larger than his hand, manifesting tiny, fleeting ice constructs – but the intensity was greater, the demand for precision absolute.
It was after one particularly draining evening session with Kasumi, his chakra coils screaming and his muscles aching, that Ryuu found himself walking through the quieter, residential streets of Konoha as dusk bled into night. Kasumi had sent him on an errand to fetch some specific medicinal herbs from a shop near the village outskirts, likely a test of his awareness even when exhausted.
He was halfway back, the small pouch of herbs clutched in his hand, when he passed by the outer wall of one of Konoha's public onsen. The sounds of laughter and splashing water drifted over the high bamboo fence. Ryuu paid it little mind, focused on his route and the lingering throb in his temples from over-exerting his chakra.
Then, a slight flicker of movement, a subtle disturbance in the chakra signatures he was passively monitoring, caught his attention. It wasn't hostile, but it was… out of place.
He slowed, his gaze drifting towards a shadowed section of the onsen's outer fence, one that seemed to offer a convenient vantage point over the wall and into the women's bathing area.
His eyes, even without active sensory focus, picked out the silhouette. A tall figure, hunched over, peering intently through a small, almost invisible gap in the bamboo. The man's spiky white hair was unmistakable, even in the gloom.
Ryuu stopped, a strange mixture of disbelief and an almost academic curiosity prickling through his exhaustion. His memory supplied the identity instantly. There was no mistaking that profile, that particular brand of egregious behavior.
Jiraiya, one of the Legendary Sannin, the Toad Sage of Mount Myōboku, future mentor to the Fourth and Seventh Hokages, was peeping.
Ryuu stared for a beat longer than perhaps was wise. The sheer, unadulterated audacity of it, from a shinobi of such legendary renown, was almost… comical, if it weren't so thoroughly reprehensible.
He remembered the stories from the manga, Jiraiya's "research," but seeing it in person, in this gritty world where lives were so often brutal and short, made the whole situation comical.
He knew he should just walk away, pretend he hadn't seen anything. Engaging the Sannin, especially one in the midst of his… "research," was colossally stupid. He was a ten-year-old Genin.
Jiraiya could probably obliterate him with a thought.
But a part of him, the part that he had burred deep down inside his heart, was intrigued. Jiraiya was a repository of immense knowledge, a direct link to so much of the world's hidden history and power. And he was right there.
Before Ryuu could make a conscious decision, before his ingrained caution could fully reassert itself, Jiraiya, perhaps sensing he was being observed or simply having concluded his "research" for the moment, straightened up.
He turned, not with the furtive guilt of a common pervert caught in the act, but with an almost casual air, as if appraising the quality of the fence construction.
His eyes, sharp and surprisingly perceptive despite his oafish posture, met Ryuu's.
There was a moment of perfect stillness. Jiraiya, the legendary Sannin stared directly at him, his expression unreadable. The silence was broken only by the distant laughter from within the onsen and the chirping of early evening crickets.
Jiraiya's eyebrow twitched. A slow, almost lazy grin spread across his face, a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, which were now assessing Ryuu with a sudden, keen interest.
"Well, now," Jiraiya drawled, his voice a low rumble. "What have we here? A little sparrow out late? Or perhaps… a baby hawk learning to spot the toads in the reeds?" He chuckled, a sound that held a surprising amount of amusement, and perhaps, something else.
Calculation.
Ryuu felt a cold dread begin to seep through him, far colder than any ice he could currently manifest. He had stumbled into something. And Jiraiya, for all his buffoonery, was no fool.
This old man was going to use him as a scapegoat and probably gaslight him. The thought was so immediate, so instinctive, that it almost overrode the sheer, dumbfounding reality of being in the presence of a Sannin engaged in such an act.
"Just... fetching herbs, Jiraiya-sama," Ryuu said, his voice carefully neutral, projecting the image of a slightly bewildered, respectful Genin.
He held up the small pouch as evidence, a mundane, perfectly reasonable excuse. He kept his gaze respectfully lowered, but his senses were on high alert, cataloging Jiraiya's chakra – immense, roiling with power, yet currently relaxed, almost lazy.
Dangerous.
Jiraiya scratched his chin, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he continued to grin. "Herbs, eh? For your Kaa-san, I presume? Good boy. Diligent."
He took a step closer, his height easily dwarfing Ryuu. The faint scent of sake and something vaguely outdoorsy, like pine needles and old paper, wafted from him. "Though, this is a rather... roundabout way to the apothecary, wouldn't you say? Unless these particular herbs only grow near the women's bath?"
Ryuu mentally cursed. The Sannin wasn't just going to let this go. The "casual" questioning was a clear probe. He had to maintain his composure, not reveal the adult mind working frantically behind his childish features. "The shop Kaa-san prefers is this way, Jiraiya-sama. She says their quality is better." He stuck to the plausible, the mundane.
"Ah, a connoisseur of herbs, your mother," Jiraiya nodded sagely, though the amusement in his eyes deepened. He leaned a little closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially, though it still rumbled like distant thunder. "And you, little hawk? What do you think of the… scenery around here? Anything interesting catch your eye?"
The implication was blatant, designed to fluster, to provoke a childish reaction. Ryuu felt a flash of annoyance, quickly suppressed.
This was a test. A power play.
"The fence is... well-maintained, Jiraiya-sama," Ryuu replied, his voice even, deliberately misinterpreting the Sannin's loaded question. "The bamboo seems sturdy. Good for village security."
Jiraiya blinked, then let out a hearty, booming laugh that seemed to shake the very air around them. "Ha! Sturdy bamboo! You hear that, world? The kid's got an eye for quality construction!"
He clapped Ryuu on the shoulder, a heavy, surprisingly gentle thud. "You're a serious one, aren't ya? Not like most brats your age."
His gaze sharpened again, the mirth receding slightly, replaced by that keen, calculating glint. "Yuki Ryuu, wasn't it? Heard a thing or two about your team. Genma's new project."
Ryuu stiffened. So Jiraiya knew who he was. Of course, he did. A Sannin, especially one with Jiraiya's information network, would be aware of noteworthy Genin, especially those with unusual circumstances or Jonin instructors like Genma.
"Genma-sensei is a… thorough instructor, Jiraiya-sama," Ryuu said, choosing his words with extreme care.
"Thorough, is he?" Jiraiya mused, idly picking at a loose thread on his vest. "Heard he's been running you lot ragged. Good. Builds character. Or breaks it."
He paused, his eyes flicking back to the onsen fence for a fleeting second, then back to Ryuu. "So, Yuki Ryuu. You didn't raise an alarm. Didn't run off screaming about perverted old men. Most kids would have. Why not?"
This was the crux of it. Jiraiya was testing his reaction, his intelligence, perhaps even his potential for discretion – or blackmail.
Ryuu thought fast.
A direct accusation would be foolish. Feigning complete ignorance of what Jiraiya was doing would be equally transparent. He needed a response that was both child-like yet hinted at an understanding of the shinobi world's unspoken rules.
"It is… not my place to question the actions of a Sannin, Jiraiya-sama," Ryuu said, bowing his head slightly in a show of deference. "And… there was no immediate threat to the village."
He left the implication hanging.
Your actions, however questionable, were not my concern as a Genin unless they endangered Konoha.
Jiraiya's grin returned, wider this time, genuinely amused. "Hoho! A miniature politician, are we? 'Not my place,' he says! Sharp. Too sharp for your own good, maybe."
He leaned back against the fence, arms crossed, studying Ryuu intently. "You know, kid, discretion is a valuable commodity in our line of work. More valuable than a flashy jutsu sometimes. Some people… they never learn that." He winked, a conspiratorial gesture that made Ryuu's skin crawl.
"You're Kasumi's boy, right?" Jiraiya continued, his tone shifting slightly, becoming a touch more serious, though the assessing glint remained. "Hyōjin's kid. She's a tough one, your mother. Been through a lot. Konoha owes her a debt."
Ryuu nodded, remaining silent. Any information Jiraiya had about Kasumi was classified, information that even he, her son didn't know. Kasumi would never speak of her past, or even who his father was. The fact he was mentioning her codename so openly was another power play, a reminder of his reach, his knowledge.
"And now she's got you," Jiraiya said, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly. "Little icicle. Looks like you're melting a bit under Genma's fire, though."
He chuckled again. "Look, kid. This world… it chews up and spits out the naive. It eats the weak for breakfast. You seem to understand that, at least a little. More than most your age."
He pushed himself off the fence. "Tell you what, little hawk. Since you're so good at… observing sturdy construction… and keeping quiet about it…" He reached into his vest and pulled out a small, slightly battered-looking scroll. "Consider this a… finder's fee. For not finding anything you shouldn't have."
He tossed the scroll to Ryuu, who caught it reflexively. It was tied with a simple string, no markings to indicate its contents.
"Just some basic chakra control exercises," Jiraiya said with an airy wave of his hand. "Might be a bit advanced for a fresh Genin, but you look like you could use a challenge beyond whatever Genma's throwing at you. Or maybe not. Up to you."
Ryuu stared at the scroll, then back at Jiraiya, suspicion warring with a desperate curiosity. Was this a genuine gesture? A test? A trap?
"Why… why are you giving this to me, Jiraiya-sama?"
Jiraiya shrugged, his expression becoming uncharacteristically thoughtful for a moment.
"Let's just say… I appreciate quiet talent. And maybe… maybe I see a flicker of something familiar in those unusual eyes of yours. Something that reminds me of another stubborn, surprisingly resilient brat I once knew." He grinned, but it was a different kind of grin now, touched with a hint of melancholy, perhaps even regret. "Or maybe I'm just a sentimental old fool who likes stirring the pot."
He turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and Yuki Ryuu?"
Ryuu looked up.
"Next time you're out fetching herbs at night," Jiraiya said, his voice dropping to a low, serious growl that held no trace of his earlier amusement, "learn to mask your chakra signature properly. Even a half-blind, drunken Sannin could have spotted you a mile off. Consider that your first lesson. For free."
And with that, Jiraiya was gone, melting into the deepening shadows of the evening as if he were a part of them, leaving Ryuu standing alone, the small scroll clutched in his hand, his mind reeling from the bizarre, unsettling, and utterly unforgettable encounter.
He looked down at the scroll, then back towards the onsen, then in the direction Jiraiya had disappeared. The world, he was beginning to realize, was even stranger and more dangerous than his darkest imaginings. And the players in this game… they operated on levels he was only just beginning to comprehend.