The first rays of dawn found Uzumaki Naruto already in the yard, his small face scrunched in fierce concentration as a swirling sphere of chakra sputtered and whined in his palm—the Rasengan, a work in frustratingly slow progress.
Across the village, Uchiha Sasuke, drenched in sweat and driven by a silent vow, completed his tenth lap around Konoha's perimeter alongside the exuberant Might Guy.
"Feel the passion, my youthful rival!" Guy's booming voice echoed. "Now, one thousand hip-thrusts to cultivate the flames of youth! The power of the buttocks is the power of victory!"
Meanwhile, in his own quiet courtyard, Namikaze Raimon watched the morning unfold with a faint smirk. His plans for the day were simple, yet he knew they'd cause a stir. He called out to the blond boy, "Oi, Naruto! Leave that for now. How about I take you out of the village for a bit? See some real sights."
The words had barely left his lips when the air around them shivered. In a blur of movement and silent intent, several figures clad in porcelain animal masks and signature armor appeared on the walls and amongst the shadows of the yard—Anbu. Of course. Raimon wasn't surprised in the slightest. He'd expected Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Sandaime Hokage, to have him under watch. The old man was many things, but careless about his village's greatest asset—and potential liability—he was not.
The lead Anbu, a figure with a hound mask, stepped forward. "Namikaze-san, the Jinchūriki cannot leave the village without—"
"Do you truly believe you can stop me?" Raimon's voice was calm, almost conversational, but it carried a weight that made the surrounding Anbu tense. It wasn't arrogance; it was a simple statement of fact. Capturing a shinobi of his caliber, one who had mastered the Hiraishin no Jutsu, the Flying Thunder God Technique? It would take the combined might of the entire village, and even then, success was a distant maybe.
He had no desire to hurt these tools of the Hokage; Tsunade would need them functional one day.
"Spare me the lecture," he waved a dismissive hand. "Go fetch the Hokage. Tell him I wish to… discuss the itinerary."
The Anbu exchanged glances. A direct confrontation with the Yellow Flash's brother was a suicide mission. With a sharp nod from the hound-masked captain, one of the operatives vanished in a shunshin. Wise choice.
As they waited, Raimon guided Naruto to sit on the porch. His gaze then landed on an Anbu with a cat mask lingering nearby. "You. Go buy breakfast. Two portions. Make them large." His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a silent, dangerous promise hanging in the air: Or I'll decorate the trees with you.
The Cat Anbu stiffened. A furious internal debate raged behind the mask—duty versus self-preservation. With a barely audible, resigned sigh, he vanished.
Fine, he thought, let the others keep watch. If this monster gets angry, I don't want to be here. And I better get reimbursed for this!
Not long after, the familiar figure of Hiruzen Sarutobi arrived, pipe in mouth, flanked by two Jonin guards. His expression was its usual grandfatherly mask. "Hehehe~ Raimon-kun. I've accommodated your other requests, but taking the Jinchūriki beyond the village walls… that presents a significant difficulty for this old man."
His tone was placating, but his eyes were weary. He knew spies from other villages were already whispering about Raimon's sudden reappearance. The political fallout would be inevitable—demands, threats, posturing. The old Hiruzen would have buckled under the pressure.
"Do you have a problem with my decision?" Raimon's stare was a physical pressure, stripping away the Hokage's kindly facade. "More importantly, is the compensation money ready?"
Hiruzen's benign smile faltered, turning into a grimace as if he'd bitten into something sour. The Fire Daimyo's court was dragging its feet, and the village coffers were… strained. "Heh… hehehe…" was all he could manage, an awkward, non-committal sound.
"Tch. You've gotten soft in your old age," Raimon snorted. Before Hiruzen or his guards could react, there was a faint pop of displaced air. Raimon was now standing directly behind the Hokage, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Relax, old man. I'll take full responsibility if anything happens. You have my word."
"Gah!" Hiruzen jumped, his free hand instinctively flying to the reinforced plate guarding his rear—a habit born from a lifetime of dealing with a certain unpredictable, spiky-haired ninja. He collected himself with a cough. "Very well… I shall trust your judgment on this."
A deep weariness settled into his bones.
Maybe it is time to step down for good, he mused silently. The Sarutobi clan was secure, his legacy a mixed bag. He was tired of the endless games with Danzo and the two old fossils, Koharu and Homura.
With a final, slightly more stooped nod, Hiruzen led his retinue away, leaving the courtyard feeling abruptly larger.
Just then, the Cat Anbu returned, arms laden with steaming takeout boxes. "I'm back! I got extra grilled fish and—" He stopped, blinking at the empty yard. "Eh? They're… gone?" A wave of despair washed over him. "Those jerks! They didn't even wait! Do they know how much this cost?" He fumbled for the receipt, clutching it like a holy scripture. "My monthly pay… please, Hokage-sama, you have to reimburse me…" Unbeknownst to him, his salary was likely already earmarked for a certain massive, impending debt.
Back at the Hokage's office, Hiruzen had barely taken his seat and a comforting puff from his pipe when the door exploded inward.
"SARUTOBI!"
Shimura Danzo stormed in, slamming his palm onto the desk with a force that made the wood groan. "Have you lost your mind?! Allowing the Kyūbi's container to just waltz out of the village? What were you thinking?!"
Hiruzen's eyes, previously weary, now flashed with the remnants of the "God of Shinobi" he once was. "Watch your tone, Danzo. I am still the Hokage! My decisions are not yours to question!"
The sight of Danzo, looking suspiciously more vital than a man his age should, only fueled his irritation.
Orochimaru's work, no doubt.
"Do you comprehend the risk?!" Danzo snarled, undeterred. "He is Konoha's ultimate weapon! Letting that… that variable Raimon take him is an unacceptable security breach!"
"Then why don't you go stop him?" Hiruzen shot back, his voice dripping with a bitter sarcasm. It wasn't a challenge; it was a statement of impossibility. The Flying Thunder God was the most unfair technique in history. Ambushing its user required planning on a scale they couldn't muster now.
"Hmph! Where is the will of fire that once burned in you? Have you grown so old and cowardly?" Danzo's single visible eye glared with contempt. The Hiruzen of the past would have never allowed such a threat to roam free.
"I am telling you now," Danzo leaned in, his voice a low, venomous hiss. "The enemies you lack the resolve to eliminate, I, Danzo, will eradicate. The dirty work you cannot stomach, my Root will accomplish. Do not forget that." With a final, scornful look, he turned and stalked out, the shattered door hanging crookedly in his wake.
Silence descended upon the office, broken only by the crackle of tobacco in Hiruzen's pipe. He felt ancient.
"It seems… I truly have grown old." He looked out the window at the village he loved, its streets now shadowed by the compromises he'd made for its peace. The intoxicating taste of power had slowly eroded the ideals of his youth. "Sensei…," he whispered to the memory of the Nidaime, "did I… truly fail?"
****
"Gyah! Damn it all! This is the worst!"
Elsewhere, in a grassy field far from Konoha, a towering figure with wild white hair hauled himself out of a crater, his face adorned with new lumps and bruises. Jiraiya, the Toad Sage, brushed dirt and leaves from his flamboyant robes. The toads he'd summoned for a little… market research the previous night had gotten overexcited and vanished, leaving him to face the wrath of several very large, very angry husbands.
"The life of a sage is a path of hardship!" he lamented to the sky, though his tone suggested he wouldn't have it any other way. Still, a part of him longed for a place to belong.
"The Child of Prophecy… where in the world are you hiding?" he wailed dramatically, dropping to his knees in a pose of utter despair.
"Oh? No need for such a formal greeting, Jiraiya-senpai."
Fwoom.
With the barest whisper of space folding, two figures materialized directly in front of the kneeling sage. Namikaze Raimon looked down at him, one eyebrow arched. Beside him, Naruto stared, utterly baffled.
"C-Cough! I was, uh… conducting sage-mode sensory training! Yes! Deep, meditative training!" Jiraiya scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off with forced dignity.
"It's you! The super-pervy sage!" Naruto exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger, his previous confusion replaced by gleeful recognition.
Jiraiya flinched. There was an odd, undeniable pull he felt towards this loud, blond kid, a connection he couldn't place. That hair… those blue eyes… Could he be…?
His train of thought was derailed as Raimon tossed a bundle of takeout boxes at him. "Here. Figured you'd be living off roadside weeds again."
Jiraiya caught the food, and his eyes actually grew misty. "Raimon… you remembered your senpai!" The act was half-genuine, half-performance. He tore into the food with gusto. "C'mon, kid, you eat too!" he mumbled around a mouthful of rice to Naruto.
"Then I won't be polite, 'ttebayo!" Naruto dove in, and a brief, chaotic battle over the grilled fish ensued.
"I am not a 'pervy sage'! I am Jiraiya, one of the Legendary Sannin, a master of the mystical arts!" Jiraiya declared, though the effect was ruined by the rice stuck to his cheek.
"Ohhh! The Super Pervy Sage!" Naruto countered, rolling his eyes as he stole a piece of fish.
"You brat! Can you drop the 'pervy' part?!"
"Okay! Pervy Sage!"
"Why you—! I am a literary artist! A seeker of truth and inspiration!"
"Raimon-nii," Naruto whispered, not quietly at all, "is he always like this?"
"Pretty much," Raimon confirmed dryly.
Jiraiya gave up, focusing his energy on the meal. As he ate, an idea struck him. "Hey, Raimon. Since you've got that handy Flying Thunder God, why don't you zap us to our next destination? Beats walking. With your Edo Tensei chakra, you could do it all day!"
Raimon looked at him with deadpan seriousness. "Are you sure about that? Spatial translocation isn't kind to the untrained stomach. You'll be painting the landscape with your breakfast after two jumps. Besides," he added, a mischievous glint in his eye, "if my marker lands in a bad spot—say, inside a rock—you'll arrive as a very flat, very dead literary artist. I'd reform, eventually. You… wouldn't."
The color drained from Jiraiya's face as he imagined the gruesome possibilities. "Hehehe… on second thought, a brisk walk is good for the constitution! Builds character!" He laughed, a nervous sweat beading on his temple. Some conveniences, it seemed, were best left alone.