Chapter 106: Coincidences and Encounters
"Kukuku…"
Orochimaru's laughter was a dry rustle of leaves. He wasn't offended by the blunt rejection; he was intrigued. A subject that didn't fear him, that looked back with eyes devoid of the awe or revulsion he usually inspired? This was a novel data point.
"Interesting. Very interesting."
"Orochimaru," Tsunade cut in, her voice a warning growl. "Ragnar is… straightforward. Keep your… particular brand of curiosity to yourself. Or you'll answer to me."
She knew her fellow Sannin's obsessions all too well. His pursuit of immortality and knowledge had already taken him down paths most considered taboo. The last thing she needed was for him to see her little brother as some fascinating new specimen to dissect, literally or metaphorically.
Orochimaru's slitted eyes flickered to Tsunade, a flicker of something that might have been genuine hurt passing through them before being submerged in cold amusement. Being labeled a 'pervert' for his pursuit of ultimate truth by one of the few people whose opinion he marginally cared about was… isolating. But it was an old wound. He simply let his smile widen, a silent promise of nothing and everything. Fine. I'll play along… for now.
"By the way," Tsunade said, shifting the subject with forced casualness. She crossed her arms, trying to mask her anxiety. "That idiot Jiraiya… he's still breathing, right?"
The time that had passed was significant. Hanzo's salamander poison wasn't something you shrugged off. Even a shinobi of Jiraiya's resilience would be hanging by a thread without the antidote. A cold knot of guilt tightened in her stomach. Had her mission, her survival, come at the cost of his?
Sakumo's face broke into a genuine, relieved grin. "More than breathing. He's recovered. In fact, he's been… rather exuberant about it. Can't stop showing off his talented student to anyone who'll listen."
"Heh." Orochimaru let out a soft, knowing snort of amusement.
"What?" Tsunade blinked, confusion overriding her worry. "How? Without the antidote sample I was sent to retrieve…"
Ragnar remained silent, but a suspicion was forming in his mind. The timing, the players involved… it pointed to a deeply ironic possibility.
"We got lucky," Sakumo explained. "Not long ago, one of our patrol units captured a small Suna reconnaissance squad. During interrogation and confiscation of their supplies, we discovered they were carrying several doses of an antidote specifically formulated against the toxins of Hanzo's salamanders. It was marked with the seal of Sunagakure's Poison and Antidote Division, overseen by… Elder Chiyo."
The name hung in the air.
Tsunade's expression went through a fascinating transformation. Confusion morphed into dawning realization, then into sheer, incredulous amusement. Her eyes found Ragnar's, and she saw the same understanding reflected there. A choked sound escaped her, halfway between a cough and a laugh.
"Chiyo…" she repeated, the word dripping with irony.
Sakumo, ever perceptive, noticed the exchange. "Is there… a problem with that?"
"A problem?" Tsunade finally let the laugh out, a rich, hearty sound that filled the command tent. "No, no problem! It's just hilariously appropriate!"
She then proceeded to summarize the events after her rescue: the ambush by the Suna force, Chiyo's arrogant interception, and the subsequent one-sided battle where Ragnar dismantled her puppets, revealed his fiery powers, and ultimately sent the legendary puppeteer fleeing for her life, battered and bloody.
"So, the old woman who indirectly provided the antidote that saved Jiraiya," Tsunade finished, wiping a tear of mirth from her eye, "is the same one who tried to capture or kill us hours earlier, and got the beating of her life for it. If she knew her own medical supplies ended up saving a Konoha Sannin she was trying to bag as a hostage… I think she might actually spontaneously combust."
Sakumo listened, his initial shock giving way to a deep, thoughtful silence. With Ragnar, he had learned to accept the unbelievable as fact. But the scale of it still sometimes stole his breath. To defeat Chiyo, a Kage-adjacent powerhouse in her prime, on a battlefield of her choosing… and to do it so decisively she fled? At his age? It defied every benchmark of shinobi development he knew.
He looked at Ragnar, not as a commander to a subordinate, but as one warrior recognizing the shadow of a future titan. He saw echoes of the past—not of himself, but of the founding legends. The sheer, untamed potential reminded him of stories about the Shodaime, Hashirama Senju, in his youth. That same sense of a force of nature being shaped, of a power that could one day stand unrivaled.
Gods… what have we nurtured? The thought was equal parts awe and a profound, protective responsibility. Konoha must be worthy of him.
"A true monster," Orochimaru breathed, his voice a mix of scholarly admiration and covetous hunger. What secrets does that body hold? What is the source of that fire? The ethical lines he'd thus far maintained began to seem… flexible, in the face of such a mystery.
The conversation shifted to administrative matters. Sakumo noted he would be compiling a full report on the mission for the Hokage, which would include Ragnar's pivotal role and his new… 'demonstrated aptitudes'.
Ragnar, ever pragmatic, saw an opportunity. "In the report," he said, his voice calm, "please note a continued requirement: intelligence on Kumogakure's Lightning Release Chakra Mode and their associated body forging techniques."
Both Sakumo and Tsunade looked at him. His physical prowess was already monstrous.
"To fully harness my… unique abilities," Ragnar explained, tapping his own sternum, "the vessel must be capable. My body is strong, but the path of a warrior has no end. I will not stagnate."
Sakumo nodded slowly. It was a reasonable, if highly ambitious, request. "I'll include it. However, with our current commitments against Iwa, Suna, and the Rain proxies, direct operations against Kumo are not a priority. Acquiring such a core secret will be… difficult."
"Understood," Ragnar said. It was a seed planted. If the village couldn't obtain it, he would find a way himself. The Lightning Release Armor was already marked as a future acquisition in his mind.
Later, having changed out of his distinct ANBU gear into simple, unmarked training clothes, Ragnar walked through the bustling Konoha camp. The mask and cloak were stowed away. He was no longer the terrifying 'Rakshasa'; he was just another young shinobi, perhaps a genin on rear-duty. The contrast was almost absurd.
The constant strain of battle, the weight of using his new Devil Fruit powers, and the mental toll of high-stakes combat had left a dull fatigue in his bones. He walked without a specific destination, just moving to clear his head, observing the organized chaos of a war camp preparing for the next push.
He wasn't expecting to see familiar faces.
In a cleared training area on the camp's edge, two figures were engaged in what looked like high-speed tactical drills. One was a shock of spiky white hair and a familiar, loud red vest. The other was a flash of bright yellow.
Ragnar paused. He'd been seen.
"Ragnar?" Minato Namikaze stopped his movement, a look of pleasant surprise crossing his friendly features. He offered a warm smile. "I heard rumors someone from our class was here, but I didn't expect it to be you. It's good to see you."
He hadn't changed much since the Academy finals, just a bit taller, his eyes a shade sharper. The kindness, however, was still genuine.
Ragnar gave a slight, respectful nod. "Minato."
"Hey, kid! The one from the finals!" Jiraiya boomed, lumbering over with his hands on his hips, a broad grin on his face. "The one who doesn't know how to appreciate a good story!"
"Hello, Jiraiya-sama," Ragnar said, his tone perfectly flat. "The esteemed author of Icha Icha."
Minato coughed, trying to hide a laugh.
Jiraiya's grin froze, then transformed into a flustered grimace. "Wha— Kid! That's… that's groundbreaking literary research into the human condition! It is not just… those kinds of books! You slander my great artistic pursuit!"
In his agitated gesticulating, a small, well-thumbed volume slipped from the inner pocket of his flak jacket and plopped into the mud at his feet.
The world seemed to hold its breath for a second.
Jiraiya stared at it. Minato looked politely at the sky. Ragnar's expression didn't change.
"Ahem! Whose is this?" Jiraiya blustered, snatching the book up and stuffing it back out of sight with practiced, if flustered, speed. "Must have… fallen from the sky! A gift from the heavens!"
Desperate to change the subject, his eyes landed on Ragnar's plain clothes, devoid of any rank insignia. Aha! A distraction!
"So, kid," he said, puffing out his chest. "Still a genin, huh? Stuck on boring D-ranks while the real war's going on? Look at my student Minato here! Already a chunin, and he's racked up an impressive tally! See what proper training under a legendary Sannin can do?"
He was teasing, but there was a layer of genuine, if clumsy, offering beneath it. He saw a kid from a rough background with decent taijutyu (from what he remembered of the finals) who might be languishing without a proper teacher.
"My duties are… specialized. Promotion isn't the current focus," Ragnar said simply, not rising to the bait.
Minato looked intrigued. He'd always respected Ragnar's fierce, solitary strength. The idea of him as a fellow student under Jiraiya was appealing—a chance to spar, to learn together.
"Specialized, schmecialized!" Jiraiya waved a hand. "Listen, kid. Your fundamentals were okay, but you lack finesse! A genius teacher like me could whip you into shape! What do you say? I'm feeling generous!"
He struck a pose, completely missing the sheer, staggering irony of his offer to the shinobi who had just days prior been hand-picked by the Hokage for S-rank solo missions and had beaten a Kage advisor into retreat.
Before Ragnar could deliver what would undoubtedly have been a brutally succinct refusal, a new voice cut through the air, sharp with fury and exasperation.
"YOU IDIOT!"
Jiraiya's triumphant pose collapsed like a deflated balloon. The color drained from his face. He knew that voice.
Tsunade stormed into the training area, her eyes promising violence.
(End of Chapter)
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