"Leader, you are might itself! You are the Kami of a new world!" Kakuzu, who had been sprawled limply on the floor just a moment before, leaped to his feet. The despair on his face gave way to fanatical delight. He raised his hands to Nagato as if to a deity. "Oh, great Kami! When you bring forth a new world, allow me to become its god of wealth!"
His joy was understandable. If the world were simply destroyed, all the treasures he had accumulated would crumble to dust. But a new era, a new order... this meant that money would regain its value. For a greedy hoarder like Kakuzu, this was more important than anything else.
Even Orochimaru, the eternal schemer, felt a wave of relief. Death was for the weak and foolish. He, however, had great achievements ahead: countless ninjutsu awaiting their time, and an unfinished masterpiece—a technique of eternal life. To perish in the company of such an old hawk as Shimura Danzo? Humiliating and pointless.
"Damn Danzo," Orochimaru thought with cold malice. "What the hell brought you to the Uchiha?"
Black Zetsu and Obito stood frozen in a dark corner. Their gazes, fixed on Nagato, were full of unspoken contempt.
"Kami of a new world? Ridiculous," Obito chuckled to himself. "Enjoy your illusion, Nagato. When I create a world with Rin, you can continue playing god in your empty dreams." He imagined Nagato's face with anticipation on the day all was revealed. It would be an unforgettable sight.
"Naive boy," Black Zetsu silently mocked him. "You think you're the director here? Your life, Obito, has long since ceased to be yours. At the right moment, you will become nothing more than a sacrifice for the resurrection of the true god—Uchiha Madara."
The meeting concluded. The Akatsuki members dispersed silently. Orochimaru, like many others, headed toward Konoha. Nagato's words sounded convincing and menacing, but a shinobi believes only his own eyes. Incredible events require irrefutable proof. He had to see everything for himself to accept the new reality and act according to plan.
"Lord Jiraiya, you're awake."
A hospital room. Jiraiya lay motionless on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Shikaku Nara and several other shinobi stood by the window.
"I'm back... So it wasn't a dream..." he whispered.
Everything seemed like a nightmare. The death of a teacher. The people of Konoha, fleeing like stray dogs. A monster born of Danzo's madness. He rushed into battle to stop him, and was instantly crushed. He couldn't even see the enemy's face.
"How absurd," he thought, coming to his senses. But cold reality was merciless.
"What happened to them?" Jiraiya's voice was muffled. The faces of the ninja who had given their lives for him appeared before his eyes. He didn't even know their names.
"They died, Lord Jiraiya," Shikaku replied evenly. "When we found you, their bodies were already cold."
"The bodies... did you take them?"
"No."
"Why?"
"We couldn't. When we returned, nothing could be seen of that place."
Jiraiya fell silent. Guilt, regret, and impotent rage choked him. The sages Fukasaku and Shima begged him not to go. But he, the overconfident idiot, had overestimated himself and underestimated the monster the Great Toad Sage had called the harbinger of disaster. Those shinobi had died in vain, paying with their lives for his hubris. And he had achieved nothing. He simply crawled away like a beaten dog.
"Leave me," he forced out. "I want to be alone."
When the footsteps outside the door faded, Jiraiya was left alone with emptiness. He had sensed something wrong with his body from the very beginning—a strange numbness below his knees. But the pain of loss drowned out everything else.
Now, in the silence, he slowly pulled back the thin blanket.
And the world before his eyes went dark.
Where his feet should have been, there was nothing. Emptiness.
He reached out in a panic, feeling the sheets, as if hoping his feet had simply become invisible. But his fingers encountered only the stumps of shins, tightly bandaged.
His legs were gone.
He, Jiraiya, one of the Legendary Sannin, a great hermit and a terror to his enemies, was now a cripple. A helpless cripple.
At that moment, a medic-nin entered the room.
"Lord Jiraiya..." he began, seeing the look of horror on his patient's face. "We had to resort to this. Your legs were exposed to that anomalous force for too long. The cells had completely died, necrosis had set in. Amputation was the only way to save your life."
The medic paused, choosing his words.
"And that, unfortunately, isn't the only bad news..."