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The council chamber hadn't been properly repaired since the invasion. Jiraiya noticed how the morning light caught the hastily patched cracks in the walls, like golden veins highlighting Konoha's wounds. The room smelled of fresh sawdust and old blood—a combination that reminded him of every war he'd survived and every student he'd failed to save.
His ribs protested as he shifted his weight in the stupid chair. The bandages beneath his vest were already seeping through with something that wasn't quite blood—whatever that black chakra had done to him, it refused to heal properly. He'd told the medics it was fine. Another lie to add to his collection.
The faces arrayed before him looked like a catalog of Konoha's decline. Shikaku Nara sat with his fingers steepled, shadows under his eyes deeper than any jutsu could cast. Inoichi Yamanaka's usually pristine hair hung limp, and Choza Akimichi had lost enough weight that his armor hung loose. The war had taken its toll on everyone, but these clan heads wore it like funeral shrouds.
"The boy has surpassed anything we prepared for," Jiraiya began, his voice raspier than he'd like. The words tasted like ash. "Naruto Uzumaki has achieved complete synchronization with the Nine-Tails and full mastery of the Rinnegan."
Tsume Inuzuka leaned forward, her feral features sharp with interest. "Define 'complete synchronization.' The beast cooperates with him?"
"They're partners." The admission hurt more than his wounds. "When I faced him, it wasn't the rage-fueled chakra cloak we've seen before. The Nine-Tails spoke through him, called me inadequate." He attempted a self-deprecating chuckle that came out wrong. "Even the giant fox thinks I'm a disappointment. Though I suppose that's not exactly breaking news."
Elder Hyuga's unseeing white eyes somehow still managed to convey judgment. "You engaged him directly?"
"I tried." Jiraiya's hand unconsciously moved to his side where the flesh still felt wrong. "He's developed techniques I've never seen. A black chakra that dissolves matter at the molecular level. It ate through my hair binding jutsu like it was made of sugar in rain."
"Molecular dissolution?" Shibi Aburame's quiet voice carried unusual concern. "My insects report similar damage patterns from the invasion sites. Structures not just destroyed but... unmade."
Danzo sat at the head of the table where Hiruzen should have been, his visible eye tracking everything like a hawk sizing up corpses. The old war hawk's bandaged arm rested on the table—a reminder of secrets Jiraiya had never pried into, failures he'd chosen not to see.
"His raw power is concerning," Danzo said, voice measured like a funeral drum, "but perhaps more troubling are his political victories."
Jiraiya nodded, feeling every one of his fifty-four years. "He claims to have secured alliances with the Land of Grass, Spring Country, and is in negotiations with Tea Country."
The eruption was immediate.
"That's three of our primary mission sources!" Inoichi slammed his palm on the table.
"Spring Country supplies forty percent of our grain imports," the civilian representative—a nervous man named Akagi—added, his voice climbing toward panic.
"If Tea Country falls to him, we lose the southern trade routes entirely," Shikaku muttered, already calculating the implications.
Commander Yamato of ANBU, who'd been silent until now, spoke. "We should consider military action against these territories before they're fully integrated into his network."
"Attack our clients?" Choza's usually jovial face was grim. "That would destroy what little trust remains in Konoha's reliability."
"As opposed to letting a traitor build a coalition against us?" Koharu Utatane interjected, her aged voice sharp as the kunai she'd wielded in the First War.
The arguments cascaded over each other, a symphony of desperation that Jiraiya had heard before. Different faces, same song. He'd listened to similar debates during the Second War, the Third—
The door opened with force.
Anko Mitarashi stood in the doorway, swaying slightly but eyes blazing. Her purple hair was unkempt, her clothes hanging loose on her too-thin frame. She looked like Jiraiya felt—someone holding themselves together through spite and stubbornness alone.
"Anko," Kurenai started to rise, "you shouldn't be—"
"Why?" Anko's voice cut through the room like a rusty blade. Her red eyes locked onto Jiraiya. "Why did he let you live?"
The question hung in the air like a paper bomb with a lit fuse. Even Danzo seemed to lean forward slightly.
Jiraiya met her gaze, seeing in her eyes the same pain he carried. They'd both loved that boy, in their different ways. Both had been betrayed by someone they'd trusted with everything.
"He said he wanted me to witness the transformation." The words felt like pulling teeth. "Said the old world needed its chroniclers, to remember what was lost when the new one was born."
"Chroniclers," Anko laughed, but it sounded like breaking glass. "He always did have a flair for the dramatic."
Kakashi, who'd been standing against the wall like a silver-haired ghost, helped Anko to an empty seat. The copy ninja's visible eye held its own shadows—another teacher who'd failed his student.
Koharu cleared her throat, drawing attention back to the front. "Jiraiya-san, what of Tsunade? Were you able to locate her?"
The question he'd been dreading. Jiraiya could feel the weight of every eye in the room.
"I found her."
The pause stretched like a hangman's rope.
"She's joined him."
The silence that followed was absolute, the kind that preceded earthquakes or ended love affairs. Even Danzo's perpetual calm cracked slightly, his eye widening a fraction.
"That's impossible," Homura Mitokado said, his voice thin with disbelief. "Tsunade would never—"
"She did." Jiraiya cut him off, too tired for denial. "By the time I reached her, Naruto had already made his pitch. I don't know what he said, what he promised or threatened, but when I found them..." He trailed off, remembering Tsunade's eyes—clear and determined in a way he hadn't seen since Dan died. "She'd already chosen."
"Traitor!" Someone shouted from the back—one of the younger jonin whose name Jiraiya hadn't bothered to learn.
"She dishonors the Senju name," another added.
"The granddaughter of the First Hokage, allied with our enemy," Tsume growled. "The irony would be delicious if it wasn't so damned tragic."
"Perhaps," Danzo said slowly, "we should consider what could motivate someone of Tsunade's standing to make such a choice."
There was something in his tone that made Jiraiya's instincts prickle. The old war hawk was playing angles, as always.
"She was grieving," Inoichi suggested. "The loss of the Third, the destruction of the village—"
"Tsunade doesn't make decisions from grief," Jiraiya interrupted. "She makes them from conviction. Whatever Naruto showed her, told her—she believed it was worth abandoning everything."
Guy, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly stood, his knuckles white from clenching. "The boy's decision caused many deaths." His voice was stripped of its usual bombast, his eyes suddenly went red. "TenTen was fourteen years old. She died trying to protect civilians while he—" Guy's voice cracked, and he sat back down heavily. He looked like a ghost wearing flesh.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
"He's not the boy we knew," Kakashi said quietly, perhaps as much to himself as to Guy. "That person is gone."
"Or he never existed," Shikaku observed. "This isn't about who Naruto was or wasn't. This is about systematic recruitment of our highest-value assets. First the jinchuuriki, now a Sannin. He's not just building an army. He's collecting symbols."
"Speaking of armies," Danzo smoothly redirected, "we need to discuss village security. My ROOT operatives are prepared to assume defensive positions—"
"ANBU is more than capable of maintaining security," Commander Yamato interrupted.
"The same ANBU that failed to prevent the invasion?" Danzo's question was mild, but it cut deep.
"No one prevented the invasion," Kakashi observed. "Not ANBU, not ROOT, not our regular forces. The boy walked through our defenses like they were made of mist."
"Which is why we need unified command," Danzo pressed. "In these uncertain times—"
"In these uncertain times," Jiraiya interrupted, tasting bile, "we need to focus on not starving."
Akagi nodded vigorously. "The mission drought is becoming critical. Two months with barely any B-rank or above. The village coffers—"
"Are being supplemented," Danzo announced, producing a scroll with the Fire Daimyo's seal. "Lord Akiharu Tenmei has graciously offered emergency support."
"At what cost?" Shikaku asked, because there was always a cost.
"He's sending his son, Masashi Tenmei, as a special liaison."
That caused another stir. Homura frowned deeply. "The Daimyo's heir? Here? The last time such a thing happened—"
"Was when Princess Nakataka tried to seduce the First Hokage," Koharu finished, a hint of amusement in her ancient voice. "Though that's likely more legend than fact."
"Why would he risk his heir in a village that just got devastated?" Asuma asked, lighting a cigarette despite protocol. No one stopped him.
"Perhaps," Danzo said carefully, "because he understands that Konoha's fall would mean chaos for the entire Land of Fire. Or perhaps because he wants his own eyes on our situation."
Before anyone else could say anything, Jiraiya found himself speaking.
"How are the children handling it?" He asked, knowing the situation was not good based on the information he had received. "The genin, the academy students. What has Naruto's... message done to them?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Several jonin shifted uncomfortably, and Jiraiya noticed how their eyes wouldn't quite meet his.
"My team is loyal," Kurenai said right away as if she were trying to protect them from an accusation. "Kiba's anger at the destruction has focused him, given him purpose. The Inuzuka clan has always been straightforward—they see an enemy who hurt their pack, they want to fight. Shino..." she paused, choosing words carefully, "processes things internally, but the Aburame understand duty. As for Hinata—"
"She's fierce," Elder Hyuga interjected, his blind eyes somehow still managing to convey pride. "Despite her injuries, despite what she witnessed, she remains committed to the village. The Hyuga reforms have given her new purpose."
Jiraiya noticed what wasn't said, how Hinata's partial blindness from the Chunin exams was glossed over, how her trauma was repackaged as determination. The pretty lies they told themselves.
Guy's usual explosive enthusiasm was notably dampened. "Lee trains eighteen hours a day now. His dedication to the village burns strong!" The declaration rang hollow. "He's developed a new taijutsu style to compensate for... recent losses. Very fierce. Very loyal."
TenTen's absence hung in the air like incense at a funeral. Guy's smile looked painted on, the kind worn at memorial services when someone says the deceased wouldn't want them to be sad.
"Neji remains strong despite his blindness," Guy continued, his voice cracking slightly. "The will of fire burns eternal in—"
"What about Team Seven?" Jiraiya interrupted, unable to bear more forced optimism.
Kakashi straightened from his slouch against the wall. "Sasuke disappeared seven weeks ago. One week after the invasion." From his voice, it was clear he was tired of saying the same thing again. "No signs of struggle at his apartment, no note, no body. He's simply gone."
"Desertion?"
"Unknown." Kakashi said. "Could be kidnapping, recruitment, or his own choice. We've had teams searching, but if an Uchiha doesn't want to be found, or if someone with the Rinnegan doesn't want them found. They won't be."
"You think Naruto took him?" Tsume leaned forward, interested.
"It would make tactical sense," Shikaku mused. "The last Uchiha in the village, emotionally vulnerable after the invasion, already isolated from his peers. Prime recruitment material."
"Or leverage," Danzo added quietly. "A Sharingan user could be valuable to his organization."
"Sasuke wouldn't join him willingly," Inoichi protested, despite barely knowing the boy.
"Wouldn't he?" Asuma exhaled smoke thoughtfully. "Naruto killed Orochimaru during the invasion. But he could have promised Sasuke something else. Information about Itachi, perhaps. Power to achieve his revenge."
"Regardless of the reason," Kakashi continued, "he's been gone seven weeks. The trail is cold. Resources spent searching now could be better used elsewhere."
"You're giving up on your student?" Guy asked, unusually subdued.
"I'm acknowledging reality," Kakashi replied. "Either Sasuke left voluntarily and doesn't want to return, or he was taken by someone powerful enough that we can't retrieve him. Either way, Team Seven is effectively dissolved."
"What about Choji?" Choza asked.
"Choji remains steadfast," Kakashi continued, nodding toward Choza, who beamed with the desperate pride of a father whose child hadn't disappointed him yet. "He's shaken but solid. Like his father."
The comparison seemed to age Choza another decade, but his smile widened.
"Sakura is..." Kakashi paused, and Jiraiya recognized the hesitation of someone choosing between honesty and kindness. "Struggling. The invasion, losing Sasuke, Naruto's betrayal. It's been difficult. But Ino has been helping her."
"Helping," Asuma muttered around his cigarette, "is one word for it."
All eyes turned to him. As Naruto's former jonin sensei, his words carried weight.
"Ino trains constantly now," Asuma elaborated, ash falling from his cigarette like gray snow. "Dawn to midnight, every day. When she's not training, she's with Sakura or Shikamaru, trying to hold them together through sheer will." He took a long drag. "She's trying to fill a hole that can't be filled."
Naruto had been the gravity that held their generation's orbits stable. He had been the best Genin of this Generation, and many looked up to him; even shinobis who did not know him personally looked up to him. Without him, they were all spinning off into darkness.
"And Shikamaru?" Shikaku asked.
"He's loyal," Asuma said, which wasn't really an answer. "He understands duty."
Jiraiya heard what wasn't said, that understanding duty and believing in it were different things. That Shikamaru, genius that he was, probably understood Naruto's arguments better than anyone. That loyalty could be a chain as much as a choice.
"They've all remained true to the village," Inoichi summarized, though his tone suggested he was trying to convince himself. "We've spoken with them, explained that Naruto's words were manipulation, that his promises are lies built on destroyed homes."
"Have they accepted that explanation?" Jiraiya asked, already knowing the answer.
The silence stretched like a corpse's smile.
"They're young," Tsume finally said. "Young minds are impressionable. But we've made it clear—Naruto Uzumaki is a traitor. Nothing more."
Jiraiya wondered if any of them believed their own words, or if they were all just actors in a play nobody wanted to watch anymore.
"What about the other villages?" Danzo's question cut through Jiraiya's musings. "How have their young shinobi responded?"
Jiraiya considered his words carefully. Intelligence was currency, and Danzo collected it like a miser.
"The chunin and jonin remain largely unaffected," he said, which was mostly true. "ANBU even less so—they're too indoctrinated to question. But the genin, the academy students..." He paused, remembering reports that had made his stomach turn. "That's where the seeds are growing."
"Seeds?" Homura prompted.
"Doubt. Question. The things children aren't supposed to think about." Jiraiya's laugh held no humor. "In Kumo's academy, they're asking why cloud and lightning are inherently opposing forces. In Suna, students want to know why they live in poverty while their Daimyo has golden palaces. In Kiri, well, Kiri's always been a bloodbath, but now they're questioning whether the blood needs to be theirs."
"And Iwa?" Shikaku asked.
"Iwa is the worst. Or best, depending on your perspective." Jiraiya rubbed his face, feeling every scar. "The Will of Stone is cracking. Students are writing essays about how stones in a river get worn smooth by working together, not by smashing against each other."
"Children's philosophy," Koharu dismissed.
"Children become genin. Genin become chunin. Chunin become jonin." Jiraiya met each of their eyes in turn. "In five years, ten at most, those doubting children will be the ones carrying kunai."
Danzo turned his attention to someone Jiraiya hadn't even noticed in the corner. Iruka, looking older, he seemed as if he had aged ten years in two months.
"Commander Umino," Danzo's use of the formal title made Iruka straighten. "How are our academy students responding?"
Iruka's scar seemed more pronounced in the morning light, a testament to nights when he'd protected children from harm. Now he was being asked to protect them from ideas.
"We're..." Iruka's voice caught, and he cleared his throat. "We're ensuring the students understand that Naruto is a liar and a—a traitor." The word seemed to physically pain him. "My fellow instructors and I have been very clear about the manipulation in his message, the false promises designed to deceive young minds."
Jiraiya watched Iruka force each word out like pulling arrows from wounds. This was the man who'd been the first to truly see Naruto as a person, not a weapon or a demon. Who'd shared ramen and encouragement with a lonely boy.
"They're just children," Iruka continued, his voice gaining a desperate strength. "They'll understand the truth as they grow older. They'll see through the lies."
"Of course they will," Danzo agreed smoothly, though his eye suggested he believed nothing of the sort. "Continue your good work, Commander. The village depends on it."
Iruka bowed and seemed to shrink back into his corner.
"About these supposed alliance changes," Inoichi steered back to immediate concerns. "What's our response? Do we retaliate?"
"Against clients?" Choza shook his head. "We'd be cutting our own throats."
"We send diplomats," Danzo declared. "Jonin teams, not to threaten but to assist. Show these smaller nations that Konoha remains strong, remains the better choice."
"Spread our forces even thinner?" Asuma exhaled smoke like a tired dragon. "We lost nearly two hundred shinobi in the invasion. Now you want to scatter what's left across the countryside?"
"Movement is life," Danzo replied. "A hidden village that hides forever becomes a tomb. Besides," his eye swept the room, "I doubt the other major villages will attack us now. Naruto Uzumaki is their enemy as well."
"The enemy of my enemy," Jiraiya muttered, remembering how well that philosophy had worked in previous wars. But the council was already nodding, already accepting Danzo's logic because what else could they do?
He watched the temporary Hokage orchestrate consensus with subtle words and careful pressures, and wondered—not for the first time—what secrets hid beneath those bandages. The way Danzo had seemed surprised about Tsunade but recovered so quickly, the convenient timing of the Daimyo's support...
"Jiraiya-san," Anko's voice was soft beside him as the council began breaking into smaller arguments. "Did he say anything else? About... about why?"
Jiraiya looked at her haunted eyes and saw his own reflection. Two teachers who'd loved too much and understood too little.
"He said the old world was already dead," Jiraiya admitted quietly. "We just hadn't noticed yet."
Anko's harsh laugh held no humor. "Maybe he's right."
"Maybe." Jiraiya watched Danzo issue orders with the smooth efficiency of someone who'd been waiting for this moment. "But that doesn't mean we stop fighting for what's left."
Even if what's left, he thought but didn't say, might not be worth saving.
The meeting continued around them, plans and counter-plans swirling like leaves in autumn wind. But Jiraiya couldn't shake the memory of Naruto's eyes during their battle—not angry or hateful, just disappointed.
Like he'd expected more from his godfather.
Like Minato had, at the end, when Jiraiya hadn't been there to save him.
The cycle continued, and Jiraiya was too old, too tired, and too broken to stop it.
But he'd bear witness, as the boy had commanded.
Even if it killed him.
Especially if it killed him.
Suna - Kankuro
Kankuro stood at the village gates, watching the first pale light creep across the desert horizon like blood seeping through bandages. His puppet scrolls felt heavier than usual on his back, or maybe that was just the weight of what he was about to do.
Footsteps approached from behind, quick and light. He didn't need to turn to know it was Maki. Her eagerness radiated like heat from sun-baked stone.
"Kankuro-san!" Her voice held the kind of hope that made his stomach twist. "I'm ready. I've been ready since Councilwoman Sayuri told me about Pakura-sensei."
He turned to face her, taking in the sight of this nineteen-year-old chuunin who had no idea she was walking into a web of lies. Maki had her mother's narrow face and her father's stubborn jaw—both dead now, casualties of the Third War. Pakura had essentially raised her after that, which made what Kankuro was doing feel like grave robbing.
"You have everything?" he asked, noting her light pack. Too light for what might be a one-way journey.
"Everything I need," she confirmed, patting the kunai pouch at her hip. "The most important thing is here anyway." She touched her chest, over her heart. "The determination to save Pakura-sensei from that monster's control."
Monster. The word sat in Kankuro's throat like glass.
A figure emerged from the guard post—Elder Ebizo's assistant, carrying a scroll case that might as well have been a coffin for how it made Kankuro feel.
"Your official documentation," the assistant said. "Should you be captured or killed, Sunagakure has no knowledge of your mission. You are acting as missing-nin, pursuing personal vendettas. The village disavows all responsibility."
Maki took the scroll without hesitation, tucking it into her pack. "I understand. This is about saving Pakura-sensei, not village politics."
The assistant's eyes flicked to Kankuro with something that might have been pity before retreating back to the guard post.
"Tell me about her," Kankuro said as they began walking toward the gate. "Pakura, I mean. What was she like as a teacher?"
It was masochism, asking this. But he needed to know exactly what kind of loyalty they were betraying.
Maki's face lit up like sunrise. "She was strict but kind. She used to say that the desert doesn't forgive mistakes, so neither could she. But then she'd stay after training to help us perfect our techniques, even when she had missions the next day."
They passed through the gates, the village walls casting long shadows behind them.
"She taught me my first C-rank jutsu," Maki continued, her voice warm with memory. "I kept burning myself trying to channel fire chakra properly. She sat with me for six hours, adjusting my hand positions millimeter by millimeter until I got it right. Her hands got burned too from correcting my form, but she never mentioned it."
Each word was another stone in Kankuro's chest.
"When my parents died, she was the one who told me." Maki's voice softened. "She didn't lie or soften it. She said they died as heroes, protecting a medical convoy. Then she held me while I cried for three hours. She never told me it would be okay or that the pain would go away. She just said 'I'm here' over and over."
Kankuro found himself thinking of Gaara, who'd never had anyone to hold him while he cried. Who'd found in Naruto's revolution something Suna had never offered. Understanding, perhaps. Or just the promise of it.
"She sounds like she cared about you deeply," he managed.
"She did." Maki's conviction was absolute. "That's why I know that monster is controlling her. The Pakura-sensei who raised me would never betray the village. Never work with someone who killed the Hokage and destroyed Konoha. She believed in protecting people, not destroying systems."
The lie sat between them like a corpse neither wanted to acknowledge.
They walked in silence for a while, maybe hours, Kankuro had no idea, the sand beneath their feet gradually warming as the sun climbed higher. In the distance, Kankuro could see the rock formations that marked the border of Wind Country—beyond that, uncertainty and probably death.
"I heard your sister was injured during the invasion," Maki said carefully. "Is she...?"
Kankuro's step faltered slightly.
"She's alive," he said, which was technically true. Her body functioned. Her lungs drew breath. Her heart pumped blood. But whatever made Temari herself—the fierce determination, the tactical brilliance, the protective fury she'd shown for their brothers—that was gone, lost somewhere in whatever happened during those final moments in Konoha.
"That's good," Maki said, though she clearly heard what he hadn't said.
"The healers say she might recover," Kankuro lied, because that was easier than explaining that his sister woke up screaming about red eyes, that she clawed at her own face trying to remove something only she could see. "It just takes time."
"Trauma always does," Maki agreed. "Pakura-sensei used to say that emotional wounds needed the same care as physical ones—cleaning, treatment, and time to properly heal. She said too many shinobi tried to ignore them until they festered."
Another stone, another weight. Kankuro wondered what Pakura would say about the wound Suna had given her, being sent to die by the village she'd protected. That wasn't a wound that could heal. That was an amputation.
"When we find her," Maki said, determination hardening her voice, "I'll break whatever hold he has on her. She'll remember who she really is. She'll remember me."
She probably remembers you perfectly, Kankuro thought, but didn't say. She probably remembers everything, and chose revenge anyway.
"And if she doesn't?" he asked instead. "If she fights us?"
"Then I'll subdue her without killing her," Maki said firmly. "Naruto's control can't be permanent. There has to be a way to break it, to bring her back to herself."
The certainty in her voice made Kankuro want to tell her the truth, to spare her the discovery that would either kill her body or destroy her spirit. But he thought of the council's cold calculations, of the village's desperate need for any advantage, and kept walking.
As the village grew smaller behind them, Kankuro made a promise to himself—not to the village, not to the council, but to the memory of the brother who'd walked away and the sister who'd broken.
He would find answers. About what Naruto really wanted, about what had happened to Temari, about why Gaara had chosen revolution over family. And if those answers damned them all, at least they'd know the truth before the end.
"Thank you," Maki said suddenly. "For coming with me. I know this mission is dangerous, probably suicidal. But having someone else who cares about saving her... it means everything."
The gratitude in her voice was acid on an open wound.
"Yeah," Kankuro managed, his throat tight. "We'll save her."
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