The embers of the campfire smoldered low, their faint glow casting a warm light over the dim clearing. Jiraiya lay sprawled under his cloak, the rhythmic sound of his faint snoring blending with the serene whispers of the forest. Nearby, Naruto dozed lightly, his face relaxed but his instincts ever on high alert.
The forest around them seemed alive, not with the gentle rustle of branches, but with a silent, precise movement that sent shivers down Naruto's spine. From the treeline, masked figures emerged—Root operatives. Their presence hung heavily in the air, an oppressive aura that felt as sharp and lethal as a blade.
The leader, cold and unfeeling, raised a hand in a crisp, deliberate signal. "Test him," he commanded, his voice steely and devoid of emotion. "If the Jinchūriki cannot withstand pressure, he is unfit for survival. If he loses control, eliminate him." Just as quickly as they appeared, they vanished into the dark embrace of the forest.
Suddenly, a kunai sliced through the air, aimed directly for Naruto's throat. Instantly, his eyes snapped open—golden and fierce—and he twisted his body, narrowly dodging the blade that embedded itself in the dirt where his head had been just moments before.
Springing to his feet, chakra flaring like a wildfire, Naruto scoffed. "Tch—figures." His hands blurred through a series of intricate seals. "Suiton: Suiryūdan no Jutsu!" Water surged from the damp earth, coiling and spiraling as it formed into a roaring dragon, bursting forth with raw power that shattered the stillness.
Roots splintered under the immense force of the water dragon, but Naruto's smirk deepened as he murmured, "Didn't think I'd be aiming for you." The dragon's tail lashed out, tearing through trees and forcing two operatives into the open. With instinct honed from years of battle, Naruto quickly formed another seal. "Katon: Hōsenka no Jutsu!" Fireballs erupted from his hands, painting the night sky with flickering orange as they rained down, clashing against the steel of the operatives' defenses.
Inside the chaos, Naruto's Perfect Copy flared to life within him, instinctively mirroring the techniques of his mentors: Kakashi's cunning feints, Sasuke's precise strikes, Zabuza's ruthless efficiency. But this time, something was different. Instead of replicating them exactly, he wove their strengths together into a singular, chaotic style uniquely his own.
A shuriken whistled through the air, brushing past Naruto's ear. He caught it mid-spin, channeling surges of lightning chakra through it. With a fierce shout, he hurled it forward. The masked shinobi prepared to block, only for the shuriken to explode in a blinding burst of flame, sending the operative staggering back, cloak singed and smoke curling around him.
Breathing heavily, Naruto felt blood trickle from a small cut on his cheek. *They're better than me in coordination,* he thought, his heart racing. *But I don't need to be perfect. I just need to be unpredictable.*
The Root leader, his features hidden beneath his mask, finally stepped into the clearing, voice flat and commanding. "You are not a weapon of Konoha. You are a risk. That weakness cannot stand." His hands blurred, summoning swift, violent winds. "Fūton: Daitoppa!" A massive gust ripped through the clearing, aiming to send Naruto crashing against the trees.
Naruto stood his ground, chakra flaring around him like a protective barrier. "Two can play that game—Fūton: Reppūshō!" Their gusts collided midair with a thunderous boom, an explosion that rattled the ground and sent dust and leaves swirling around them, obscuring their vision.
Seizing the opportunity in the confusion, Naruto charged through the haze with a technique born not from imitation but from his own creativity. Chakra whirled violently in his palm, raw and unstable, forming a proto-Rasengan—a swirling orb of energy that pulsed with potential.
With fierce determination, he thrust it forward. The Root leader barely dodged, the orb smashing into a nearby tree, splintering the wood in a violent arc of destruction. For a fleeting moment, the operative faltered, momentarily taken aback by the force of Naruto's attack.
"Don't underestimate me," Naruto proclaimed, eyes blazing with defiance. "I'm not just some mirror—you're fighting Naruto Uzumaki!"
But before he could capitalize on this moment of surprise, the other operatives began to close in. The air thickened with a chilling presence—their killing intent palpable, sharp enough to cut through the night. But then, from the shadows, a familiar figure stepped into the clearing, his presence commanding and formidable.
"Jiraiya!" he called, voice booming with authority. The tension snapped like a taut string. "Well, well. Danzo really doesn't quit, does he?"
The Root leader stiffened, a flicker of fear dancing behind his mask. "This test is sanctioned."
Jiraiya's grin was sharp, humorless. "Not by the Hokage, it isn't. And I don't take kindly to people trying to assassinate my apprentice in his sleep." He slammed a palm into the ground, filling the air with smoke. In an instant, a massive toad materialized, towering over the clearing and casting an imposing shadow that swallowed everything in sight.
With a shared understanding of danger and retreat, the Root operatives melted back into the trees, vanishing into the night as if they had never been there at all.
Naruto dropped to one knee, panting heavily, sweat trickling down his face. The ache in his arms throbbed, his muscles protesting from the chakra strain of unleashing back-to-back jutsu.
"Pervy Sage…" he murmured, his voice raw and laced with fatigue. "They weren't like normal shinobi. They… they were ready for me. For everything I copied."
Jiraiya knelt beside him, his expression unusually grim. "That's Root. Danzo trains them to strip out their emotions. No hesitation. No mercy. Just tools."
Naruto clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, rage bubbling deep within him. "Then I'll get stronger. Strong enough that no one—Root, Akatsuki, Orochimaru—can treat me like a tool again."
Jiraiya studied him for a long moment, then ruffled his hair roughly, the action bringing a hint of warmth back into the night's tension. "Good. Keep that fire. You'll need it where we're going."
By sunrise, they entered the border town. The streets around them buzzed with life—gamblers shouting over dice, merchants hawking wares, and the intoxicating smell of smoke wafting through the air. The largest hall loomed ahead, its doors wide open, laughter and exuberant shouts mingling with the clatter of coins.
At the center table, seated like royalty amidst a crowd of revelers, was a blonde woman, dice dancing lazily between her fingers, her sharp eyes gleaming with a regal defiance. She wore a necklace that caught the light, gleaming like a beacon.
Tsunade.
Beside her, a dark-haired woman fidgeted nervously—Shizune.
Jiraiya folded his arms across his chest, a quick smirk gracing his lips. "There she is. Took long enough."