The Academy let out early that afternoon. Clouds gathered above the village, gray and heavy, promising another downpour. The other students ran toward home or the markets, voices carrying across the streets. Jiraiya, restless as always, couldn't bring himself to go back yet.
His legs carried him away from the bustle, out toward the training fields near the forest edge where the ground opened into rough clearings. Here, no eyes watched. No instructors barked orders. Just the wind, the smell of rain, and the beat of his own heart.
He set a few rocks in a line, then backed away. A game, simple and stupid, but his own. Cross them fast. Don't touch the dirt between.
He sprinted. Feet smacked earth, balance carrying him from stone to stone. Too slow. Too clumsy. He reset, tried again.
Predator's Instinct whispered the gaps. Bullseye steadied his landings. But the space between still mocked him. He wanted more. Needed more.
Halfway across, he stumbled, heel skidding off the edge. Reflex screamed, muscles twisting—
[Ding]Reward Unlocked: Heavenly Step.Type: Movement Art (Teleportation).
The world folded.
✧
A starburst of white light flared at his origin and destination. The air released a deep, echoing whoomph, layered with a metallic chime like a bell struck underwater. For a heartbeat, his body lingered as a chalk-white afterimage before dissolving.
Jiraiya landed on the next rock without meaning to. His eyes widened. His breath caught.
"What… was that?" he whispered to the empty clearing. His hands trembled, not with fear, but with the thrill of discovery.
He tried again.
Heel light. Exhale. Ankles ready.
✧
Another flash. Another whoomph. Another afterimage left behind, a ghost peeling away as he reappeared meters ahead.
This time, he stumbled on landing, knees protesting, vision tunneling gray for a blink. He laughed anyway, wild and breathless.
"It's like… stepping where there's no ground," he muttered, staring at his hands as if they held the answer. "No… not stepping. Jumping without space caring."
He trained until the rain came. Each attempt left him aching—ankles burning, calves shaking, chest hollow from the sharp exhale. But each success carved itself into his bones.
✧
White star. Flash. Whoomph.
He didn't know what to call it yet. He only knew it was his.
When the downpour finally broke, soaking him through, Jiraiya stood in the clearing, hair plastered to his face, grinning like an idiot. His heart pounded with the certainty that no one else had seen. Not Tsunade, not Orochimaru, not Nishikado.
Only him.
And for now, that was enough.
The storm did not stop him. If anything, the rain seemed to challenge him, daring him to falter under its weight. Each drop struck like a drumbeat, a rhythm that urged him to try again, to push further.
"Again," Jiraiya said, his voice swallowed by the downpour.
He stepped, exhaled, ankle set—
✧
The starburst ripped the darkness open, shining even through the curtain of rain. The whoomph shook in his bones, and he reappeared on the last stone of his line. This time, he stumbled but didn't fall. His knees screamed, his chest burned, but he stayed upright.
He laughed through the pain. The rain plastered his hair across his face, but his grin refused to fade.
He crouched again, setting the stones wider this time, nearly seven meters. His body shook at the thought of it. His lungs begged for rest, but his mind demanded proof.
He readied. Heel light. Breath smooth. Ankles waiting.
You'll fail, the voice whispered.
"I'll fly," he growled.
✧
The air folded, and he shot forward. The arrival nearly tore his balance away, his knees almost collapsing beneath him. He staggered, arms out, but somehow caught himself. His breath left him ragged, and his eyes darkened with a gray tunnel that pulsed at the edges.
He bent forward, hands braced on his thighs, coughing water and laughter. "Seven… ha… stars. Take that."
The clearing bore proof of his madness. Faint starbursts smudged the mud where his feet had been, little scars of light burned into the storm. The afterimages lingered for a heartbeat longer than they should have, ghosts in the rain.
Jiraiya wiped his mouth, then sat heavily against a tree, breathing hard. His ankles ached as if the bones themselves had been filed down. Every step had carved new complaints into his body.
But the fire inside him burned brighter.
He closed his eyes, letting the storm wash over him, and pictured it—an enemy rushing forward with a blade. He imagined the steel flashing toward him, imagined Tsunade at his back, imagined the moment where hesitation would mean failure.
Exhale. Step.
✧
He would be gone, and the blade would cut only an afterimage. He would reappear behind, fist already cocked, the opponent helpless against the inevitability of his strike.
His grin widened.
No one would see it coming. Not even Orochimaru's eyes. Not even Tsunade's fists. Not even Hayato's hate.
But then the weight of exhaustion pressed into his chest again, reminding him that the technique was no gift without price. The ache in his ankles, the sting in his calves, the thin veil of tunnel vision—each was a warning. Use it too often, and he'd break himself before anyone else had the chance.
The rain cooled his skin, but his thoughts burned.
Keep it secret. For now.
He thought of the Academy, of the endless drills, the sparring matches under Nishikado's sharp eyes. If they saw this—if anyone saw this—he'd never have peace. They'd ask questions, demand explanations, force him to reveal something he didn't yet understand.
No. This was his. His star. His secret.
Tomorrow, he would stumble like the others. Tomorrow, he would pretend that balance was hard, that speed had limits, that he was just another boy trying to keep up with names carved in Konoha's stone.
And when the time came—when the danger was real, when Tsunade's life or his comrades' lives hung in the air—he would reveal it. Then the world would know.
But not yet.
The rain softened as night deepened. His body screamed for rest. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since midday. He pushed himself upright, leaning on the tree for balance, and began the slow walk back toward the village.
Each step left mud clinging to his sandals, but every few paces, his heel twitched, his ankle readying on instinct. The temptation to use it even now gnawed at him. But he resisted. The secret had to stay buried, at least for now.
By the time he reached the first lanterns of Konoha, the rain had eased to a drizzle. He walked past familiar streets, past the hum of taverns, past the glow of homes. The warmth inside those houses felt like another world compared to the storm he had just fought through.
He stopped on a quiet corner, looking up at the Hokage Monument looming above the village. The faces carved into stone watched over everything, unmoving, eternal.
Jiraiya clenched his fists. "Someday, I'll carve my star next to yours."
No one heard him over the rain.
He smiled, teeth flashing white in the dark, and kept walking.