Jiraiya's Choice

When Shizune pushed open the door and entered, Tsunade was standing before the window of the Hokage Office, her back straight as a blade, though the hand hanging at her side trembled slightly.

"Lady Tsunade, Lord Jiraiya has arrived."

"Let him in." Tsunade did not turn around. Her voice sounded as though it came from somewhere far away.

The door opened and closed again. Heavy footsteps, the familiar smell of tobacco, and that ever-careless yet constantly vigilant presence—Jiraiya had arrived.

"You called me back so urgently that I even left that kid, whose Sage Mode still isn't stable, at Mount Myoboku." Jiraiya's voice carried his usual teasing tone, but the instant he entered and saw Tsunade's back, his tone sank. "What happened?"

Tsunade finally turned around.

Jiraiya sucked in a sharp breath. He had seen Tsunade in many states: her furious despair after losing everything at the gambling tables, her focused calm while treating the wounded, her high spirits when becoming Hokage, even the vulnerability she occasionally revealed. But he had never seen her like this—her eyes bloodshot, the markings of the Yin Seal faintly visible on her forehead, her entire body like a string stretched to its limit.

"In two days, the Six Paths of Pain will launch a full assault on Konoha and capture the Nine-Tails Jinchuriki." Tsunade spoke word by word, each syllable seeming to squeeze out from between her teeth.

The smile on Jiraiya's face froze, then slowly vanished. He took two steps forward and narrowed his eyes. "What's the source?"

"Neji." Tsunade uttered the two words. Seeing the shock flash through Jiraiya's eyes, she added, "He returned personally, using the Flying Thunder God."

"That kid..." Jiraiya murmured. He could not help recalling how, a year and a half ago, around the time Naruto returned to the village after finishing his training journey, Tsunade had told him about Neji's undercover plan. At the time, Jiraiya had said Neji might have defected long ago, considering he had gone so long without sending back any information. It was not until after the mission to retrieve Gaara that Neji sent Akatsuki intelligence again. Every report after that had been of immense value, so Neji's intelligence could be trusted completely. Jiraiya shook his head. "Get to the point. Who is Pain? Why two days? What is Akatsuki's plan?"

"Pain's true controller is Nagato."

It was as if all the air had been sucked from the room.

Jiraiya stood where he was, completely motionless. In those few seconds, a series of emotions too complicated to decipher passed across his face: shock, doubt, pain, finally settling into a profound exhaustion. He opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. His hand lifted as if to grasp at something, then fell weakly.

"Nagato..." At last, his voice came out, hoarse like sandpaper scraping. "Nagato with the Rinnegan?"

"It should be the Nagato you're thinking of." Tsunade walked behind her desk, braced both hands against its surface, and leaned forward. "And Madara Uchiha—or rather, the man claiming to be Madara Uchiha—has formally taken over Akatsuki. This operation was ordered directly by him."

Jiraiya staggered back a step and leaned against the wall. The portraits of the Hokage on the wall looked down at him—his teacher Hiruzen Sarutobi, his student's son Minato, and Tsunade before him. If the Third Hokage were still alive, what would he do? If the Fourth Hokage were here, how would he respond?

He remembered that rainy day in Amegakure many years ago. Three homeless children had looked at him with yearning eyes. He taught them ninjutsu, taught them how to survive, and taught them hope. Yahiko had said, "We're going to change this country." Nagato nodded silently, while Konan folded paper flowers.

"Disciples turning on each other..." Jiraiya laughed softly, his laugh full of bitterness. "The student I taught is coming to destroy my village and capture another one of my students."

He raised his head, and something shattered in his eyes. "Tsunade, do you know what's most ironic? For a time, I thought Nagato was the Child of Prophecy. The child the Great Toad Sage spoke of, 'the one who will bring enormous change to the Shinobi World.' I thought it was him. Until I met Naruto..."

Tsunade said nothing. She looked at Jiraiya, this man who usually acted so frivolous, now showing a vulnerability she had never seen before. She wanted badly to say something to comfort him, but her identity as Hokage required her to remain rational.

"Then where is Naruto?" she asked. "Why didn't you bring him back?"

Jiraiya straightened up, took a deep breath, and forced himself back to reality. "Your message said Konoha had encountered a major crisis and needed immediate support. If it was that dangerous, how could I possibly bring that kid back?" His tone hardened again. "His Sage Arts aren't stable yet. Bringing him to face Pain—to face Nagato—would be sending him to his death."

"I need him to negotiate with Nagato," Tsunade said, her voice calm yet unquestionable.

"Impossible." Jiraiya's answer was absolute. "If anyone goes, it will be me. Nagato is my student. This is between him and me."

"You'll be sending yourself to your death if you go alone!" Tsunade finally lost control, slamming her fist onto the desk. A crack split across the thick hardwood surface. "Nagato is now Akatsuki's nominal leader, an enemy with the Rinnegan. He isn't that child in Amegakure who needed your protection!"

"And Naruto wouldn't be going to his death?" Jiraiya shot back, his voice rising as well. "Tsunade, wake up! Nagato wants the Nine-Tails, the Tailed Beast—not negotiations! If you let Naruto meet him, you're handing over the Nine-Tails on a silver platter!"

The two stared at each other, the air thick with drawn-sword tension. Outside the door, Shizune shifted her feet uneasily, but she did not dare enter.

In the end, Tsunade looked away first. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, only the Hokage's calm remained. "Jiraiya, I'm not planning to hand Naruto over. But Neji's intelligence is clear—without Naruto, Nagato will not meet you at all."

"Then let him refuse!" Jiraiya was almost growling. "I'll wait for him in the Land of Rivers. If he still acknowledges me as his teacher, if there is still even a trace of the Nagato from back then in his heart, he'll come see me."

"What if he doesn't?" Tsunade asked. "What if he attacks Konoha directly?"

Jiraiya fell silent. He walked to the window and looked at Konoha as it gradually awoke outside. Morning sunlight fell across Hokage Rock, across the streets still being rebuilt, across villagers who had risen early and busied themselves with their work. This was the village he had sworn to protect. The people he treasured were here, as was the will he had inherited.

But he also remembered Nagato. That thin red-haired boy who had lost his parents to war and awakened the Rinnegan because of hatred. That had been Jiraiya's failure—the student he had failed to protect and guide.

"I'll set a trap in the Land of Rivers," Jiraiya finally said, his voice low. "If Nagato comes, I'll try to persuade him. If he doesn't..." He paused. "If he doesn't, at least I can buy time. Tsunade, evacuate the villagers and strengthen the defenses. Keep Naruto at Mount Myoboku until he completely masters Sage Arts."

"You're trying to stall for time," Tsunade stated.

"I know." Jiraiya gave a bitter smile. "But it's the only way to have it both ways—no, the only way to minimize the sacrifices. Don't hand Naruto over, don't let him take the risk, and at the same time try to bring Nagato back."

Tsunade looked at him for a long time. Finally, she sighed, and that sigh was filled with exhaustion and helplessness.

"You've always been like this," she said, her tone softening. "Always trying to shoulder every responsibility yourself."

"Because I'm their teacher." Jiraiya turned around. That carefree smile returned to his face, but there was no laughter in his eyes. "All right, there's no time to lose. I'm leaving for the Land of Rivers now. As for your side... prepare yourselves. If my negotiations fail, Konoha will face a real war."

He walked to the door, placed his hand on the handle, and stopped.

"Tsunade," he said without turning back, "if... if I really persuade Nagato, if he can turn back, can you accept him returning to Konoha?"

The question was too heavy. How many people had Nagato killed? How much destruction had he caused? Even if he was persuaded, even if he repented, could the dead come back to life? Could those wounds ever be healed?

But Tsunade remembered Neji's words—"I'll protect the people I care about in my own way." Wasn't that what Jiraiya was doing now as well?

"I'll consider it," she finally said. It was not a promise, but neither was it a refusal.

Jiraiya nodded and pushed open the door to leave.

After his footsteps faded away, Tsunade collapsed into her chair. She looked at the crack in the desk, then at the increasingly bright sky outside the window, feeling more exhausted than ever. The burden of the Hokage was too heavy, so heavy that sometimes she felt it might crush her.

But she was Tsunade, the Fifth Hokage. She did not have the right to break down.

"Shizune," she called out, "summon the heads of all the major clans for an emergency meeting. And have ANBU strengthen surveillance at the borders, especially in the direction of the Land of Rivers."

"Yes, Lady Tsunade!"

The hurried footsteps outside the door faded into the distance. Tsunade rose and walked to the shinobi tool cabinet against the wall. She opened it and took out three specially made kunai—kunai left behind by Neji. She held them in her hand. The metal was cold, but the Flying Thunder God Formula engraved upon them was faintly warm, as though it still retained that boy's chakra.

"Protecting the people you care about in your own way..." she repeated softly. "Jiraiya, that's what you think too, isn't it?"

She carefully put away the kunai and headed for the meeting room. Whatever the outcome, war was already imminent. All she could do was fulfill her duty as Hokage.

Meanwhile, in a secret cave somewhere within Akatsuki.

Sasuke emerged from bottomless darkness. His consciousness was like a shattered mirror, piecing itself together shard by shard. Every shard reflected the final battle: Itachi's fingers lightly tapping his forehead just like when they were children; Itachi's collapsing body; Itachi's final smile, a smile of relief, weariness, and tenderness.

"Brother..."

The sound squeezed from Sasuke's dry throat. He opened his eyes and found himself lying in an unfamiliar cave. The stone walls were damp, dripping water echoed in the distance, and the air was thick with the smell of earth and mold. He tried to sit up, but every muscle in his body screamed in protest—the battle with Itachi had drained all his strength, and the aftereffects of overusing the Sharingan stabbed into his brain like countless needles.

He clenched his teeth and forced himself upright. His chakra was nearly depleted, but his body's instincts remained. His hand went to his waist. The Kusanagi Sword was still there. He felt slightly relieved and began to inspect his surroundings.

The cave was not large. A faint light filtered in from its far end, which should have been the exit. Other than that, there was no sign of life. How had he gotten here? The last thing he remembered was collapsing from exhaustion, and then...

Footsteps.

Sasuke's body tensed instantly, his Three-Tomoe Sharingan activating on its own. His vision became sharper, but the stabbing pain in his brain worsened. He gripped the Kusanagi Sword and stared toward the cave entrance.

A figure walked in.

A black robe, a mask—a strange spiral-patterned mask with one eyehole, revealing only a single eye. The figure was wrapped from head to toe, with no identifiable features. Yet that presence, that faint but perceptible chakra fluctuation, made Sasuke instinctively sense danger.

"Who are you?" he asked hoarsely.

The newcomer did not answer, merely standing there as the eye behind the mask appraised him. It was not curiosity or vigilance, but evaluation, as though looking at a tool, a weapon.

Sasuke's left eye suddenly burned. The three tomoe spun wildly, and black flames erupted without warning, burning toward the black-robed figure along his line of sight—Amaterasu! The final gift Itachi had left him, the strongest physical attack among ocular techniques!

The black-robed figure was swallowed by the black flames.

Sasuke panted heavily. A tearing pain shot through his left eye, and his vision began to blur. He dropped to one knee, supporting himself with the Kusanagi Sword as he stared fixedly at the mass of black flames.

Then the flames twisted.

They did not go out, nor were they burned away. Space itself twisted. The black flames were sucked into a vortex and vanished into thin air, leaving not even a trace of ash. The black-robed figure stepped out again, the hem of his robe completely intact, the single eye in his mask calmly watching Sasuke.

"It seems Itachi was always wary of me." The newcomer's voice was low and metallic, impossible to place by age or emotion.

Sasuke's pupils contracted. Amaterasu had been nullified? No, transferred? What kind of ability was this?

"Who are you?" he asked again, more guarded this time.

The black-robed figure did not answer immediately. He slowly walked to the center of the cave and found a flat rock to sit on, moving as leisurely as though he were in his own living room. That posture unsettled Sasuke even more—the other man did not consider him a threat at all.

"Who I am isn't important," the black-robed figure said. "What matters is who you are, Sasuke Uchiha."

"You know my name."

"I know far more than your name." The eye behind the mask narrowed slightly. "I know you just killed your brother, Itachi Uchiha. I know you awakened the Mangekyō Sharingan—though it is still incomplete. I know everything about you, including the parts you don't know."

The veins on Sasuke's sword hand bulged. He wanted to charge forward and cut down this mysterious pretender, but his body would not obey. The emptiness of his chakra surged over him like a tide. He could only remain where he was and glare at the other man.

"What are you trying to say?" He forced himself to remain calm.

"I want to tell you the truth," the black-robed figure said. "The truth about the Uchiha Clan massacre, the truth about everything Itachi bore, and the truth about the filthy dealings of Konoha's upper ranks."

Every word struck Sasuke's heart like a hammer. The truth of the massacre? Everything Itachi had borne? Konoha's upper ranks?

"Speak." He spat out the single word.

The black-robed figure began his story.

His voice was even and unchanging, as though he were reading a report prepared long ago. But the contents began to tear Sasuke's world apart.

After the Nine-Tails Rebellion, the Uchiha Clan was suspected of being the true culprit and forced to the village outskirts. The clan's resentment grew day by day, and they plotted a coup. Konoha's upper ranks—Shimura Danzō and the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi—learned of it and gave them two choices: either the Uchiha Clan would be completely exterminated, or one person within the clan would do it in exchange for his younger brother's survival.

Itachi chose the latter.

He personally killed his parents, killed his clansmen, killed everyone he knew. Then he left Konoha bearing the name of a rogue ninja and joined Akatsuki as a double agent, watching Akatsuki on one hand and protecting Sasuke on the other. He deliberately provoked Sasuke's hatred and forced him to grow stronger so that one day Sasuke could kill him, become Konoha's hero, and wash away the Uchiha Clan's disgrace.

"Everything Itachi did was for you," the black-robed figure said at last. "He loved you more than anyone, more than he loved himself. That was why he chose to become the object of your hatred, the driving force behind your strength, the darkness you had to cross to reach the path of light."

Sasuke stood there without moving.

The dripping water in the cave became abnormally clear. Drip, drip, drip, like a countdown, or some kind of mockery. His mind refused to process the information, refused to accept this version of reality. Itachi loved him? The massacre was to protect him? All his hatred, pain, and obsession had been a script carefully written by Itachi?

Impossible.

But those details... those details that had never made sense... Itachi's tears on the night of the massacre, the complicated look in Itachi's eyes every time he saw him, Itachi's final smile...

"Evidence..." Sasuke heard his own voice trembling. "Where's the evidence?"

The black-robed figure raised his hand, and an image from memory appeared in his palm—a scene of Itachi speaking with Danzo, clear beyond doubt. There were also scrolls left by Itachi, encrypted in a method known only to Itachi himself, but whose contents had been deciphered: the detailed plan for the massacre, records of the dealings with the upper ranks, and... plans for Sasuke's future.

"You don't have to believe me," the black-robed figure said. "But you should believe your own eyes and believe the death you just witnessed. At the final moment, did Itachi tell you anything?"

Sasuke remembered Itachi's fingers, that familiar gesture, and Itachi's final words.

"Sasuke, forgive me... this is the last time."

Forgive me.

Not "hate me," not "kill me," but "forgive me."

Sasuke's body began to tremble. First his fingers, then his arms, until finally his entire body shook uncontrollably. The Kusanagi Sword slipped from his hand and clanged onto the ground. He covered his face, but he could not cover the sound slipping through his fingers—it was neither crying nor roaring, but the wounded whimper of an animal.

His Sharingan spun madly. The three tomoe connected, transformed, and reformed. Against the blood-red background, an intricate pattern gradually took shape—his Mangekyō Sharingan, finally fully awakened beneath the impact of extreme emotion.

The black-robed figure watched quietly. A trace of nearly imperceptible satisfaction flashed through the single eye behind his mask.

"Now you know the truth." He stood up. "So, Sasuke Uchiha, what will you do next? Continue being Konoha's loyal shinobi, serving the upper ranks who drove your brother to death and exterminated your entire clan? Or... choose another path?"

Sasuke lifted his head. The hatred in his newly awakened Mangekyō Sharingan had not disappeared, but it had changed. It was no longer directed at Itachi. It had turned toward a larger, darker target—Konoha, its upper ranks, and this twisted system of the Shinobi World.

"I will..." His voice was hoarse, but every word was like a poisoned blade. "Destroy Konoha."

The black-robed figure nodded.

"Then welcome to the real Akatsuki," he said. "I am Madara Uchiha. From today onward, you will inherit Itachi's place and become a new member of Akatsuki."

Sasuke picked up the Kusanagi Sword and straightened up. His Mangekyō Sharingan gave off an ominous red glow in the dim cave. The light reflected off the damp stone walls like blood, and like fire.

Far away in the Land of Rivers, Jiraiya stood atop a high cliff, gazing toward Amegakure. He did not know that while he was trying to save one lost student, another had already fallen completely into the abyss.