The Hokage's Office.
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the broad windows, filling the room with light and warmth.
The air carried the scents of old paper, ink, and wooden furniture.
Documents lay piled on the enormous desk.
Jiraiya was buried in them, his brow slightly furrowed as his pen swept swiftly across the pages, leaving instructions.
He was not wearing the Hokage Robe that symbolized the Hokage's authority. Instead, he had casually thrown on his signature brown undershirt and red sleeveless coat, his long white hair tied simply behind his head.
Even in this position, he retained some of the easygoing air of the "Toad Sage."
"Big brother Jiraiya!"
A voice, clear and familiar, carrying the distinctive energy of youth and a hint of excitement at a long-awaited reunion, suddenly pierced the faint rustling of paper and scratching of his pen, reaching his ears with perfect clarity.
Jiraiya's writing hand stopped abruptly. His pen left a jarring streak of ink across the paper.
His head remained lowered, but his pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.
Had he just... imagined that?
Nawaki's voice?
That boy whose smile had always been radiant, whose eyes had brimmed with dreams, only to perish far too young on a cruel battlefield?
Jiraiya slowly raised his head, the irritation on his face giving way to confusion and startled disbelief.
He set down his pen and rose from the broad chair, his tall frame straightening as his uncertain gaze slowly swept across the empty office.
Sunlight cast bright patches on the polished floor. The bookshelves stood neat and solemn, and the five wooden relief portraits of the Hokage on the wall wore grave expressions, as though silently watching every change that took place in this room.
Apart from that, there was no one.
So he really was... too tired?
Jiraiya