Main world.
Winter, Konoha Year 24.
Konohagakure, Land of Fire.
Training Ground.
The winter sunlight was pale, offering little warmth as it fell on the frozen ground. Jiraiya stood in the middle of the Training Ground, his white hair a tangled mess, like a dandelion scattered by the wind. His face still held the immaturity of youth, but his gaze was already far steadier than that of his peers-not maturity, but a gravity that came from having "seen a few things." He was fifteen, an age when he thought he understood everything but actually understood nothing.
Orochimaru stood opposite him, long black hair falling over his shoulders, his face pale and his lips thin. His golden serpent eyes contracted slightly in the sunlight. He was also fifteen, but he gave the impression of someone fifty-not old, but cold. His coldness was no act; it seeped from his bones. Jiraiya had known him for years and had never seen him smile. Not because he could not, but because he did not want to.
"Again." Orochimaru's voice was raspy, like a snake flicking its tongue.
Jiraiya said nothing. He pressed his palms together, gathering natural energy. Red markings appeared around his eyes-Sage Mode. It was not perfect Sage Mode; he could not achieve that yet. But it was enough. At least, he thought it was.
"Sage Art: Wind Bullet!"
An enormous blue-white ball of chakra formed in his palm and hurtled toward Orochimaru. Orochimaru did not dodge. He formed hand seals, and the ground split open. An enormous Rashomon rose from the earth, shielding him.
Boom!
The Rasengan struck the Rashomon, erupting into an enormous mushroom cloud. A crack opened in the Rashomon, but it did not shatter. Orochimaru stepped out from behind the gate, Jiraiya's figure reflected in his golden serpent