The soft patter of rain against the wooden eaves of Mount Myōboku created a rhythm that echoed the somber thoughts drifting through the mind of Jiraiya. Days had passed since his reincarnation, and yet the enormity of it still gripped him tightly. He was back—young, whole, and in a world not yet broken by war. But with this gift came a burden far heavier than he ever anticipated.
Sitting cross-legged on a moss-covered stone outside Fukasaku's home, Jiraiya stared into the misty horizon. His fingers traced the faint etching of an old seal on his scroll, one he hadn't seen since his final days. That seal—once a mere experiment—was now a foundation stone for the changes he would enact.
"I can't just write books anymore," he whispered to himself, voice low. "I have to write history."
The old sage Fukasaku approached quietly, his small frame barely disturbing the stillness. "Thinking again, lad?"
Jiraiya offered a tired smirk. "You could say that."
"Your thoughts have weight now. Heavier than before," Fukasaku said, his tone more serious than usual. "But be careful. Changing the flow of destiny comes with its own dangers."
"I know. And I won't take unnecessary risks," Jiraiya said, then paused. "But some things—some tragedies—must be undone. If I don't act, I might as well have stayed dead."
Fukasaku nodded. "Very well. Then perhaps it's time to prepare."
Jiraiya rose, brushing off rain from his robes. He had already begun strategizing—cataloging events from the manga's timeline, noting when key players would emerge, when wars would begin, and when blood would be spilled. He would have to meet Hiruzen again, perhaps even Danzo, and maneuver politically as well as militarily. But first, there was one task he needed to complete before anything else—ensuring the safety of his future students and allies.
A Mission to the Hidden Rain
Mounting Gamaken, the mighty red toad, Jiraiya made his way through the thunderclouds. His destination was the Hidden Rain Village—far earlier than he had ever ventured there before in his original life. He couldn't afford to wait for Nagato, Konan, and Yahiko to grow up under the influence of war and pain. This time, he would find them first.
As they neared the outskirts of Amegakure, Jiraiya dismounted, cloaking himself in a camouflage jutsu to move unseen. The village was already cloaked in its characteristic rainfall—artificially generated by Hanzo's chakra, though Jiraiya wasn't entirely sure if that method had already been developed.
He crept through the alleys, avoiding shinobi patrols, until he reached a collapsed tenement where he had once stumbled upon three war orphans. He peered through the broken slats of the wooden structure and saw them—small, shivering, and barely surviving.
Nagato's Rinnegan was hidden beneath closed lids. Konan clutched a worn blanket to her chest. Yahiko paced angrily, fists clenched and eyes wild with defiance. It was them.
A lump rose in Jiraiya's throat. He had trained these children once. Watched them grow. Watched them fall.
This time would be different.
He stepped forward and let the concealment drop.
Yahiko moved instantly, placing himself in front of the other two. "Who are you?!"
Konan's eyes narrowed, already calculating escape routes.
Nagato remained seated, but his eyes slowly opened—two swirling, godlike orbs.
Jiraiya knelt and placed his hand over his heart. "I'm Jiraiya of the Hidden Leaf. And I've come to help you."
Foundations of Fate
Over the next few days, Jiraiya taught the children how to trust again. He hunted for them, healed their wounds, and constructed a makeshift camp away from the warzone. But most importantly, he began guiding them—with new methods, new teachings, and greater knowledge of their potential.
He watched Konan's paper jutsu evolve faster under focused training. Yahiko's charisma and natural leadership began shining through more clearly than before. And Nagato—Jiraiya treated him with a cautious reverence, knowing the godlike power within him could either save or destroy the world.
Late one night, Nagato approached him as he tended to a fire.
"Sensei," the boy said quietly.
"Yeah?"
Nagato hesitated. "Why are you really here?"
Jiraiya looked up at the boy who would one day become Pain. "Because I made a mistake once. I left you alone in a world that doesn't forgive weakness. I won't do that again."
The boy stared at him for a long time, then sat beside him in silence. The fire crackled between them, two souls connected by tragedy and hope.
An Audience with the Third Hokage
Back in Konoha, whispers of Jiraiya's unusual absence began to circulate. Hiruzen Sarutobi—The Professor—had sensed something different in his former student lately. The man's reports were more calculated. His technique refined. His behavior… heavier.
When Jiraiya returned, bearing three war orphans and a determined glint in his eye, Hiruzen raised an eyebrow.
"You've changed," the old man said.
Jiraiya smirked. "Change is necessary when you've seen where the road leads."
Hiruzen peered into his eyes. "You speak like a man who has lived a second life."
Jiraiya froze momentarily, then chuckled. "You always did see through people."
Hiruzen exhaled, then gestured toward the trio behind him. "These children. What do you plan to do with them?"
"Train them. Guide them. Make them protectors instead of destroyers."
Hiruzen nodded slowly. "Then do it well. The future may depend on it."
The Threads Begin to Shift
As Jiraiya left the Hokage's tower that day, he noticed a pair of younger shinobi watching him curiously—Kakashi Hatake and Obito Uchiha, still fresh-faced and unaware of the war that would claim and change them.
Jiraiya clenched his fists.
There was still time. Time to save them. Time to change the fate of the world.
And he would not waste a second.