Jiraiya stood at the edge of the training ground, the morning mist wrapping around his figure like a shroud. The sparring field was quiet now, save for the fading echoes of a brutal clash that had just concluded. Before him, a crater sizzled with residual chakra, the earth torn and blackened. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and the sleeves of his robe were singed from the last jutsu he unleashed.
Across from him stood Minato Namikaze—young, sharp-eyed, and breathing heavily. His blond hair was slightly ruffled, and his hands were still steaming from the Rasengan clash that had almost destabilized the entire training zone.
"You've improved… again," Minato said with a soft chuckle, though the respect in his voice was unmistakable. "That last maneuver—mixing Wind with Oil in mid-air—it almost caught me."
Jiraiya offered a toothy grin, but his heart remained somber. "You're lucky I'm going easy on you. A little more oil and I would've roasted that pretty face."
Minato laughed, but Jiraiya's eyes drifted to the sky. His mind was elsewhere, sifting through fragments of memory—memories of another Minato, older, stronger… dead. Memories of a child with blond hair and whisker marks who had inherited his father's will and his burden.
Naruto.
It had been several months since Jiraiya awakened in this young body, decades before the Fourth Great Ninja War, and every day brought more pressure. His actions had already rippled through time. He had guided the orphans of Ame earlier, forged ties with the young Minato earlier, and taken on missions that had previously gone to others.
Yet one truth remained immutable—Konoha's future still dangled by a thread.
"I'll have to go soon," Jiraiya muttered, more to himself than to Minato.
"Go? Where?"
"Hidden Rain. I need to check on something… or someone."
Minato's brows drew together. "Is this about those three orphans you mentioned before?"
Jiraiya gave a slow nod. "Yahiko, Konan, and Nagato. I left them with more than jutsu—I left them with a dream. But dreams without guidance can become nightmares."
Minato said nothing, but the concern in his eyes said everything.
"Sensei… are you sure you want to go alone?"
Jiraiya's expression hardened. "Some paths, Minato, must be walked alone."
He turned and vanished in a swirl of leaves.
---
A week later, rain poured relentlessly over the metallic structures of Amegakure. The hidden village lived in constant shadow, veiled by both storm clouds and the tight grip of Hanzo's regime. But Jiraiya's steps were silent, his chakra cloaked in layers of stealth and deception. He moved through the outskirts, dodging sentries, until he reached a cavern hidden by overgrowth and mist.
A single flame burned in a lantern inside.
Jiraiya entered.
Three figures sat at a table made from stone and scrap metal. Konan rose first, her blue hair tied back and her origami butterflies fluttering around her.
"Jiraiya-sensei?"
Nagato turned, his crimson Rinnegan eyes—still dormant in this timeline—were a storm waiting to be born. Yahiko stood, older now, hardened by war but still burning with fire.
"You came," Yahiko said, disbelief mixing with relief.
"I always said I would," Jiraiya replied, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "But I'm too late, aren't I? You've already made a move."
Nagato's silence was louder than Yahiko's answer. "We've begun gathering followers. People are tired of Hanzo's rule. We call ourselves the Akatsuki."
Jiraiya's jaw tightened. The name… even now it stirred memories of a darker future.
"You must tread carefully," he warned. "Power without purpose becomes destruction."
Yahiko's voice turned steely. "Our purpose is peace."
"But peace built on blood will always collapse. Don't let your pain become your identity."
The conversation stretched deep into the night. Jiraiya offered them strategy, counter-intelligence tactics, and seal arrays to protect their new base. But inside, his fear grew. Nagato's chakra pulsed with latent power far beyond his age, and Konan's gaze had grown colder since the last time they met.
He left with a heavy heart.
---
Back in Konoha, news had spread of a strange infiltration in the outskirts of Amegakure. The higher-ups ignored it as insignificant, but Hiruzen Sarutobi took notice. He summoned Jiraiya the moment he returned.
"You vanished for over a week," the Third Hokage said, pipe in hand. "Care to explain?"
Jiraiya bowed low. "Personal mission. I've confirmed Hanzo is losing control of Amegakure. A new faction is rising."
Hiruzen's eyes narrowed. "A threat?"
"A storm. One that could reshape the shinobi world."
Silence fell between them.
"You've changed, Jiraiya," Hiruzen noted. "There's a gravity in your voice I haven't heard before."
"War will change us all," Jiraiya replied cryptically.
---
That evening, Jiraiya stood atop the Hokage Monument, the village sprawled out beneath him. His eyes drifted to the Uchiha compound—so full of pride, secrecy, and festering resentment. He thought of young Fugaku, of the seeds that would eventually bloom into the Uchiha Massacre.
He needed allies. He needed someone who could act before the storm. Someone who would believe him.
That's when he found her—Tsunade, at the hospital training new medics, her hands steady, her eyes cold. She was still healing from Dan's death. She was still broken.
"Still gambling with your life?" Jiraiya teased as he walked in.
Tsunade glanced up, unimpressed. "Still stalking me?"
They traded barbs like old times, but then Jiraiya turned serious.
"I'm leaving again. But not alone this time. Come with me."
She blinked. "Why?"
"Because there are too many battles coming, and we can't win them apart."
Tsunade looked away. "I'm not ready."
Jiraiya placed a scroll on the table—inside were the medical jutsu he'd compiled, techniques he'd recreated from memory.
"Then prepare. We leave in a week."
He walked out, leaving her speechless.
---
Elsewhere, Root stirred.
Danzo Shimura sat in the depths of the Foundation's hideout, a map of the Great Nations before him, marked with pins and threads connecting villages, clans, and bloodlines. His spies had already reported Jiraiya's secret travels. The knowledge disturbed him.
"He's changed," Danzo muttered. "As if he's seen the future."
Beside him knelt Kinoe—later to become Yamato—a child with the DNA of the First Hokage coursing through his veins.
"Shadow him," Danzo ordered. "If Jiraiya strays from the Will of Fire… I will extinguish him."
---
Seven days later, Jiraiya stood at the gates of Konoha. A scroll on his back, a mission scroll signed by Hiruzen in his pouch, and conviction in his eyes. Beside him stood Tsunade, arms crossed, sighing in frustration.
"I still think this is foolish," she grumbled. "But fine. I'll go. Someone has to make sure you don't get yourself killed."
Jiraiya grinned. "You always did have a soft spot for me."
Tsunade rolled her eyes.
From the shadows, a masked ANBU watched them leave, sending word to Root.
And as they vanished down the road, thunder rumbled in the distance.
The storm had begun.