Jiraiya returned once more to the Land of Rain. This time, he met both of his former students.
He chatted endlessly, as if they were simply teacher and pupils catching up after years apart—carefully avoiding every sensitive subject.
Nagato listened in silence, as always. Konan occasionally responded with a brief comment.
After a long while, Jiraiya glanced at the time. It was time to leave.
He rose to say goodbye.
That was when Nagato, who had remained quiet until now, suddenly spoke.
"I once intended… to create a weapon capable of destroying any great shinobi village. A weapon that would force everyone to experience equal pain and fear—so that through absolute deterrence, the great nations would never dare wage war again. That was… my vision of peace."
He paused and looked at Jiraiya.
"Now, I haven't done anything yet… and yet peace seems to have arrived."
The entire shinobi world was nearly united.
Jiraiya froze for a moment—then burst into heartfelt laughter.
"Hahaha! Nagato, thank goodness! Thank goodness you never started! Really!"
There was relief in his laughter—and a trace of lingering dread.
After all, in another possible future, this very student had reduced Konoha to ruins.
But Nagato did not smile.
He did not respond to Jiraiya's relief.
"However, Jiraiya-sensei…"
"Isn't the current peace also built on fear?"
"Fear of the unknown 'Demon God.' Fear of the 'The Seven Warlords.' Fear of a 'demon child' like Karin. Fear of powers we cannot understand or oppose."
"This peace—where everyone is forced to unite and temporarily set aside internal conflict because they fear something greater and more unknown…"
The corner of Nagato's mouth twitched faintly. It was not quite a smile—more like a trace of quiet irony.
"Isn't that simply another form of a weapon capable of destroying villages?"
Silence fell over the top floor of the tower.
The smile had long vanished from Jiraiya's face. His pupils contracted slightly. His lips parted—but no words came.
"So, Jiraiya-sensei, I was not wrong," Nagato continued calmly. "You only believe I was wrong because I am not a shinobi of Konoha. Otherwise… I would be your so-called Child of Prophecy."
"What do you think?"
There was no accusation in his tone. No agitation.
Only a quiet question.
Jiraiya's throat tightened.
Could he refute that?
When he finally left Amegakure, he murmured under his breath:
"I don't know…"
Only he understood that in the instant Nagato spoke those words, his heart had wavered—just slightly.
Because not long ago, Tsunade had explained something similar to him.
But—
Jiraiya clenched his fists so tightly his nails nearly drew blood.
The moment he imagined such a "weapon" falling into someone else's hands—being used to destroy Konoha—reducing comrades and smiling young faces to ash—
All doubt was crushed by instinctive loyalty.
"No. Absolutely not."
He roared the denial within himself.
Konoha was his home. His root. The place he would protect with his life.
Any "path to peace" that threatened Konoha—no matter how logically sound—was unacceptable.
"Unless…"
He inhaled the damp, cold air.
"Unless such a 'weapon' belonged to Konoha."
Once the thought took shape, it clung to him like a parasite.
If overwhelming deterrent power was a viable path to peace, why shouldn't it be held by the "right" side?
By Konoha—by those who cherished peace, valued comrades, possessed restraint and responsibility?
Just like the First Hokage, Hashirama Senju—who had once used absolute strength to impose order and usher in an era of relative peace.
The idea grew rapidly in his mind, nearly drowning out his long-held beliefs—
And then—
A powerful, familiar pull descended without warning.
"Hm?!"
Jiraiya's expression changed drastically.
The world spun. Muddy ground gave way to damp, smooth stone. The air thickened with natural energy, carrying the scent of herbs and moss unique to Mount Myōboku.
He found himself in the heart of Mount Myōboku, beside the towering mushroom-like rock formations and flowing streams.
"What happened?!" Jiraiya steadied himself, unease surging in his chest.
The shinobi world was already in turmoil. If something had happened here too—
"Little Jiraiya!"
Fukasaku's voice trembled as the elder toad hurried toward him.
"FukasakuLord! What's going on? Why was I suddenly summoned—?"
Fukasaku's aged eyes were red.
"It's the Great Lord… the Great Toad Sage… something's happened!"
"What?!" Jiraiya felt as though struck by lightning.
The Great Toad Sage?
The ancient being who had lived for over a thousand years—who could foresee the future—who stood as the spiritual pillar of Mount Myōboku and one of the Three Great Sage Regions?
"Not long ago," Fukasaku continued bitterly, "we suddenly heard a scream from the Great Lord's chamber. A scream filled with terror and pain unlike anything we've ever heard! When we rushed inside… it was already…"
His voice failed him.
He gestured for Jiraiya to follow.
A terrible premonition sank into Jiraiya's gut.
He followed Fukasaku through the tense ranks of toads and into the stone chamber reserved only for the Great Toad Sage and a select few elders.
The air inside carried a faint but unmistakable scent of blood.
When Jiraiya's eyes fell upon the massive bed at the center of the chamber—
His pupils shrank to pinpoints.
A chill shot up his spine.
The Great Toad Sage—normally drowsy and serene—lay sprawled upon the platform, his enormous body trembling faintly.
And where his wise, half-lidded eyes—those that had once gazed across past and future—should have been—
There were only two gruesome, blood-soaked cavities.
Deep enough to expose bone.
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