349-Simple Mind

The streets of Konohagakure were quiet, shrouded in the soft silver glow of the moon. Most of the shops were shuttered for the night, their windows dark and uninviting, save for the faint flicker of lanterns casting long, wavering shadows. The usual hum of activity that filled the village during the day had been replaced by an almost eerie stillness, punctuated only by the distant hoot of an owl or the rustle of leaves stirred by the cool night breeze.

Jiraiya moved through the empty streets, his sandals clicking softly against the cobblestones. His normally easygoing demeanour was absent, his face a mask of introspection.

As the quiet of the night wrapped around him, his thoughts swirled like a tempest, drawn inexorably to the young shinobi he had left behind at the Hokage Stone Monument.

Renjiro's departure from the ANBU gnawed at him, but he knew it had to be done. If Renjiro left the village again for an anbu Mission, it would do more harm than good for both the shinobi and the village.

Jiraiya had always seen great potential in the boy, a rising star whose tenacity and skills were only rivalled by Kakashi. That's why he grouped them together, to create an environment where they would push each other, despite their significant age differences.

Just like Kakashi, Renjiro had a fire within him, a raw, untapped potential that Jiraiya was determined to see honed. He even went as far as using the influence he had in the village for Kakashi to be placed under Minato's guidance which was the same reason he intended to remain closely involved with Renjiro's growth.

"This could break him," Jiraiya muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible above the soft whisper of the wind. "Or… it could forge him into something even stronger."

He could still see Renjiro's expression in his mind, the haunted look in his dark eyes as the boy grappled with the weight of his decisions.

'We did not really mention it but he already caught on to it.'

Jiraiya had recognized that look—it was the same one he had seen in the mirror countless times after his own failures. But if there was one thing Jiraiya knew, it was that hardship could either shatter a person or temper them into something extraordinary.

"If he doesn't let this crush him," Jiraiya mused, a faint smile tugging at his lips, "he'll be a monster on Konoha's side. And gods know we'll need that in the years to come."

Jiraiya knew that the volatile political situation between the shinobi villages would only continue to deteriorate as time went by, so bolstering the village's rank was his top priority.

'He might even be the child...'

The thought was quickly brushed away as Jiraiya found himself at the gates of Konoha's research facility. Unlike the rest of the village, this building was still alive with activity, its windows glowing with an artificial light that spilt out onto the empty street.

Entering the building, Jiraiya navigated its labyrinthine corridors with practised ease, his steps purposeful as he headed toward one of the innermost offices.

The room was dimly lit, the soft golden glow of a lantern illuminating the cluttered desk where a lone figure sat, hunched over an assortment of scrolls and documents.

Orochimaru's pale hands moved deftly, his slender fingers almost caressing the parchment as he worked. The faint scratch of his pen against the paper was the only sound in the room.

Without ceremony, Jiraiya tossed a scroll onto the desk. It landed with a soft thump, rolling slightly before coming to a stop. Orochimaru's hand shot out, catching the scroll before it fell off the edge, all without looking up from his work.

Finally, Orochimaru turned his serpentine gaze toward Jiraiya, a faint sneer curling his lips. "No greeting? How rude."

Jiraiya ignored the jab, sauntering over to a nearby chair and sinking into it with a sigh. He leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head as if he owned the place. Orochimaru's sneer deepened, his eyes narrowing in disdain.

"Comfortable, are we?" Orochimaru drawled, his voice laced with mockery.

Jiraiya smirked but said nothing, watching as Orochimaru unfurled the scroll with deliberate precision. The Sannin's eyes scanned the document, his expression unreadable as he took in its contents. After a moment, he raised a brow and looked back at Jiraiya.

"And what, is this?"

"It's from Kumo," Jiraiya replied, his tone casual. "Sensei wants the research team to decrypt whatever information is stored in there. Apparently, it's important."

Jiraiya downplayed the situation but Orochimaru caught on as his lips twisted into a sardonic smile. "How fortunate that I have nothing better to do than play messenger for our dear Hokage."

Jiraiya's smirk faltered, and for a moment, the air between them grew tense. Their relationship had always been complicated—a volatile mix of rivalry, grudging respect, and an undercurrent of distrust that neither could fully suppress.

"Just do your job, Orochimaru," Jiraiya said finally, his tone more serious. "This isn't something we can afford to mess up."

Orochimaru chuckled, a low, almost sinister sound that sent a chill down Jiraiya's spine. "You're awfully tight-lipped tonight, Jiraiya. Usually, you're far more talkative. What's weighing on that simple mind of yours?"

Jiraiya stiffened but didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he stood and made his way toward the door. As he reached for the handle, Orochimaru's voice stopped him.

"The village has been awfully busy with Kumogakure lately," Orochimaru remarked, his tone deceptively casual.

"I wonder why."

Jiraiya froze, his hand hovering over the door. He turned slightly, his expression dark. "Stay out of it, Orochimaru," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

Orochimaru's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "You're no fun, Jiraiya."

The door clicked shut behind Jiraiya, leaving Orochimaru alone in the dimly lit office. The pale Sannin chuckled to himself, his fingers absently drumming against the desk as he returned to his work.

---

Morning came and went, and when Renjiro finally stirred, the sun was already sinking below the horizon. Golden rays filtered through the blinds of his window, casting long shadows across the room. He sat up abruptly, his heart pounding as disorientation gripped him.

"Sunset?" he muttered aloud, rubbing his eyes. "Was I really that tired?"

He sank back onto the bed, the events of the previous night flooding his mind. The weight of his actions, the loss of his ANBU position, and the mild uncertainty of his future pressed down on him like a physical burden. For a long moment, he stared at the ceiling, a hollow emptiness settling in his chest.

The thought of getting up felt insurmountable. What was the point? He had been reckless in his mission, potentially compromising the village's position. The energy to push forward seemed to drain away, leaving only a deep, aching fatigue.

A sudden knock at the door shattered the silence, jolting him from his thoughts. Renjiro hesitated, his body tense as he stared at the door. The knock came again, more insistent this time.

With a sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, his movements sluggish. As he approached the door, a faint sense of apprehension stirred in his chest.

His hand hovered over the handle for a moment before he finally grasped it, turning it with a soft click.

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