Echoes of the Past - Naruto’s Vow and the Shadow of Nagato

The sea churned violently in the wake of the Wind Release: Spiral Shuriken, its surface a chaotic swirl of foam and debris. The four remaining Pains descended from the sky, their cloaks snapping in the wind as they landed atop the waves. Hell Path Pain knelt briefly, his hand brushing the water's surface as if searching for a trace of their fallen comrade. He rose, shaking his head grimly.

Tendo Pain tilted his head, his expression as cold and unyielding as stone. "Bomb Pain's body was forged from weapon-grade iron," he said, his voice a hollow echo over the sea. "Naruto's Rasengan shattered it into fragments. It spiraled into the depths and sank beyond our reach. He cannot be sensed—or revived."

The truth settled heavily among them. Bomb Pain had been obliterated by a shadow clone's Rasengan, a fleeting but devastating strike. Meanwhile, it was the real Naruto who had swept Jiraiya from the jaws of death, his mastery of the Flying Thunder God Technique—a legacy of his father, the Fourth Hokage—leaving only a kunai embedded in the stone as evidence of his presence.

Not far off, two more shadow clones had unleashed the Spiral Shuriken, their combined power forcing Pain to redirect the attack with Shinra Tensei. Naruto's growth was undeniable, honed by a past life as Hokage, where the loss of the Nine Tails had driven him to master his father's teleportation art. On this desperate mission to save Jiraiya, that skill had proven its worth.

Now, on a rocky outcrop miles from the battlefield, Naruto gently set Jiraiya down, his hands trembling slightly as he steadied his mentor. "Can you hold on, Jiraiya-sensei?" he asked, his voice thick with concern.

Before Jiraiya could respond, Fukasaku Sennin leaped onto a nearby stone, his small eyes narrowing as he caught the faint orange markings framing Naruto's eyes. He sniffed the air, then recoiled in shock. "Kid, who are you? How do you know Toad Sage Art?"

Naruto turned to the tiny toad, a flicker of recognition in his gaze, but he hesitated. At this point in time, Fukasaku didn't know him—not yet. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jiraiya cut in, his voice strained as he clutched his mangled arm. "Brother, this is Naruto. My other apprentice."

Fukasaku's jaw dropped. "What? Another disciple?"

Jiraiya managed a weak grin, though his eyes betrayed his astonishment. He'd noticed it too—the orange markings, the subtle aura of sage chakra radiating from Naruto. The boy wielded Sage Art with a finesse Jiraiya himself had never mastered, and yet his appearance remained unchanged, youthful and defiant. Then there was the kunai, its handle etched with Minato's seal. When had Naruto learned the Flying Thunder God? And who had taught him these arts?

Across the water, Tendo Pain's voice sliced through the tension. "You're the Nine Tails Jinchuriki, Naruto."

Unlike Fukasaku, who was meeting Naruto for the first time, Pain knew him well. The Akatsuki had hunted tailed beasts for years, and Naruto's name was etched into their ledger. The accusation hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in certainty.

Naruto's gaze shifted from Pain to Jiraiya, his eyes darkening as he took in his teacher's broken arm, the blood staining his cloak. Rage simmered beneath his calm exterior. "I forgave you once, Nagato," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "But seeing my teacher like this—beaten, bleeding—I want to crush you with my own hands."

The murderous intent in his words crackled like lightning. Jiraiya's head snapped up, urgency overtaking his pain. "Naruto, no! Don't get caught up in revenge. These aren't Pain—they're corpses, puppets. The real Pain is—"

"I know," Naruto interrupted, his tone steady as he met Jiraiya's gaze. "Nagato."

Jiraiya froze, stunned. How could Naruto know? The boy stepped closer, supporting Jiraiya's weight as he faced Tendo Pain across the waves. "Nagato!" he called out, his voice carrying over the wind. "Once I get Jiraiya-sensei to safety, I'm coming for you. I'll make you see it myself—everything you threw away was priceless, and everything you cling to now is a lie."

With a flash of chakra, Naruto gripped the kunai's seal and vanished, taking Jiraiya with him. Tendo Pain stared at the abandoned blade, its metal glinting in the fading light. "The Flying Thunder God," he murmured. "That's how he outpaced Shinra Tensei."

Paper rustled as Konan emerged beside him, her amber eyes scanning the horizon. "You're not pursuing them?"

Tendo Pain's gaze remained fixed ahead. "Two Pains are lost. The Six Paths are weakened. Tracking teleportation is a fool's errand, and we don't know how many reinforcements they have. We'll regroup, rebuild, and then hunt the Nine Tails in Konoha."

With a final glance at the sea, he turned, leading the remaining Pains back to their stronghold.

Mount Myoboku materialized around them in a swirl of mist and ancient trees, the air heavy with the scent of moss and sage energy. Jiraiya slumped against a gnarled root, his breaths shallow as Shima Sennin knelt beside him, her hands deftly applying a pungent salve to his shattered arm. "Hold still, you reckless boy," she muttered, though her voice wavered with relief. "This'll hurt."

Jiraiya gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead as the medicine burned into his wounds. Fukasaku watched from a nearby perch, his gaze shifting to Naruto. "If this kid hadn't shown up, Jiraiya-chan might've been done for."

Shima wrapped a bandage around Jiraiya's arm, her hands trembling slightly. "I told you not to go. Stubborn fool. Thank the sages you're back alive."

Jiraiya exhaled sharply, the pain receding just enough for him to think. The battle had taken its toll—his body battered, his spirit shaken—but Pain's true identity gnawed at him. Nagato. His own student, twisted into a puppetmaster of corpses. Yet it was Naruto who dominated his thoughts now. The boy's arrival, his impossible skills—Sage Art, Rasengan, Flying Thunder God—wove a tapestry of awe and mystery.

"When did you get this strong, Naruto?" Jiraiya asked, his voice hoarse but warm. "Sage Jutsu, your father's technique… Who taught you?"

Shima's head snapped up. "Sage Jutsu? This kid?"

Fukasaku nodded, his tone reverent. "He's a master at it, Shima. Better than Jiraiya-chan, even. Hardly any toad traits—just those orange marks around his eyes."

Shima gaped at Naruto, then at Jiraiya. "You didn't teach him?"

Jiraiya shook his head, his curiosity piqued. Naruto shifted uncomfortably, his blue eyes meeting his teacher's. "I'm sorry, Jiraiya-sensei," he said softly. "I can't explain it yet. When the time's right, I'll tell you everything. Please… trust me."

The plea hung between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Jiraiya studied him, searching for answers in the boy's earnest gaze. After a long moment, he chuckled, the sound rough but genuine. "Fine. Kids grow up, they keep their secrets. Just promise me you'll stay on the right path, Naruto."

The weight of Nagato's betrayal settled over Jiraiya like a shadow, dimming his eyes. His own student had tried to kill him, and the sting of that failure cut deeper than any wound. But then Naruto spoke, his voice ringing with conviction. "I swear, Jiraiya-sensei. I'll protect Konoha, everyone—even the whole ninja world—if it costs me my life."

Jiraiya blinked, caught off guard by the fire in Naruto's words. Those eyes, so fierce and sincere, stirred something deep within him. A memory surfaced—the Great Toad Sage's prophecy of a child who would change the world. A slow, proud smile spread across Jiraiya's face. "Maybe," he murmured, "you're the son of prophecy after all."

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