Ch 166

Jiraiya didn't speak for a long time. 

He stood there with his arms crossed, fingers curled against his sleeves, gaze unfocused but sharp. 

I had seen that look before, when people connect fragments no one else noticed, when building a map out of rumours and inconsistencies. 

He wasn't dismissing what I'd said. He was dissecting it. 

The lines around his mouth deepened. His brows knit together, then relaxed, then tightened again. 

Anyone would have looked troubled in his place. Former students ruling the Rain. Danzō hoarding Sharingan. The massacre reframed as political greed instead of tragic inevitability. 

It was too much information, delivered too cleanly. I understood his predicament.

I watched him carefully, saying nothing. This was the moment that mattered. He wasn't naïve. He never had been. 

That was why I had come clean to him and not anyone else. He wouldn't crumble under the weight of it, but he wouldn't swallow it blindly either. He would probe. And he did. 

"If what you're saying is true," he replied slowly, eyes finally landing on me, "then the Akatsuki's structure isn't what we assumed. It's layered. Manipulated from the outside." His tone wasn't accusatory. It was analytical. 

I nodded once. "Yes." 

"And you're certain my old students are at the center of the Rain?" 

"Yes." 

His gaze sharpened. "Which one leads?" 

There it was. Testing specifics. 

"Pain," I answered without hesitation. "But that's not his real name anymore." 

Jiraiya studied my face for cracks, for uncertainty, for the moment of a lie. I gave him none. Not because I was fearless—but because I couldn't afford to be anything else. 

The silence welcomed us once more. I felt my own thoughts turning inward while he calculated. 

This was my chance. 

If I could alter this one point—if I could keep him from walking into that village alone—then the pattern would break. 

It had to. 

Fate wasn't a wall; it was a sequence. Change one step and the rhythm collapsed. If I could save Jiraiya, I could save Itachi. 

The repetition sounded almost desperate in my mind, but it anchored me in sanity. 

He was the proof. If he lived, then Itachi didn't have to stay dead. The war didn't have to unfold the same way. The future wasn't a script carved in stone. 

I hated how long I had been complicit. 

All those years, watching events drift toward disaster because I was afraid to interfere too much. Afraid of being exposed. Afraid of being called insane. Afraid of losing the shelter I had carved out for myself. 

I could have warned someone earlier. Could have shifted smaller pieces before they became bigger problems. Instead, I survived quietly. 

That had been my crime. 

Jiraiya exhaled slowly. "You understand," he said, voice lower now, "that if I don't go, I'm leaving a threat unchecked." 

"I understand." 

"And if I do go with preparation instead of secrecy, the entire situation changes." 

"Yes." 

He looked at me again, not as a child, not as someone inexperienced—but as a shinobi standing equal beside him. 

"You're asking me to trust that you've seen the end of this path." 

"I'm asking you to trust that I've seen yours," I replied. 

His eyes softened, just slightly. The world felt balanced on a blade's edge. For the first time in this life, I didn't feel like a spectator to tragedy, I felt like a participant in its undoing. 

When Jiraiya finally lifted his head, the indecision was gone. The weight was still there, I doubted it would ever leave, but his thoughts had reached a decision. 

"Alright," he sighed, ready for what was coming. "Explain it to me in detail." 

There was no humor left in him now. No teasing glint in his eyes. The air between us changed. This wasn't a conversation anymore. It was strategy. 

I straightened slightly. "What do you want to hear first?" 

He didn't hesitate. "You said my former students are controlling the Rain." 

I nodded once again. "Yes." 

His gaze didn't waver. 

"Nagato is the leader of the Akatsuki," I answered. "He operates under the alias 'Pain.' Konan is at his side. She's the only one who stands beside him physically." 

No reaction. Not this time. 

Earlier, each revelation had landed like a strike. Now it seemed he had been surprised so thoroughly that nothing could shock him further. Or perhaps he had simply chosen not to let it show. 

He absorbed it quietly, eyes distant—not unfocused, but remembering. I wondered what images were surfacing. 

Three war–orphaned children. A stubborn redhead with impossible to have eyes. A quiet girl folding paper into flowers. A boy who wanted to change the world. 

I bet those happy memories are now a new source of pain. 

After a moment, he asked, "Where's Yahiko?" 

The question came softly. Too softly. 

I answered too quickly. Too cleanly. 

"He's been dead for years," I responded. "Nagato uses his body. Controls it." 

The words left me without inflection. Clinical. Detached. 

I hated that. 

Because the truth was grotesque. Tragic. Twisted into something almost unrecognizable from the hope it once carried. 

But if I let emotion seep into this now, it would blur the clarity he needed. 

Jiraiya's jaw tightened. It wasn't dramatic. Just a subtle shift. A small fracture in composure. He didn't ask how, he just nodded once. 

It wasn't acceptance, but acknowledgement. 

"And their goal?" he asked. 

"Peace." 

The word hung between us, as fragile as the very definition. 

His brow furrowed faintly. "Peace?" 

"Yes. Peace." 

He watched me carefully, listening carefully. 

"They want to end the cycle of war. The endless retaliation between nations. The suffering that never seems to conclude." I paused. "But how Nagato intends to achieve it is the problem. It's the reason a war is coming." 

Jiraiya's eyes narrowed slightly. "How does he intend to get peace?" 

"Through violence." Easy answer.

I held his gaze. "He believes that only through direct, overwhelming suffering can humanity truly understand the cost of conflict. That if the world experiences a war so devastating—so absolute in its loss—no one will ever want to repeat it." 

Silence. Utter silence. The only acceptable answer. 

Jiraiya exhaled through his nose, "I don't like that answer." 

"I didn't expect you to." 

His expression darkened—not with anger at me, but at the ideology itself. "Peace born from terror isn't peace," he muttered. "It's suppression." 

I considered that. 

"It's an interesting way of thinking," I admitted. "In a fractured world, it makes a certain kind of sense. If you believe people only change when they hurt enough... then maybe you'd conclude that the world just hasn't hurt enough yet." 

I could understand how Nagato had reached that logic. Endless war. Endless graves. Ideals crushed by reality over and over again. At some point, hope starts to look naïve. 

"But," I added, "he's still foolish to think it will unfold according to plan." 

Jiraiya gave me a look. 

"Pain like that doesn't unify people," I continued. "It breeds resentment. Revenge. New cycles. You can't engineer human reaction with precision. Fear doesn't create understanding—it creates desperation." 

Nagato believed he could control the aftermath. That he could stand above it, guiding the world into submission long enough for peace to root itself. 

But human grief was not a tameable thing. And to think humans could be tamed is even more foolish. 

Jiraiya was silent again. I could almost see the internal war behind his eyes—the teacher weighing the broken logic of a former student against the cold strategist analyzing a global threat. 

He should've never had to experience this. 

Finally, he looked at me fully, "Continue." 

His resolve strengthened mine. He wasn't turning away from this. Not emotionally. Not strategically. 

"There's more bad news." 

Jiraiya's eyes were expectant. "Danzō." 

A muscle in his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I don't trust him." 

"For good reason, you don't," I answered. There was no hesitation in my voice, not in the slightest. 

Jiraiya didn't interrupt, so I continued. 

"He's not just cautious or pragmatic. He's... extreme. And the worst part is that he genuinely believes he's right. He thinks everything he's done—every life he's ruined, every line he's crossed—was in the village's best interest." 

Jiraiya frowned slightly but didn't speak. 

"That conviction multiplies the damage," I went on. "A man who knows he's doing wrong can be negotiated with. A man who believes he's righteous while doing it? That's harder to stop." 

I could feel the bitterness creeping into my tone, but I didn't suppress it. "He has very dirty hands," I said plainly. 

"Root operations. Assassinations. Political manipulation. The Uchiha massacre wasn't just a tragic inevitability—it was engineered pressure. He pushed it. Accelerated it. And then he profited from the aftermath." 

It felt so good to finally get this out. "He's the cause of more of Konoha's problems than most people realize." 

Jiraiya nodded slowly. He didn't look shocked. He looked disappointed. The kind of disappointment reserved for someone you had hoped would be better. 

I knew Jiraiya had low expectations for him, but the fact it was worse than he thought made everything all the more sour. 

After a moment, he asked, "His arm." It wasn't a question so much as a prompt. 

I met his gaze evenly. "His right arm is embedded with Sharingan." 

Silence. 

"From dead Uchiha clan members," I clarified. "Harvested after the massacre." 

Jiraiya's expression darkened instantly. 

"He uses them," I continued. "Izangi. Rewriting reality at the cost of each eye. Multiple chances to undo fatal outcomes." 

His fingers flexed at his sides. 

"It's an Uchiha trait that no one knows about, also makes my foresight claim stronger." I knew Jiraiya didn't know about Izangi, but to my knowledge, Danzō hasn't used Izangi until fighting with Sasuke. Though I wouldn't be surprised. 

"And that's not all," I added, forcing myself to stay composed. "He gave several Sharingan to the Akatsuki. Specifically to Tobi." The name stung, but it needed to be said. 

Jiraiya's anger wasn't explosive, but it was obvious. "The implications," he said quietly. 

"Very much so." Sharingan in enemy hands. Political secrets buried beneath manipulated events. A massacre turned into a resource pool. It was desecration layered on top of tragedy. 

"He hoards power," I said. "Believing that if he alone carries enough of it, he can steer the village through any threat. But power gained that way doesn't stabilize things. It destabilizes everything around it." 

Jiraiya's eyes were hard now. 

"He calls it sacrifice," I continued. "But it's always someone else paying the price." 

For a moment, neither of us spoke. This wasn't just about ideology or misguided peace anymore. This was rot within the foundation. Internal decay that made external threats even more dangerous. 

Jiraiya finally exhaled slowly. "I suspected," he admitted. "But not like this." 

I nodded. Knowing suspicion was different from knowing specifics. From knowing the sheer scale. 

"He's not the only problem," I said quietly. "But he's a catalyst. And if he isn't accounted for, he'll continue shaping events from the shadows." 

Jiraiya was quiet for a long time after I finished speaking. Not the tense, analytical silence from before—but something less tence. His shoulders rose and fell in a slow breath, and I could see the moment his thoughts aligned, settled into place like pieces locking into a board. 

I braced myself. 

I expected another serious exchange. Another strategic question. Another fracture in the world as we knew it. Instead, he smiled at me. It was warm. Gentle. 

Before I could react, he lifted his hand and patted my head. "You haven't changed," he said fondly. "Still a kind girl." 

The words hit me harder than any accusation could have. He paused, looking at me more carefully. 

"Well... not a girl anymore." His smile softened. "You're a woman now. Grown up." My throat tightened. "You grew up beautifully." 

For a second, all the tension drained from me. All the planning, the calculating, the fear—it faltered beneath something so simple and human. 

"Thank you," I smiled sweetly. 

I meant it. 

But then the smile faded. And the seriousness returned. It wasn't abrupt. It was gradual. His eyes changed first. 

And dread settled in my stomach. 

I had seen that look before. 

On Itachi's face. 

The night he left me behind. 

I narrowed my eyes at Jiraiya before he could speak. "You won't." 

He sighed softly. 

"I'm sorry," he said. 

The confirmation landed like a punch. 

"I'm still going." 

My hands clenched at my sides, my emotions getting the better of me. 

"Did you not hear anything I just said?" 

"I did." 

"Then do you not believe me?" 

His expression tightened—not in doubt, in frustration. "I do believe you." 

The answer only made it worse. 

"Then why?" My voice rose despite myself. "Why would you still go?" 

"Because belief isn't proof," he answered evenly. "What you've told me—it's serious. It's world-altering. But I can't go back to the village with prophecy and warning alone. It needs validity. Reliability." 

"No! You're not listening," I snapped. 

"I am." 

"No, you're not!" 

My mind was spiraling. The area felt too small, the sky too large. I stepped closer to him, forcing him to meet my eyes. 

"If you go," I said bluntly, "you are going to die." 

There was no poetry left in me. No strategy. Just truth. My fingers instinctively closed around the necklace resting against my chest—the one Itachi had given me a few days ago. The metal felt cold against my skin. But not as cold as the chill up my spine. 

"You will die," I repeated, my voice shaky now. 

Jiraiya's gaze softened. "The future isn't linear," he said quietly. "It changes with every choice. Nothing is set in stone." 

"This is," I shot back. "If you go, you won't come back." 

He didn't flinch. "I can't just walk into the Hokage's office and repeat your words," he continued. "You know how the village sees you." 

The words struck deeper than he probably intended. 

"You've told me yourself," he said gently, "that you think they don't fully trust you. That they question where your knowledge comes from. So why would they stake everything on your warning alone?" 

I faltered. Hearing my own doubts thrown back at me felt like betrayal—even though he wasn't wrong. 

He stepped closer, his voice calm. "The moment we part, I'll send a message. I promise you that. But I need something concrete. Something undeniable." 

My anger felt brittle now. Cracking. 

"If danger exists," he said firmly, "it has to be faced." 

I stared at him. "You're going to die," I whispered. 

I felt myself shutting down, the fight draining out of me because I had seen this before. I knew this path. I had walked it once already and watched it end. 

He gave me a sad smile. "Have a little faith in me, with what you told me I should be fine." 

I wanted to hate him for that. I wanted to hate him for so many reasons right now. 

Instead, I glared at him, breathing unevenly, before forcing myself to calm down. 

"Fine," I said tightly. "But send a message to the village before you enter the Rain. Not after. Before." 

"I will," he promised. 

Then he pulled me into a hug. It was firm. Warm. "I'll come back," he murmured. "We'll see each other again." 

I wrapped my arms around him automatically, pressing my face into his chest. 

And I knew. 

He wasn't coming back. 

Not this time. Not any time. 

The knowledge was already processed before he even hugged me. I held onto him anyway. Memorizing the weight of him. The warmth. The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear. 

And somewhere in the back of my mind, detached and distant, I realized something that unsettled me more than his impending death. 

Hugging Jiraiya felt like hugging a corpse. 

Not because he was cold. But because I was already mourning him. 

And that meant some part of me had accepted his death before it happened. 

I wondered, as I held him tighter, if I had grown crueler than I ever meant to be. Because instead of believing he would survive—I was making peace with the fact that he wouldn't. 

I had already made peace that I can't change anything. 

But what does that mean for Itachi?

A/n Made sure to make this chapter extra long for you all! And also, sorry sorry, but Ishi can't have everything go her way. Love you! Enjoy~