Chapter 32: Contentnt with Poverty and Joy
“Ah… my head hurts…”
At noon, Jiraiya slowly sat up amid a sea of empty sake bottles, clutching his head with both hands as though he could squeeze the hangover out of his skull.
Yesterday’s return to Konoha had been too lively. Everyone’s excitent had turned into an impromptu celebration—a grand cocktail feast that lasted until dawn.
After all, shinobi had gathered from all corners of the world. Old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years—sotis decades—finally shared a drink again. For many, it was a rare chance to reconnect beyond missions and battlefields.
Though the higher-ups had grumbled about abandoning the defense line, most middle and lower-ranking ninjas couldn’t care less. For them, this was a victory worth celebrating. The Sandai had brought everyone ho safely, and Konoha hadn’t been this alive in years.
Countless ninjas embraced one another. So perford drunken tricks and stunts, while others, overco with emotion, confessed long-held feelings. In the chaos of that raucous night, who knew how many couples were ford—or how many newfound “siblings” were made.
This morning, no one seed particularly dissatisfied.
As Jiraiya groaned and rubbed his temples, a pale hand extended beside him, holding a few small pills.
“Here,” a familiar voice said. “Hangover dicine and painkillers. You’ll feel better after taking them.”
“T-Tsunade… thanks…”
He grabbed the pills from her palm and swallowed them dry, then collapsed back onto the tatami, head tilted and eyes closed, waiting for the dicine to take effect.
Tsunade’s dicine wasn’t the kind that instantly erased fatigue—it worked slowly, thodically, repairing damage cell by cell until the body recovered naturally.
Soon, Jiraiya’s muddled mind began to clear, though his face still carried the faint flush of alcohol. His gaze wandered toward Tsunade, who stood quietly beside him, her expression calm and unreadable.
The pure white haori she wore caught his attention. Jiraiya blinked, rubbing his eyes, before muttering with a crooked smile, “You’re trying to keep alive—”
“If you dare say that last word,” she cut in coldly, “I’ll have you hospitalized.”
Jiraiya imdiately stiffened, nodding obediently. Tsunade sighed and sat down beside him.
Normally, she would never sit this close. There had always been a subtle, unspoken distance between them—a line neither crossed. Tsunade knew what Jiraiya felt for her, and Jiraiya understood Tsunade’s heart too well to push further.
But this ti, Tsunade had broken that boundary herself.
And for so reason, that made Jiraiya feel no joy at all.
Because the haori she wore—the white coat over black attire—was identical to the one they’d seen on Kato Dan.
The woman he loved had finally made her choice.
Tsunade noticed his silence and said softly, “Because he wore one like this, I wanted to as well. That’s all.”
“So he’s Number Two, and you’re Number Four. You chose it because you feel you’re above—ugh!”
Jiraiya didn’t get to finish. Tsunade’s fist slamd into his head, sending smoke spiraling upward as he groaned on the floor.
“If you’d just shut up,” she said sharply, “no one would mistake you for an idiot.”
Ignoring him, Tsunade stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the ss around them. Bottles, scrolls, and half-eaten food littered the floor.
“So? Where’s Orochimaru? I didn’t see him when I arrived. Did he pass out here like you? Knowing him, he’s probably already buried in a lab or a library sowhere.”
“…He’s doing research,” Jiraiya muttered, still rubbing his head. “Said he wanted to look up so records.”
A soft rustle echoed from the corner. Orochimaru erged from the shadows, his pale face half-lit, eyes sharp and cold.
“This world,” he said quietly, “is full of lies. Life and death… perhaps they’re illusions from the very start. The dead are never truly gone—they simply change form and move elsewhere at the mont of death.”
His voice was smooth, almost philosophical.
“If I awaken in another body, with all my mories intact,” he continued, “am I Orochimaru reborn—or soone else entirely? I’ve been pondering this… trying to find the answer.”
Tsunade looked at him steadily. “And you’re asking ?”
“Yes,” Orochimaru replied. “You are the greatest dical ninja alive. Tell —what determines the end of a person’s life? The death of the body… or the death of the mind?”
Tsunade was silent for a long mont. Then she t his gaze, her amber eyes unwavering.
“As long as soone feels familiar to you—as long as they still feel alive—then they are alive. The body defines itself. And when the soul can truly influence matter, worrying about morals and logic becos aningless.”
“Oh~ so that’s what you think, Tsunade. If you say there’s no problem, then there’s no problem, huh? Really, that’s quite self-centered of you. The line between life and death should be very clear.”
“If it were truly that clear,” Tsunade replied calmly, “then the Second Hokage wouldn’t have created that forbidden technique. We all understand this—life and death appear clear to us, but from the perspective of the deceased, that clarity might not exist.”
Orochimaru’s lips curved faintly. “That’s interesting, Tsunade. From your perspective as a dical ninja, what do you think the most accurate model is? What definition of life and death do you find most complete?”
“From my perspective…”
“…”
“…”
As expected, I don’t understand any of this, Jiraiya thought.
Watching his two teammates exchange philosophical theories like scholars, Jiraiya grabbed a nearby bowl of sake and downed it in one gulp.
He knew his place.
The Great Toad Sage had already told him his destiny—to find the Child of Prophecy who would one day save the world.
And deep down, Jiraiya also knew sothing else. His love for Tsunade would never bear fruit. Compared to Kato Dan, his affection was not one of complete devotion, but sothing mixed with purpose—sothing born from the burden of his mission.
From a certain angle, Jiraiya had always been the one left standing outside the circle. Even as one of the Legendary Sannin, even after countless battles fought together, he still felt that faint loneliness separating him from them.
But he didn’t bla anyone for it.
It wasn’t their fault—it was his.
“Well, that’s fine too!” he suddenly shouted, raising his cup.
Tsunade frowned. “Jiraiya, what are you yelling about?! I was just getting to the point!”
“Why not?” he said with a grin.
Tsunade glared, Orochimaru sighed, and Jiraiya laughed loudly, feeling the tension fade from his chest.
The woman he loved had found peace.
His mission in life had been revealed.
And sowhere out there, Yahiko, Nagato, and Konan—the children he had once guided—might already be walking toward their destinies as the ones foretold in prophecy.
What better future could he ask for?
Jiraiya had never been a man of great ambition. Despite being called a hero, he never saw himself as one. The real Jiraiya was a man who loved to teach, to write, and to bring a little warmth to a cold world.
He despised war and conflict. If life allowed it, he’d have preferred to live quietly as a farr, growing old in peace. But fate had chosen differently.
He was one of the Sannin.
He loved a woman who carried the sa title.
And he bore the prophecy that could decide the world’s future.
He sotis wondered why the Great Toad Sage had chosen him. He’d turned that question over countless tis, but the answer never ca.
Perhaps it was simply because Jiraiya always kept his promises.
He couldn’t think of another reason.
He had promised to find the Child of Prophecy—and so he did. He taught the orphans of the Land of Rain, returned to teach the next generation, and knew that even after death, his teachings might continue.
Perhaps his whole life would drift along with the promises he made.
But so what?
He already knew his end. He’d felt it for years. And strangely, that realization didn’t sadden him—it made him feel at peace.
He had chosen to bear this fate himself. Because soone had to.
If sacrifice was necessary, let it be him—the fool with no family, no power-hungry ambition, and no hope for anything else.
If his death could make the world even a little better, then that was enough.
The incompetent Jiraiya would finally contribute sothing of worth.
The wandering Sannin would finally stand alongside true heroes.
Even if everything had changed overnight, even if the people he cared about walked different paths, he would still smile.
Because that was their choice—and he would always raise his glass to it.
Looking at his two brilliant teammates, Jiraiya smiled warmly and lifted his sake cup high.
“All right! Let’s celebrate! We’re finally back ho. Let’s drink together! Orochimaru, stop standing there like a statue, you look depressing. Co on, have a drink!”
“Why are you drinking again right after waking up?!” Tsunade snapped.
“Jiraiya, you’re impossible,” Orochimaru muttered. “Don’t make things harder for her.”
Their bickering filled the room, and for a fleeting mont, it felt like the old days in Konoha again.
But the warmth didn’t last long.
From the shadows, a ninja in black silently stepped forward and knelt before them.
“The Hokage has issued an order,” he said respectfully. “The Blut Vene has entered its testing phase. Developed by Hatake Kakashi and Aizen Sosuke under the Seireitei’s guidance, it now requires three witnesses for its jonin-level trial and evaluation.”
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