The sun dipped low over the Hidden Leaf Village, casting a warm amber hue across the rooftops and painting the Hokage Monument in golden light. In Tsunade's backyard—still marked by faint craters from her recent sparring sessions with Nawaki—two figures stood amidst the lazy hum of late afternoon cicadas.
Jiraiya leaned against the wooden railing of the porch, cradling a small, gift-wrapped box like it was a relic from a sacred scroll. His grin stretched wide, full of pride and mischief. Nearby, Orochimaru stood with his arms crossed, watching his teammate like one might study a slow-moving avalanche about to hit something valuable.
"I know that look," Orochimaru said, voice calm but edged. "You've done something stupid again, haven't you?"
Jiraiya chuckled. "Stupid? Come on. I've done something memorable. There's a difference."
He held up the box between two fingers, shaking it slightly with a wink. "Behold: Nawaki's first step into manhood. A rite of passage. A personal, autographed copy of Make-Out Tactics. First print. Rare edition."
Orochimaru's silence was deafening.
Jiraiya waited. Nothing. Finally, he added, "Signed. By me."
"I repeat," Orochimaru said without blinking, "you've done something stupid."
Jiraiya rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a snake in the grass. You act like I handed him a kunai made of sake bottles."
"He's six, Jiraiya."
"And six is when a boy starts asking questions. I'm just… providing answers. Educational ones." He gave a thumbs-up. "Visual aids included."
Orochimaru turned his head slowly, as though regretting every decision that led to this moment. "And Tsunade? When she finds this educational material among Nawaki's gifts, what's your plan?"
"Simple," Jiraiya replied. "Run."
Orochimaru exhaled through his nose. "You'll vanish into some hot spring like a coward, and she'll assume I encouraged it."
"Well," Jiraiya said with a shrug, "if the sandal fits…"
"I brought him a chakra attunement stone," Orochimaru cut in. "A tool for meditation and elemental focus. He's developing his affinity for Earth release. A disciplined, tailored gift."
Jiraiya grimaced like he'd bitten into something sour. "You're so dry, Orochimaru. Nawaki gets enough lectures from Tsunade. You want to give him more homework at his birthday party?"
"I want to give him something useful," Orochimaru said, cool and precise. "Not corrupt his brain with your fantasies and half-naked drawings."
"They're not half-naked—they're thematically essential! And Nawaki needs balance. A little chakra discipline, a little emotional exploration."
"Emotional exploration," Orochimaru echoed flatly.
"Exactly. Look, one day he'll thank me when he's older and doesn't freeze up when a kunoichi smiles at him."
"Or he'll develop a warped understanding of relationships and end up banned from the Academy."
"Hey!" Jiraiya pointed a finger. "That only happened once, and she was nineteen."
"I wasn't talking about you, but thanks for confirming."
Jiraiya snorted and leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. The fading light caught his white hair, turning it faintly golden.
"Y'know," he said, almost fondly, "you pretend to be all serious, but I bet your gift comes with some hidden seal or long-winded lecture."
"It comes with instructions. Something Nawaki will actually read."
"So boring," Jiraiya said. "You should try being likable for once."
Orochimaru gave him a glance, as flat and venomous as a snake's tongue.
"I'll prepare an antidote for whatever you're giving him," he said. Then he turned, cloak swaying as he walked away.
"Don't worry!" Jiraiya called after him. "I'll make sure Nawaki gets the complete experience—chakra, comedy, and cleavage!"
Orochimaru didn't respond, though he raised one pale hand over his shoulder, waving lazily like he couldn't be bothered to waste actual words.
Jiraiya chuckled to himself, slipping the gift into a small pouch at his waist.
The party was tomorrow.
Between a mad scientist, a legendary medic-nin, and a self-proclaimed sage of love, Nawaki was about to get the most unforgettable birthday of his life.
______________________________________________________________
The office of the Third Hokage was cloaked in the warm amber glow of the setting sun, its rays filtering through the shoji panels and casting long shadows across the floor. A faint trail of smoke curled toward the ceiling from the ornate pipe resting between Hiruzen Sarutobi's fingers. The scent of his preferred herbs—earthy, calming—lingered in the still air.
Seated behind his desk, the Hokage's sharp eyes scanned the stack of intelligence reports laid neatly before him. His gaze was steady, each flicker of movement deliberate as he read through line after line with the precision of a man who had done this a thousand times before. Every word, every comma, every inflection was absorbed and filed into the vast mental archives that had kept the village safe for decades.
At the top of the report was a name.
Kiyu Gunto.
A fresh face. A mystery. A potential problem—or a potential asset.
"The boy is clean," Hiruzen said aloud, his voice low and contemplative. "Suspiciously clean… but still clean."
He set the papers down with a soft rustle and looked up as the masked ANBU operative known only as Dog knelt before him, head bowed in respect. Dog's arrival had been silent, as always, materializing from the shadows like a phantom—one of the many unseen hands that shaped the fate of Konohagakure.
"You are certain this information is accurate?" Hiruzen asked, his tone sharper now, edged with the weight of responsibility and experience.
"Yes, Lord Hokage," Dog replied without hesitation. His voice was calm, even. "The investigation progressed faster than we anticipated. What you have before you is everything I managed to uncover."
Hiruzen gave a slight nod, his face unreadable as he drew in another puff from his pipe. The smoke curled around him like an old companion. For a moment, he allowed himself the comfort of ritual. Then the questions returned.
"I see… and aside from what's written here, what else can you tell me about Kiyu?"
Dog's posture straightened slightly, his tone shifting as he moved from formality to analysis.
"His training, sir—it's unusual. Structured, yes, but not derived from any of our known academy routines. It's almost improvisational, yet effective. His physical development is progressing at an alarming rate. More than once, I saw him moving through taijutsu drills that don't resemble anything from our standard forms. And his diet…"
Hiruzen raised an eyebrow. "His diet?"
"Yes," Dog said. "Unusually rich. Calorie-dense, protein-heavy, consistent. He consumes food like a seasoned chūnin, sometimes more. But there's no obvious source. He's an orphan, and by our records, survives solely on a modest bi-weekly stipend."
The Hokage leaned back slightly, his mind already working through the implications. He glanced toward the window, where the orange hues of dusk had begun to darken. His thoughts drifted briefly to the Akimichi clan, their large appetites infamous—legendary even—for fueling their prodigious strength.
"Nutrition is the foundation of a shinobi's strength," he murmured, half to himself. "The Akimichi are proof of that. A well-fed ninja is a dangerous ninja... So where does an orphan boy get a slab of meat that size?"
Dog hesitated for the briefest moment before answering.
"That's what's strange. The cut of meat I observed him eating wasn't from any known supplier. Large. Cleanly butchered. I suspected a connection to a Kekkai Genkai—possibly an ability tied to preservation or production. Maybe even summoning."
Hiruzen's eyes narrowed.
"A Kekkai Genkai?" he echoed. "You're speculating. But… not without reason. Did you secure a sample for analysis?"
Dog shook his head. "I attempted to. But the moment he brought it out, he devoured it. Instantly. It was gone in minutes. Not even a scrap left behind."
The Hokage exhaled slowly through his nose. His expression remained thoughtful, but now there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
"Voracious little enigma, isn't he?"
He tapped the edge of his pipe against the side of his ashtray, emptying the contents before setting it aside. A long silence followed. Then, finally:
"No matter. When the time is right, I'll speak with him myself. You've done well."
Dog nodded once more and, without a sound, disappeared into the gathering shadows of the room—returning to the hidden corridors that were his domain.
Left alone, Hiruzen stood and walked toward the window, arms folded behind his back as he gazed out over the Hidden Leaf Village. The sky was bleeding into twilight, rooftops bathed in fading gold. The air was cooling, the sounds of the village shifting from the bustle of day to the hush of evening.
A small, bittersweet smile crossed his lips.
"Nawaki's birthday is tomorrow," he murmured, almost wistfully. "I should ask Biwako what kind of gift a boy his age would like. Maybe… some fake kunai. Let him pretend to be a shinobi before the real weight of it ever reaches him."
And with that, he resumed his quiet vigil—watching over the village he had sworn to protect, and the mysteries yet to unfold within it.