Chapter 82: Jiraiya and Minato
Accompanied by the low rumble of thunder, Konoha was once again swallowed by a curtain of black rain as the storm season returned. The downpour was heavy enough to divide the world into two halves—one within the rain, one beyond it. Between the two, there was no sound, no light, no connection.
Only faint, flickering silhouettes clashed within the storm, their struggle half hidden beneath awnings and the darkened eaves of quiet homes. Few could truly see what was unfolding.
"If I could vent everything I feel right now, I wouldn't be so tormented… Master Jiraiya."
The translucent chakra scalpel in Minato's hand—so sharp it could slice through chakra itself—slowly disintegrated into light. The former minato of Konoha stepped forward and gently embraced his mentor, father figure, and friend. His voice trembled like the falling rain.
"So please… don't stop me. Otherwise, I don't know what I'll do in my current state. I don't want to do something I'll regret. So please, Master Jiraiya… don't force this. Because if we continue, neither of us will like how it ends."
"…I'm sorry, Minato chan."
Jiraiya's low voice carried sorrow instead of anger. And in the next instant—his body dissolved into white smoke.
A shadow clone.
At the same time, countless black runes appeared, crawling and spiraling across the floor. They flared with eerie light—ancient summoning sigils forming a contract of necromancy. A dull thud followed, and two small figures leapt onto the shoulders of the man who appeared amid the storm.
"Shima sensei, Fukasaku sensei… please."
"Alright, let's get this over with, ya fool!"
"Don't shout, old man, I'm right here!"
"…"
It was Sage Mode.
Not just any Sage Mode—but the perfected, fully modified Mount Myoboku Toad Sage Mode.
Jiraiya's body became veined with wild, nature born markings as powerful energy gathered around him. Two aged toad sages perched on his shoulders, their presence radiating ancient wisdom and overwhelming strength.
Minato stood in the doorway, watching expressionlessly as his mentor's transformation completed. The sight of Jiraiya's half toad features and stern, resolute expression caused Minato's lip to twitch faintly—an echo of emotion flickering behind the numbness.
The two sages soon noticed Minato and gasped in surprise.
"Minato? What're you doing here, brat? Did you make Jiraiya angry again?"
"Even if it's sparring, this is too much! Jiraiya, what's going on?"
"There's no time to explain!" Jiraiya barked, his tone heavy. "We need to stop Minato!"
After a brief explanation, Jiraiya looked at his apprentice with quiet sorrow. "Hey, Minato… if we're going to fight, let's find somewhere else. This is your home. You won't like what happens if we destroy it."
"It's fine, Master Jiraiya."
Minato chuckled softly, lifting his gaze. His sky blue eyes glowed faintly red beneath the shadows, filled with both pain and conviction.
"Use everything you have—your ninjutsu, your senjutsu. It doesn't matter anymore."
"…I see."
Jiraiya's heart tightened. The look in Minato's eyes was one he had seen only once before—in the mirror, during his own lowest moment.
Inhaling deeply, Jiraiya stomped hard on the soaked ground. The two sages instantly synchronized with him, their chakra merging in perfect harmony.
A whirl of elemental power erupted.
Fukasaku exhaled wind. Shima exhaled fire. Jiraiya spat a torrent of oil.
The three elements intertwined in midair—the wind fanned the flames, the fire ignited the oil, and the oil magnified the inferno. A torrent of blazing heat tore through the rainstorm, drying the air and forming a glowing tunnel of light that rushed toward Minato.
"Senjutsu: Goemon!"
"The goddess returns."
A whisper left Minato's lips as a long, narrow black rift opened silently in front of him. The fiery explosion was instantly devoured—swallowed by the void itself.
Then, a heartbeat later, the same inferno reappeared behind him—this time hurtling back toward Jiraiya with twice the force and speed.
Jiraiya's pupils constricted.
The Goemon he had just unleashed was returned to him flawlessly—every ounce of power intact, the attack now burning hotter than before.
"This is one of the techniques Brother Aizen created for me," Minato said softly, his voice devoid of warmth. "If it's only this level, you can't stop me, Master Jiraiya."
The rift behind him sealed itself as though it had never existed. Minato's eyes, cold and empty, locked onto Jiraiya. The markings of the Blut Vene began to creep across his skin, glowing faintly beneath the storm.
Dodging desperately, Jiraiya barely avoided his own reflected attack as the Goemon blast struck the ground behind him, leaving a vast, burning crater.
Before he could regain balance, Minato raised his hand—releasing a volley of dim, almost invisible chakra blades.
The air trembled.
Before Jiraiya could react, Minato's golden figure vanished into nothingness.
At a speed too fast for instinct to react, Minato appeared before Jiraiya—expressionless, silent. With a subtle flick of his wrist, the illusory chakra scalpel in his hand sliced through the air and pierced Jiraiya's left foot, nailing it firmly to the ground.
"Damnit!"
Jiraiya winced, glaring down at the faintly glowing blade embedded in his foot. But before he could grit his teeth and break free, the two sages on his shoulders shouted in alarm.
"Jiraiya! Behind you!"
"Brother Aizen once said something..." Minato's calm voice drifted through the storm. "He said that understanding means nothing to those consumed by hatred."
"Wha—"
Jiraiya's eyes widened. Minato—who had been right in front of him just a second ago—was now behind him, moving as if time itself had bent to his will. He caught the chakra blades he had thrown earlier and drove them through Jiraiya's body, piercing both hands and his remaining foot. In an instant, Jiraiya was pinned helplessly to the wet earth.
Minato's figure flickered back into view. The agony radiating from his limbs made Jiraiya's vision blur, but the pain in his body was nothing compared to what he felt when he looked up—and saw Minato's face.
Under the cold, black rain, Minato leaned over, his golden hair soaked and lifeless. He didn't even glance at the two toads struggling on Jiraiya's shoulders. Slowly, he raised the spectral blade again.
"Because only those who have felt hatred," Minato said quietly, "know how impossible it is to suppress it. Hatred… is stronger than love. It lasts longer, burns deeper, and cuts sharper than love ever could."
The words hung heavy in the storm.
When someone dies, the living replay their smiles, their voices, their faces—until memory itself begins to ache.
Minato remembered how he and Kakashi used to tease Aizen for his lectures. To them, Aizen's habit of speaking in riddles had always seemed overly dramatic.
Aizen would say things like "I'm only saying this because I care," or "It's for your own good," with that half smile of his, adjusting his glasses like a wise teacher pretending to scold.
Even Kakashi, usually so stoic, would smirk or laugh under his breath.
Aizen would then sigh, shake his head, and continue explaining—until the lesson inevitably became another heartfelt monologue about life, hatred, and human nature.
And yet, no matter how much they teased him, he always ended his lectures the same way:
"When the time comes, do what you believe is right. Don't live with regret. Don't hold back. Your life is your own—that's enough."
"…."
The memory shattered like glass, leaving only the roar of rain echoing in Minato's ears.
"I'm sorry, Master Jiraiya," Minato said after a long silence, lowering his arm. His voice was calm, almost gentle.
"But you have your path… and I have mine. I'm not a child anymore. I can't keep following you forever."
He looked down at his teacher—pinned, exhausted, drenched in the blood red reflection of the storm.
"I understand what you're trying to protect. You don't want Konoha to fall into chaos. But for me—and for those who believed in Brother Aizen—finding the truth is everything."
His tone hardened.
"Those who dare to kill the village elders… those who would murder him… they're no longer worthy of being called Konoha shinobi. They're parasites feeding on this village. The only cure… is death. Don't you agree?"
Jiraiya trembled, but it wasn't from pain. It was heartbreak.
"You… should also wake up, Master Jiraiya," Minato continued softly. "The prophecy you cling to—the Child of Prophecy—was never meant to be your illusion."
The rain fell harder, drowning his words into whispers.
Jiraiya's form began to blur, his body turning into white smoke that dissipated into the downpour. The clone vanished.
Fukasaku and Shima struggled against the invisible blades pinning them down, their croaking cries drowned by thunder. Minato didn't even spare them a glance. His expression remained lifeless, his blue eyes faintly glowing red beneath the shadow of the storm.
Jiraiya's true self, watching through his clone's fading vision, slowly closed his eyes.
"Minato…"
That once pure blue light—filled with hope, warmth, and the promise of tomorrow—had been drowned in blood and sorrow.
The boy he'd once called the Child of Prophecy was gone.
And as the black rain fell upon Konoha, Jiraiya finally understood—
The child he'd believed would save the world had chosen instead to burn with it.
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