Diamond
There are things no one says in Konoha.
There are things kept between Tsunade and Jiraiya and Orochimaru and Hiruzen. Because one of them is dead and three others wasted, no one mentioned details of a corpse’ plan.
People like the three Sennin were never invited allowed to stay.
Hiruzen was taught by the Nidaime who was taught by the Shodaime that “Those who are far too strong can not be kept in cages.” so when Hiruzen’ three little genin passed with flying colours and genius that surpassed all predecessors, so when they returned from the wars with perfect limbs and smiles and hearts that can love, he sent them away. He knew the potential, the threat of his greatest killers.
When poor, helpless Orochimaru begged him to let the boy stay because, “Sensei I am no-one out there, I am nothing and nobody enough to survive where the enemies sleep.” The boy was fourteen, fresh from the war and beaten to a pulp.
Five of his comrades from the squadron died as he crawled into the mud for camouflage. He had torn fingernails and burnt ankles and ash-contoured face that dirtied his usual cream garments. The small basement he lived in was filled with science textbooks and speculations that went far beyond the newest technologies. Orochimaru had the kind of morbid curiosity that the Senju girl avoided and the white haired boy completely lacked.
The snake so fearsome then was just a boy with a given set of knives and too many wonders.
When poor, helpless Orochimaru begged, Hiruzen told him how to unlock the power to cheat death. Gave the boy-turned-corpse children, so many children, and told him to make things out of it. Told him to try the experiments, see how well his viruses and antidotes developed.
What the man who wore the hat didn’t see coming was how well the psychopath thrived when given dead bodies. Hiruzen had many people and clans and prisoners of war that he wanted to get rid of. So he always employed his loyal student. The amber eyed child was smart, not smart enough to go mad, the old man thought. He's got a kind heart, he's expendable. Like everyone else here.
Several years later, the Third Hokage would stage a meticulous plan to catch the Immortality Chaser within the confines of his permitted illegal lab. The bitter scientistmurderergeniuspsychopath would flee the scene in anger and hatred. He left his life work of inventions and the hundred of medicinal recipes in a ditch where his first pet snake died.
Orochimaru was never a kind man, but he was never given the choice to be one, either.
When pretty, pathetic Tsunade begged him after the tragedy on her brother’s missions because “He deserves to have a stone in the Konoha Cemetery, he deserves to be a named hero, sensei.” The girl was only fifteen, fingers wrinkled from the rain and tears, face buried into the hands that squeezed a black-stringed necklace her teammate returned to her.
There was no accident for a genin team, least of all one that killed every member.
But there were no files that said ‘The Case of Senju Nawaki’. The same goes for Kato Dan. They were killed by mercenaries and coincidentally placed bombs. The Sandaime never gave order to investigate these deaths.
(Nawaki would have been a Senju patriarch. Dan would have been on par with his three students. That was too difficult to deal with. They needed to be pluck early from the tree so the roots could pierce more soil.)
When pretty, pathetic Tsunade begged him, Hiruzen knew his young kunoichi was the only one sensible enough to understand, so he told Shizune to tell her to go because perhaps that was how a woman’ heart heal. Drink the nights away, the card games and bets and gambles and fumes would have hid her mind from things like politics and wars. She was made for the domestics, anyway.
Shizune did as told and Sandaime happily waved the two goodbye. Those girls were too hard to chain in a world of men, he reasoned. They were too phenomenal, he couldn't have it.
They left, both knowing Konohagakure wasn’t a place where love was for free.
When foolish, passionate Jiraiya begged him to let him stay in ANBU because, ”All I can do for the village is violence and such. Sensei, please, you can not force me to pick up the brush and the ink, the Uzumaki blood does not run in my veins.” He was eighteen, bright for his age, always the sun—too warm it was burning, too shiny it blinded. It was his sheer determination that proved fatal to the fate of the village. He did not stop and did not want to stop.
He knew blood better than sentences but his father figure sensei said he could be a poet, so he did. Jiraiya didn't have much time to question it when his Summons said he was worthy a Sage. He chased this power and for a moment, he saw his team mates' reasons to why they had left much earlier than him.
The Sage went to all the lands that rolled out into the horizon, maps not yet to be graphed were his sanctuary. He allowed himself the mortal pleasures when Hiruzen said he needed something else to express his power. He went to brothels and wrote books about these late night rendezvous.
When foolish, passionate Jiraiya begged him, Hiruzen hushed him and gave him secrets to hold and told him to hide because he knew too much. Told him to be a spy, master it, be a man that sees the corners of the world, be the Sage that people respect. Because out there, Jiraiya would get to show off his brilliance and have people fear him for he was not their ally.
The white haired shinobi left with a purpose and a mission that never ended.
“What’s that, what’s that? Look, Ero-sennin” The ocean blue eyed boy asked, hand pointing to the delivery bird that circled the sky. He squinted his eyes and raised his palm over his forehead to better see the feathery creature against the scorching sun of Wind.
Jiraiya titled his head up and he studied the bird slowly before putting up his forearm for a landing. It was a brown hawk, a standard Konoha messenger. There was a tiny capsule the size of a ring finger. He snatched it before the blond boy could even process what was attached to the claws.
Naruto’ head bobbed up and down, sweat dripping from his brows as he tried to move around at an angle to be able to view whatever was written in the rolled up parchment. “Eeeh? What does that say? Is it from Konoha?”
“Not something for brats.” The old shinobi smirked, unrolling the paper with one hand. He scanned it briefly, his face betrayed no emotion, then he performed a D-rank katon to burn it. “Come on Naruto! Move your butt!” Jiraiya walked faster, channelling chakra onto his heels as the Uzumaki stumbled to catch up.
“Hey what’s that about? Are we being chased? Aaahh! Something exciting is finally happening!”
“Too many questions doesn’t make a man wise. We just need to speed things up.” His face was more grimed but still displayed a tinge of immature tendencies.
Naruto weakly protested before sprinting at his top speed to scream into his master’ ears.
The wind stilled.
[The Alliance meets next month.
Iron.
No aggression.
Stay put.
Hide Jinchuuriki.
Keep away.]
Jiraiya, as usual, was lurking in the bamboo bushes around an onsen, pinpointed by her trained chakra detection. It was rather a perverting type of sexual harassment, not that the other ones were any better, something Sakura had learnt directly from her Shishou. She understood why the Godaime, even though fond, was avoiding public confrontations with the Sage. It was a massive shame to the face of the village when one of their Sennin went peeking around as a side hobby from writing the infamous 18+ IchaIcha series.
“Jiraiya.”
It didn’t take more than just his name rolling off her tongue for a kunai to be pressed against her neck and a glare down her face. His skill was above jounin, and it showed.
The personality change gave her a swirl. This was Jiraiya, the Sage, not Jiraiya the unadulterated, shameless harasser. She preferred this one more.
“Who may you be, little one?” His voice was stern and she slipped from under him to the other side of the space, both arms raised to imply her intention, meaning no harm. “You have thirty seconds to explain yourself, not only henge, but it seems you took a voice altering seal too,” Her dyed hair, adjusted vocal and false costume taken from the human trafficker could only get her so far. Taniguro’ provisions won’t last forever.
“Your skills are sharp even in old age,” That was not an amicable remark but there was no indication of condescension in her tone. He inched closer as she took a step back, not out of fear but assessment. “Who I am is of no importance. I’ve come to strike a deal and you could even get my name if you do as I ask.”
“Twenty seconds.”
“Okay, alright. I don’t want to get hit by a rasengan. You may refer to me as The Medic. I serve under an organisation you may be familiar with.”
“Fifteen. You aren’t Akatsuki.” He stated confidently, eyes searching and chakra flared to assess her own repressed one, “Or, I have never heard of you.” He amended.
“You will, spymaster.” She smiled coyly. The news of Haruno Sakura’s disappearance definitely had not made it to him. She didn’t know if this past Sakura had left yet. She was all a stranger he never knew, her almost complete Dark Chakra seal dyed her a different colour, bathed it in another smell. She no longer felt like Haruno Sakura to the sensors.
She took a folded piece of paper and threw it at him. “Will this be enough?”
He opened it cautiously, already scanned it before touching for any hidden seals woven into the small note. There was a slight shiver in his eyes, a passing ghost too fast to catch. Maybe it was sudden recognition, or shock that a memory came alive on a parchment delivered by someone he did not know. “Where did you–”
The girl grinned, “You know where.”
“Impossible. He did not send you here.” The conviction was too stupid for a seasoned shinobi. But Jiraiya knew his students. He did not repeat his point—the Sage did not live in denial, his place was in enlightenment and acceptance, always. No children can muddy the waters.
“He didn’t, you’re right.” She applauded in mock ovation, “He just wanted to help me convince you.”
The air was tight, she was glad Naruto wasn’t here—tucked in soft covers and thick futon sleeping it away in the middle of the day—because he would have suffocated under this tension. He would be too young to understand the undertones of life. Sakura hoped he get to keep that mindset for a while longer.
The young Akatsuki knew she was fast enough to reach her kunai when the situation called but not faster than before her stomach would disintegrate into pure matter. A wolf was not faster than the wind.
The Toad Sage had forty years of field experience, he lived through two Great Shinobi Wars and came out undead, with fame as a Konoha Sannin.
In contrast, Sakura had less than five years of professional career, grew up in relative peacetime and was merely a footnote in Konoha's glory. They were both a genius of some kind, excellent at improvisation and battle strategy, yet one was celebrated in history pages while the other read about it. Sakura chose her battles wisely.
“I have a seal and would appreciate a little help.” The black haired girl smiled, taking out her notebook and turning to the page where her copy of the shrine seal was, holding it up to his eye level. “Do you have any ideas on how to break this?”
He came closer, still vigilant about each move made from the supposed missing-nin.
He was curious and knew he had the upper hand in a battle if one broke out. Jiraiya had seen and been in enough traps to detect when one is activated. The middle-aged man settled to pretend to help. “I’ve seen that before…somewhere.” He scrunched his face and racked his memory. “If I have then it must be very long ago. I would have taken note of such intricate design.” Before he was eighteen and immersed in the unfamiliar world of literature and the arts of fuuinjutsu introduced by his sensei. “Where did you get this from?”
“Here and there.” She waved her forearm. He didn’t buy it. “Just know this is personal. It has no political effects, this deal is between us only. You crack me the seal, I give you something in return.”
“What do I need that you could give, Medic?” He waited.
“I’ll be replaced soon.” (by Konoha, because he too, was replaced) “But before I reach that event in time, I can rearrange yours, give you time to be in allegiance with your dear village,” Give him a chance to not be dead, to stay away from the grip of time because she had plenty of it under her feet. Give him a chance to see the end of the game.
He studied her, the lines of shadows that fell on her cheekbones, the wrongness of the girl’s appearance and so many ways that she made nothing make sense. He had heard a few prophecies in his lifetime, but if there was one the orphaned child he took in had heard and he hadn’t, it must have concerned her.
He didn’t seem to be preparing himself for an answer, so she spoke again, “I can deliver you things to both of your old teammates, a messenger of sorts, since you three are physically incapable of a reunion.”
These were not light words. Jiraiya, though on papers marked permanently AWOL, a special case, still works under the military system of Konohagakure and served her like a loyal compatriot despite evidence otherwise stating his status as an “ally of the Leaf” and not “Shinobi of the Leaf”.
Tsunade, as a Hokage, was more involved in both of her ex-team mates' businesses than they were in hers. She, similarly, was under the same category as Jiraiya, but appealed by the High Elders Council in order for her to reintegrate back into the ranks as the leader of the village. The nature of their relationship was observed to be more of political beneficents than old confidants.
This, coupled with Orochimaru, the pioneer criminal who actively worked against both of them result in a complicated issue, unravelling more misplaced anger than necessary. Sakura was the perfect person to play messenger boy. She won’t come in contact with the Godaime personally for now, with obvious reasons, but the woman would know through her travelling friend.
“You are aware you have promised me the impossible?” His eyes looked at her behind half lids, following her pacing as she smirked it off.
“How many things do you want to say? I can deliver things to your Uzumaki boy too, if you wanted.” She wasn’t referring to the Yellow Flash’ son, no, she was referring to the boy who he left with the knowledge the kid will be fine. Who he believed in wholeheartedly. Who was one of his first students, his first experience of having a child's beating heart and dreams and hope in his palms and ruffle the red hair the same affectionate way Tsunade did to Nawaki’ head.
Nagato was the boy who he saw purple ringed eyes in, who he trusted would usher the world into arms of peace. The reason he changed his mind and taught the three orphans who were "better off dead" ninjutsu. It was proven to cause more harm than good. Jiraiya didn’t know when to earn up his mistakes.
“Hawks play messengers, vultures play gormandizers. Your words hold no weight, little sparrow.”
She was fed up with it, catching herself mid-thought when she was about to attempt a C-rank genjutsu on him. As thrilling as a challenge it would be, it won’t leave her any good impressions. “Do me a favour, old man, and help me break the seal. All in favour of Konoha’ eternal glory, all in colours of their people's bodies, am I right?” The old nursery rhyme with layers of patriotism was in Jiraiya’ time, not hers, in the first thirty years of the village founding where the love of one’ nation was put above anything else.
“...I do not trust you.” He stated, as expected. “But consider it a one time deal. You give this to Nagato and when I get his reply, I’ll tell you how to solve this.”
The note he gave her was folded in a similar fashion, sealed with a series of hand movements with the speed of Kakashi implementing signs on his copying jutsu. “It explodes when the incorrect recipient opens it.” The man warned.
“Duly noted.” Sakura’ lips drew into a sarcastic upturn line. “I’ll track you down later.”
He shifted weight on his legs and folded his arms but did not move from where he was. Jiraiya sighed deeply, waving her off, “I don’t have more time for you.”
Before disappearing, she chastised over her shoulders, “Keep the Jinchuuriki alive and don’t taint him with your perverted habits, that’s your job after all.”
[Uchiha Madara] was scribbled out on the list in fast, bold strokes, “I’ve heard of him in passing. He was in the time of the Shodaime Hokage.”
“What about him?” Nagato asked. His legacy was not unheard of. Madara’s reputation exceeded himself across the Elemental Nations. The contrast can be seen for Konoha, where his name was crossed and bloodline massacred. He was the example of madness, the very essence of it, serving his hunger, his greed so it could let him be the greatest one ever could. Fists raised to the face of the great Senju, eyes spun of terrible omen and feet crushing villages as he walked.
So what about a dead man who died in a valley almost a century ago? What about?
“He’s…apparently alive. I am assuming his plan, or whoever revived him, had been in action for a long while if he’s declaring war. He doesn’t strike me as an impulsive war wager, looking at history.” The books might have painted him inhumane, but never stupid. His wars were always with a cause, no matter how unethical the intention.
The Akatsuki Leader had a mildly incredulous expression, pinched brows and lips tilted by the corners. His face was much more coloured than the last time she saw him, heaving on tubes and lines. Unpleasant surprise etched on his complexions.
“Impossible.” He whispered, almost too low for her to hear, “No. No it isn’t,” Nagato corrected himself immediately and went on about his conclusions, “if Hiraishin is a form of teleportation, time manipulation is completely plausible as time and space share a close relationship. By that logic, if Edo Tensei had been successfully achieved, then the dead could rise.”
Sakura did not stop penning the rest of her list. [Jiraiya — to crack the seal and probably ensure his survival] “Two Sannin died, you didn’t tell me the specifics. We can only treat them as if all of them are dead.”
“The Toad Sage was never meant to be immortal.” Nagato spoke, voice sharp, about his former mentor. “Slug beats Snakes. But if Konoha has yet to fall, either she has been replaced by a more effective leadership or she would be the last Sennin alive.”
The kunoichi removed herself from the stone table, considering the closure of the discussion. “I have things to do.” There were pills she needed to make.
Alas, she wasn't very productive cooped up in a lair at the sensitive time when her identity must stay as secretive as possible. She couldn’t make too many moves on the board; it would mess things up.
With only one man who knew of her existence, Sakura was justly frustrated. He, while providing great leadership, was not a conversationalist. Any of his subordinates would do the job better than him, which says a lot. There were no small polite talks, all she could bring up to his attention was serious matters and plans and reports.
She started to miss the chaos of all the teams she ever felt like she marginally belonged to.
What’s a girl to do? Dive into her old experimentation hobby, of course.
“Also, he gave you this,” She handed over the paper from Jiraiya. “Give me the reply when you can, he’s more paranoid than I thought.”
The Uzumaki watched her shunshin and made no comment, sitting back down to look over the piece of paper in his hands.
He reached for his quill, “Oh how you vilify stars like a nihilist, Jiraiya.”
[Is it still ‘Growing Up’?// Do you trust her?]
[Yuya no Hoshi, sensei // I vouch for the girl]