The mountain air held a brittle stillness after Gamakichi's departure. Kaito sat on a sun-warmed rock, meticulously cleaning a shallow gash on his forearm – a parting gift from a splintered wooden shield. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind the deep ache of exertion and the hum of his recent Level Up. << Shade: Level 5 >> The stats – VIT, CC, INT – felt solid, tangible reinforcements to his battered frame and churning mind. The << Void Step Cooldown: 20s >> was a lifeline. But the new skill, << Tactical Fuinjutsu (Rank F) >>, resonated most deeply. It wasn't just ink and wood; it was the crystallization of his survival strategy.
Jiraiya leaned against a nearby boulder, observing him with that unnerving, appraising silence that had replaced much of his bluster. He hadn't offered praise beyond the acknowledgment of survival, but the lack of criticism felt heavier than any compliment.
Kaito finished bandaging his arm, the rough cloth a stark contrast to the intricate seals he'd been carving just hours before. He looked up, meeting Jiraiya's gaze. The question had simmered since the seed, since the salamander, since Gamakichi. It boiled over now, fueled by exhaustion, lingering pain, and the sheer improbability of his situation.
"Why?" Kaito's voice was rough but clear, cutting through the quiet. "Why are you doing this?"
Jiraiya raised a bushy white eyebrow. "Doing what, brat? Keeping you from becoming salamander snacks or toad paste? Call it professional courtesy."
"No." Kaito pushed himself straighter, ignoring the protest of bruised ribs. "Why are you training me? Really training me. Not just keeping me alive long enough to dump me somewhere, but… this." He gestured around them – to the scorch marks from crude explosive tags, the gouges in the earth from taijutsu drills, the faint glyphs still visible in the dirt. "You push me harder than any Konoha sensei would push a genin. You give me fragments of knowledge, even dangerous ones like the Temporal Binding Seal. You force me to integrate skills that scream 'rogue', not 'loyal soldier'. What do you get out of it?"
He let the implication hang. A legendary Sannin, spymaster, and one of Konoha's strongest pillars, spending months in the wilderness on a rogue missing-nin with a death sentence hanging over him? It made no sense. Kaito had nothing to offer. No wealth, no secrets Jiraiya couldn't uncover himself, no political leverage. He was a liability wrapped in Senju heritage and Namikaze reflexes.
Jiraiya's expression didn't change, but his eyes grew distant, looking past Kaito towards the towering peaks. The silence stretched, filled only by the sigh of the wind through the pines.
"Strength," Jiraiya finally rumbled, the word heavy. "It has… tiers. Plateaus. You feel it, don't you? That sense of weight, of presence? That approximation of power?"
Kaito stiffened. He'd never explicitly mentioned his Gamer Interface to Jiraiya, though the Sannin's uncanny insights had likely pieced together something was different. "I… sense levels. Rough estimates. Yes." He hesitated, then the crucial question spilled out. "But how do you know about levels? How do you know about... EXP?" The concept felt alien, tied intrinsically to his own unique perception.
Jiraiya chuckled, a low, rasping sound. "EXP? A gamer term, brat? Hah. Shows your generation. Shinobi have known the principles since the Sage's time, even if we don't call it that." He leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. "Decades of war, espionage, training prodigies and fighting monsters… you see the patterns. You see how power clusters. How growth staggers. How killing a strong foe grants a surge, a leap forward – that's undeniable. But you also see how understanding a complex seal, achieving a breakthrough in control after weeks of grinding, surviving an impossible fight through wit… that forges something deeper, more lasting. That's the real growth. The sustainable path. The mountain teaches it plainly."
He started sketching rough figures in the dirt with a stick, his voice adopting the tone of a seasoned instructor categorizing observable reality:
Level 10: "Genin. Solid basics. Can handle D-ranks, maybe low C. Knows enough not to die immediately to bandits."
Level 20: "Chunin. Reliable. Leads squads, handles B-ranks. Gamakichi's weight class. Village backbone."
Level 30: "Special Jonin. Masters of one lane – tracking, infiltration, a specific combat art. Powerful, but narrow focus."
Level 40: "Jonin. True masters. Multiple disciplines, A-rank threats, command respect. The elite guard. Climbing beyond 40 is a slog few manage."
Level 50: "Elite Jonin. Kage candidates. Kakashi of the Sharingan before his upgrades. Each point past 50 is a world of difference."
Level 65: "Kage. Hiruzen Sarutobi in his prime. A, the Fourth Raikage. Peak of conventional power."
Level 80: "Super Kage. Hashirama Senju. Madara Uchiha. Legends who fought valleys, not skirmishes."
Level 90: "Sage of Six Paths. The progenitor. Myth given form."
Level 100: "The Peak. The Absolute. Theoretical."
He stabbed the stick into the dirt at 'Level 50'. "Getting here? It's a wall. Talent, resources, grinding against worthy challenges – all are needed. Killing strong foes gives a surge, yes. A shortcut. But it's messy. Attracts attention. Eventually, you run out of foes you can kill without dying. A fool's path for true ascension." He pointed at Kaito. "You? Washed up barely Level 3. A cracked cup."
Kaito absorbed this. Jiraiya didn't see numbers, not like he did. He saw tiers, observable plateaus of power honed through a lifetime of experience. His "EXP" was the tangible, measurable result of overcoming adversity, gaining insight, and pushing limits – concepts any seasoned shinobi understood, even without a system interface. It was a relief, yet underscored the Sannin's terrifying perceptiveness.
"Reaching Level 5 here?" Jiraiya continued. "It's the integration. Making perception, step, seal, wood – those fragments – work together. That's the exponential growth. Not a bigger stick, but using every stick, stone, and trick perfectly. Surviving my training? Constant grinding EXP. Mastering a new seal application? Breakthrough EXP. Tactical insight against Gamakichi? Massive EXP. The mountain rewards overcoming its spirit intelligently. That's the foundation. The only path to maybe climb beyond Level 50."
Jiraiya leaned back, his gaze turning intense, pinning Kaito. "Now, your 'why'? The world is changing, brat. Shadows deeper than mine are moving. Monsters worse than summon toads stir. Konoha has heroes. Heroes play by rules. Protect villages. Navigate politics." He paused, a flicker of complex emotion – love, frustration, duty – crossing his face. "Sometimes… you need a wild card. A shinobi walking the razor's edge, using every dirty trick, every forbidden scrap, not for power, but because the alternative is oblivion for everyone."
He pointed a thick finger at Kaito. "You are that wild card. Cracked vessel, Senju blood singing to the trees, Namikaze reflexes seeing the future heartbeat, Void Step dancing on death's edge, a brain weaponizing Fuinjutsu. You're an investment, Shade. Dangerous. Catastrophic if flawed. But the potential return…" His voice dropped, low and deadly serious. "...might just save everyone. Including Konoha. Even if they never know your name."
The words hung, heavy with implication and cold purpose. Jiraiya wasn't training him out of kindness. He was forging a contingency plan, a hidden blade for threats beyond conventional heroes. It was terrifying. But brutally honest.
Kaito absorbed it. The weight of expectation. The burden of being an 'investment'. But also… a stark purpose. He wasn't just surviving. He was being shaped for something larger. A path drenched in shadow, but undeniably his.
Days turned into focused routine. The revelation didn't ease the brutality, but added grim determination. Kaito pushed. His << CC: 10 >> felt like tempered steel. His << Stamina: 90 >> allowed longer sessions. His << INT: 6 >> devoured Fuinjutsu and tactics.
One crisp morning, after Void Step chains and carving Disruption Glyphs onto Saisei-wood tokens, Kaito meditated. Saisei pulsed in his lap. He felt… solid. The Cracked Vessel ached, but the walls felt thicker.
Nature chakra hummed, louder thanks to Saisei. He remembered the petrification. Jiraiya's warning. But also the words about foundations.
Just one thread. Hold it. Prove the cup holds a thimbleful.
He reached out, inviting. A single, hair-thin strand responded. He guided it just within his pathways, held separate by << CC: 10 >>.
It touched the boundary.
Rigidity shot through his fingertips. A tremor. But the walls held. He felt the captured lightning buzz, contained. He held it. Not blending. Just containing.
<< Nature Chakra Gathering (Proficient) >>
Thirty seconds. A minute. Strain threatened the dam, but the dam held. He released the strand. Sweat beaded his brow, fingers flexed normally. No stone. Only a resonant hum of power briefly caged.
A shadow fell. Jiraiya stood watching. No anger. A slow, measured nod. A flicker of approval.
"Hmph." Jiraiya grunted. "Teacup held a thimbleful. Don't get cocky." He stepped closer, expression solemn. "Holding one thread sitting still is child's play. Holding hundreds while fighting, bleeding, channeling jutsu… that's Sage Mode. But…" He met Kaito's eyes. "...you're ready to learn how to build the barrel."
Kaito's breath caught. The barrel. The container for safe blending.
Jiraiya knelt, tracing a complex spiral in the dirt. "First step. Preliminary chakra circulation. Not for blending. For preparing the pathways. Resonating with the possibility." His voice was grave. "Agonizing. Control so perfect it feels like carving your bones with chakra. One lapse…" The warning hung. "...and the thimble becomes a tsunami in a glass jar. Ready?"
Kaito looked at the pattern. Felt its complexity resonate with his Fuinjutsu mind, sensed the terrifying strain. Looked at Saisei, his hands, Jiraiya. The precipice. The path demanded this foundation.
He centered his << CC: 10 >>, felt the strength of Level 5. "Ready."
He began. Forcing chakra along the torturous pathways. Molten lead through frozen capillaries. Agony lanced through his network – a searing, forging fire. Perception narrowed to the agonizing dance of energy. Purification by fire. << New Quest: Foundations of Fusion >>
The mountain watched. The Sannin watched. Kaito, the cracked vessel, the investment, the wild card, endured the first steps towards becoming more. The impossible path to Sagehood had truly begun.