The weight of the small, cloth pouch Jiraiya tossed him felt alien. Not the familiar heft of tools or weapons, but the dense, metallic clink of << Ryo: 1,200 >>. Kaito stared at the coins spilling into his palm – more tangible wealth than he'd ever held in the game. Aiko's rent. Food. Security. Relief warred with a deeper, gnawing unease.
"You broker takes a hefty cut," Jiraiya grunted, leaning against a steaming rock near the secluded hot spring where the exchange had occurred. The broker, a nondescript man with eyes that missed nothing, had melted back into the forest shadows moments before. "But it's clean. Untraceable. The moss was high quality. He'll want more."
Kaito carefully stored the Ryo, the coins cool against his skin. "Thank you, Jiraiya-sama. This... it means everything." He meant it. But the gratitude was tinged with suspicion, sharpened by the events of the past day.
Jiraiya hadn't just facilitated the sale; he'd turned it into another brutal lesson. Before the meeting, he'd forced Kaito to lie motionless for hours in a freezing stream bed, submerged under a thin layer of murky water and debris, suppressing his chakra signature to near nothingness. << Chakra Suppression Technique (Rank F) >>. He'd observed the broker's arrival from mere meters away, unseen, while Jiraiya conducted the exchange. The Sannin hadn't just taught him how to be unseen; he'd demonstrated the why – the broker moved with the wary precision of someone constantly hunted, his eyes scanning the tree line, his chakra subtly coiled for flight. Jiraiya had pointed out the minute tells – the slight shift in weight before the broker glanced at a specific bush, the almost imperceptible ripple in his chakra when a bird took flight unexpectedly. << Sensor Detection Awareness >>.
Why? The question hammered in Kaito's skull louder than the mountain wind. Why go to such lengths? Why risk using his own network for a nobody rogue's paltry moss money? Why teach him sensor evasion – a skill far beyond basic survival? Why endure the agonizing Foundations of Fusion training, the near-death experiences, the sheer time invested?
The pieces didn't fit. Jiraiya was a legend, a cornerstone of Konoha, perpetually embroiled in world-shaking events. Training a rogue, even one with unusual potential, felt... disproportionate. Especially one branded a missing-nin. Konoha's rules were absolute. Jiraiya bending them this far, this consistently, hinted at motives far deeper than capricious mentorship or a passing investment.
The unease festered as they trekked back towards their higher camp. Kaito replayed every interaction: the initial rescue, the brutal taijutsu, the Fuinjutsu fragments, the Void Step refinement, the nature chakra guidance, the Salamander test, summoning Gamakichi, the Senju revelations, the moss harvest intervention, the broker... Each step felt calculated, pushing him relentlessly down a path Jiraiya had meticulously charted. He was being forged, not just trained.
They stopped to rest on a high outcrop overlooking a vast, mist-shrouded valley. The silence stretched, thick with Kaito's unspoken question. Jiraiya seemed content to watch the clouds, but Kaito couldn't hold it back any longer.
"Jiraiya-sama," Kaito began, his voice tight. "Why are you doing this?"
Jiraiya didn't turn, his gaze fixed on the distant peaks. "Doing what, brat? Keeping you alive? Call it professional curiosity."
"No." Kaito stepped closer, his desperation for answers overriding caution. "Not just keeping me alive. Training me. Investing... everything. Your time. Your knowledge. Your... network." He gestured vaguely towards the direction of the hot springs. "You used a discreet broker, someone clearly connected to your intelligence operations, for moss money. You teach me sensor evasion worthy of an infiltration specialist. You push my control to the brink for Sage principles I can't possibly use for years. You don't just want me alive; you're building something... specific."
He took a deep breath, the cold air sharp in his lungs. "Konoha hunts missing-nin. You are Konoha. Yet you pour resources into one. It doesn't add up. What am I really to you? What do you actually expect to get out of this... investment?"
Jiraiya finally turned. His expression wasn't angry or offended, but weary. Profoundly weary, and etched with a gravity Kaito had only glimpsed before. The usual gruffness was stripped away.
"Hmph. Finally asking the right questions, Shade." He leaned back against the rock, his gaze sweeping the vast landscape, as if searching for unseen threats. "You're right. It doesn't add up. Not by Konoha's standard playbook." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "The world is changing, Kaito. Faster than the villages want to admit. Shadows are lengthening. Things stir in the dark corners that make territorial salamanders look like playful puppies. Old monsters waking up. New ones being born in labs fueled by greed and desperation."
He looked directly at Kaito, his eyes like flint. "Konoha has its strength. Its heroes. But heroes play by rules. They have villages to protect, councils to appease, politics that tie their hands. They shine bright lights... but some threats thrive only in the deepest shadows. Threats that conventional shinobi, bound by loyalty and protocol, cannot touch. Cannot even see until it's too late."
He pointed a thick finger at Kaito. "You are not bound. You are not loyal to a village banner. You are not known. You are a ghost, Shade. A ghost with Senju blood whispering secrets to the earth, Namikaze reflexes seeing the world a fraction ahead, a Void Step that lets you dance where others can't tread, and a mind that sees Fuinjutsu not as tradition, but as a weaponized puzzle. You walk the razor's edge between light and dark because you have no other path."
Jiraiya's voice dropped, low and intense. "What do I get? I get a blade forged in the wilderness, honed for the shadows. A tool that can go where Konoha's bright lights cannot, see what its loyal hounds might miss, and strike at what its heroes are forbidden to touch. A contingency plan. A... failsafe." He met Kaito's stunned gaze. "The investment is high, yes. The risk is catastrophic. If you break, if you fall to the darkness, if your cracked vessel shatters... you could become a weapon pointed at everything I protect. But the alternative..." He shook his head, a grim finality in the gesture. "...the alternative is watching the fire spread because no one was willing to dirty their hands in the ash before it ignited."
He straightened, the weariness replaced by his familiar, gruff command. "So yes, I train you. I push you. I use my network for your moss money because I need you focused, not starving. I teach you sensor evasion because ghosts need to be unseen. I build the foundations for Sage Mode because the threats I sense might demand power only a Sage can face... eventually." He fixed Kaito with a hard stare. "You asked what you are to me? You are a gamble, Shade. A high-stakes roll of the dice on a future I desperately hope we can avoid, but fear we cannot. Now, stop wasting time doubting and start earning that investment. Level 40 isn't going to reach itself, and the shadows aren't getting any shorter."
Jiraiya turned and started back down the path, leaving Kaito standing on the windswept outcrop, the weight of the Ryo pouch suddenly insignificant compared to the crushing weight of the Sannin's words. He wasn't just a student. He wasn't just an investment. He was a weapon being forged for a hidden war, a ghost groomed to walk paths too dark for heroes. The mountain wasn't just his training ground; it was his anvil. And Jiraiya, the legendary Sannin, was the smith betting the world on a cracked blade.
The path to Level 40 stretched before him, longer and far more perilous than he'd ever imagined. He looked down at his hands – the hands that harvested moss and carved seals. Hands that might one day hold the fate of nations in the shadows. He took a deep breath of the thin, cold air, the resolve hardening in his core, colder than the mountain stone. For Aiko. For survival. And now, perhaps, for a future only a ghost could secure. He followed Jiraiya down the path, the question answered, replaced by a burden heavier than any mountain.