The sight of the Rabbit-Mask Anbu returning with such severe injuries left the team that came to assist him in utter shock.
"I let my guard down for just a moment, and this is what happened," he explained, clutching the wound on his abdomen.
The injury was grave—if the shuriken that hit him had been any more powerful, it would have been the end of him. His explanation, however, was deliberately vague. After all, admitting he'd been beaten so badly by a mere Chūnin was too humiliating to bear.
"The mission failed?" asked the Fox-Mask Anbu in a low, calm voice.
The Rabbit-Mask Anbu gave a weak nod in response.
"What about the limited-edition manga? Did you manage to secure it?" the Monkey-Mask Anbu inquired with a curious gleam in his eyes.
The infamous Jiraiya, the collector of rare, risqué limited-edition works, was known for amassing manga from renowned authors. The curiosity about whether this particular item had been retrieved was practically burning through the group.
"You're not planning to keep it all to yourself, are you?" the Tiger-Mask Anbu added, his tone half-joking but with an edge of seriousness.
"You've got to be kidding me..." The Rabbit-Mask Anbu nearly choked on his own blood at their questions.
Couldn't they see the gaping wound on his abdomen? Couldn't they see the blood pouring out of him? Wasn't finding a medical-nin or rushing him to the hospital the most pressing matter right now?
Clenching his teeth in frustration, he croaked, "... can someone please call a medic? I'm barely hanging on here..."
"Relax," the Tiger-Mask Anbu reassured him, picking him up effortlessly. "As long as you don't try to hog the manga, we'll make sure you don't die."
The Rabbit-Mask Anbu felt his heart sink even further. Did they really value the manga more than his life? He wanted to speak up, to point out the absurdity of the situation, but he stopped himself. What if they nodded in agreement and confirmed his fears?
With teammates like these, he genuinely doubted he'd make it to the hospital alive.
"Don't worry," the Tiger-Mask Anbu added with a hint of sympathy. "We'll save you a copy. No need to cry about it."
He even reached out to wipe the tears from the injured man's eyes.
Elsewhere in the village, Jiraiya had just returned from a mission. As he passed through the streets of Konoha, he spotted Might Duy running laps around the village on his hands, radiating determination even in the dead of night.
"Absolutely cannot waste my youth!" Duy declared as he sped along, sweat pouring off his body like a waterfall.
Jiraiya considered for a moment whether to greet him but ultimately decided against it. Knowing Duy, even a short conversation would likely leave him brimming with even more hot-blooded resolve.
"Jiraiya! Burning the midnight oil, are we?" Duy's enthusiastic voice rang out, making escape impossible.
Jiraiya paused, his smile wry as he turned to greet his eccentric acquaintance.
"Duy-san, still training, I see. Last time, I invited you to dinner—don't tell me you've forgotten."
Duy's face lit up, though he quickly shook his head.
"I could never forget! It's just... I'm not worthy yet. Once I get stronger, I'll gladly accept your invitation."
"You don't have to be so formal. You're welcome at my place anytime. We're friends, aren't we?" Jiraiya's grin widened, his tone warm and reassuring.
Duy nodded firmly. "Thank you, Jiraiya. But for now, I must keep pushing myself! I can't waste this precious youth!"
Before Jiraiya could respond, Duy was off again, shouting something about running a hundred laps around the village on his hands.
Watching him go, Jiraiya chuckled to himself.
If only Boruto had half as much spirit as this guy.
Back at the Konoha Medical Hospital, the Rabbit-Mask Anbu lay recovering in a private room.
"You failed such a simple mission and got yourself this badly injured? Pathetic," barked Danzo, his lone visible eye glaring down at the injured man.
"Danzo-sama, I accept full responsibility for my failure and am prepared to face any punishment," the Rabbit-Mask Anbu said, kneeling despite his injuries.
Danzo's gaze hardened. "Explain. Why did the mission fail?"
"Danzo-sama, it was Jiraiya," the Anbu admitted with a bitter expression. "He used a Wind Release: Wind Web Jutsu. It completely nullified my stealth technique."
His voice was filled with disbelief. He had spent five years perfecting his Hiding with Camouflage Technique, a technique capable of evading even the sharpest sensory ninja. It had earned him his rank as a Tokubetsu Jōnin and a place in the Anbu. It was his pride and joy—a technique that had even helped him win the heart of a beautiful widow.
But against Jiraiya's basic jutsu, it had crumbled like paper.
"Interesting," Danzo muttered, his expression thoughtful. "Could it be that he possesses a rare bloodline that enhances his jutsu?"
"Danzo-sama, as far as I know, neither Jiraiya's parents nor his clan has any such bloodline. Unless..." The Rabbit-Mask Anbu hesitated. "Unless his mother was unfaithful."
Danzo's brow twitched. "I knew his mother. She was an exemplary shinobi, not someone who'd disgrace her family. Don't assume everyone shares your wife's... hospitality."
The room fell silent, save for the quiet grinding of Danzo's teeth.
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