"Old lady, what did you just say?" Elder Fukasaku froze. "The Great Elder has awakened?"
Then he immediately frowned. "At the very least, show some respect when you speak about him."
"What’s the problem?" Elder Shima waved it off. "He’s just a doddering old frog."
Fukasaku twitched at the corner of his mouth and wisely chose not to pursue the argument.
"Are you planning to take little Tōma to see him?" Shima asked.
"Of course." Fukasaku nodded.
The odds were slim, but he wanted to try. If there was even a chance that Fujimoto Tōma matched the prophecy of the Child of Destiny, he had to know. Too many conditions lined up. And after three years of watching Tōma grow, Fukasaku was convinced of one thing: no one he had ever seen possessed talent this balanced and terrifying. Others might surpass him in a single field, but overall? Tōma stood alone.
"The Great Toad Sage..." Tōma murmured, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
Since arriving at Mount Myōboku, this was the only toad he hadn’t met. A being older than the Sage of Six Paths himself. If anyone could glimpse something unusual about his existence, it would be this one.
"Come with me," Fukasaku said gravely.
They stopped before an enormous set of ancient doors. With effort, Fukasaku pushed them open, revealing a vast, echoing hall. Upon a towering throne sat a colossal, ancient toad, its body massive and timeworn.
"Great Elder," Fukasaku called out respectfully. "I am Fukasaku. I’ve brought my disciple’s student to see you."
"...Who’s there?" the Great Toad Sage asked, his eyes barely open.
Fukasaku sighed internally. "It’s me, Fukasaku. I brought Jiraiya’s disciple."
"...Who’s Jiraiya?" the Great Toad Sage muttered.
Silence fell.
Shima finally snapped. "You senile old frog! Jiraiya is the one you gave a prophecy to!"
"Oh... that Jiraiya..." the Great Toad Sage murmured. He squinted. "But Jiraiya isn’t here."
"It’s not Jiraiya!" Shima barked. "It’s his disciple! Fujimoto Tōma!"
At last, the Great Toad Sage’s gaze drifted to Tōma.
For a brief moment, his eyes opened wider.
"...You shouldn’t be alive."
The air froze.
Tōma, Fukasaku, and Shima all stiffened.
"What nonsense are you spouting?!" Shima exploded. "He’s standing right there!"
"Oh... so he’s alive," the Great Toad Sage muttered, already sounding drowsy again.
And then he fell asleep.
For a long second, no one spoke.
Shima nearly lunged forward, only to be restrained by Fukasaku with practiced ease. Judging by how smooth the motion was, this wasn’t the first time.
Tōma, however, remained still.
The words echoed in his mind.
You shouldn’t be alive.
He didn’t panic, but he didn’t dismiss it either. In truth, he had already suspected as much. If not for his reincarnation, would Fujimoto Sana and the original Tōma have survived childbirth at all?
Eventually, the Great Toad Sage stirred again, this time focusing on Tōma with a touch more clarity.
"Fujimoto Tōma... is it?"
"Yes," Tōma replied calmly.
"I cannot see your fate clearly," the Great Toad Sage said slowly. "Your destiny was severed once at birth... yet somehow, it was stitched back together."
Tōma exhaled softly.
So it really had been a life that ended once already.
The Great Toad Sage didn’t linger on the mystery. "I see very little. Only fragmented scenes. But every one of them shares the same backdrop."
Tōma leaned forward slightly, attentive.
"You will stir great upheaval across the shinobi world," the Great Toad Sage said. "Whether that upheaval brings salvation... or disaster... even I cannot tell."
Fukasaku’s heart sank. No matter how it was framed, turmoil on that scale was never a comforting prophecy.
And yet—after three years together—he couldn’t reconcile those words with the boy he knew. Tōma was calm, restrained, and measured. He wasn’t someone who sought chaos.
Unless bugs were involved.
Shima’s cooking experiments had proven that much.
Since there was no mention of a chosen savior, Fukasaku let out a quiet sigh. That likely meant Tōma wasn’t the Child of Prophecy after all.
A pity.
As for Tōma himself, he felt only mild surprise.
If the world demanded blood and fire, he wouldn’t flinch.
But he had no intention of letting a prophecy dictate his path.
Prophecies could fail. Even accurate ones didn’t bind choice.
He smiled faintly.
Chosen one. World-shaking calamity.
Those were other people’s labels.
He would walk his own road—just as Jiraiya had, prophecy or not.