Chapter 4: The Sannin's Shadow Network
In which Jiraiya proves that naps are for students, not spymasters.
While Naruto snored in the hotel room like a Snorlax after a ramen binge, Jiraiya slipped out the window like he'd done it a hundred times before—which, honestly, he probably had.
The city was alive, glowing with streetlights and neon signs, but Jiraiya didn't stroll. He moved like a shadow with a purpose, cloak fluttering just enough to make him look mysterious instead of creepy.
In a quiet, tucked-away tea shop near the edge of the port, he met his informants.
Three people sat at the back: one disguised as a dock worker, one dressed like a traveling merchant, and the third pretending to be asleep behind a newspaper. All were Konoha-trained. All had been stationed in Kanto for years. And all three straightened up the moment they saw the Toad Sage.
"Status?" Jiraiya asked, voice low.
The one behind the newspaper answered first. "Team Rocket's the main disruptive force here. They're not subtle, and they've got decent tech. Some of their higher-ups use enhanced Pokémon and illegal mods—cybernetics, toxins, the works."
The 'merchant' continued. "But if you're looking for real danger, the Elite Four would be the actual challenge. Each of them is essentially a walking disaster-level event. Their power levels are comparable to high-ranking Kage."
The dockworker added with a smirk, "There's always the legendaries. You know, if you're feeling suicidal."
"Give me names," Jiraiya said.
"Articuno, Zapdos, Moltres… and more. They're like summon beasts that never signed a contract. Most avoid humans, but the wrong people trying to capture or awaken them could be catastrophic."
Jiraiya rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Perfect."
He let the information stew as he left the tea shop. This place was a powder keg with cute creatures on top. If Naruto wanted to reach true strength in three years, he'd need more than sparring matches with wild Pidgeottos.
Back at the hotel, Naruto was still asleep, one arm dangling off the bed, mouth half-open, blanket kicked to the floor. Jiraiya chuckled before quietly stepping out again—this time to find a place with secure chakra channels so he could contact the homeland.
It took an hour to reach the summoning point, hidden in a hollowed-out tree near Route 12. He summoned a toad messenger and tapped in the communication seal.
"Report," came the voice from Konoha.
Jiraiya updated them: Naruto's progress, the lack of real threats in Kanto for now, and the info about the legendary Pokémon. In return, he got something unexpected—good news.
"The Akatsuki are quiet. No movements beyond minor mercenary missions. Orochimaru's gone underground—no sightings in months. And the Five Great Nations are holding a diplomatic summit in a few weeks. Looks like peace is holding… for now."
Jiraiya closed the connection and exhaled deeply.
"Good," he murmured. "That gives us time."
Because if Naruto was going to rise above the rest—not just as a Hokage candidate, but as a legend—then this peaceful continent full of mythical beasts might just be the perfect training ground.
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Naruto had exactly two thoughts the moment he woke up from his nap.
One: he was starving again.
Two: why was he soaking wet and being body-slammed by a frog-ninja?
He blinked underwater—chlorine-free, thankfully—and twisted just in time to avoid a foot to the face. His arms instinctively crossed in front of him, absorbing the hit as his teacher, the now-waterlogged Jiraiya-Greninja, grinned through the blur.
"Good! You're awake!"
Naruto gurgled something that might've been a curse before flipping backward with a chakra-infused kick. He bounced off the water's surface like it was solid ground, skimming to the side of the pond. His breath stayed steady—not because he had gills, but because chakra manipulation now meant oxygen conversion too. That part, at least, he was nailing.
"I hate this training," he muttered, leaping forward again.
He spun into a kick, only for Jiraiya to vanish with a flicker and reappear at his blind spot, sending a shockwave of water with a palm strike. Naruto barely managed to twist out of the way, but not without getting a fist to the gut.
"C'mon, Naruto!" Jiraiya said, his voice echoing through the pond like a war drum. "You're a jinchūriki! Start acting like it! That chakra in you isn't just for show!"
Naruto gritted his teeth and vanished into a cloud of bubbles—Substitution Jutsu with a sunken log he'd marked earlier. He reappeared above the water and shouted, "Shadow Clone Jutsu!"
Two clones splashed into existence beside him, each taking position like a well-rehearsed ballet duo. They both began forming a Rasengan, the energy swirling into a tight blue sphere between their hands.
The real Naruto dove in again.
Underwater, his movements were more fluid now—more confident. He dodged one of Jiraiya's strikes, landed a punch, and used the momentum to flip over and kick downward. Jiraiya caught his ankle and tried to twist him, but Naruto grinned.
Another pair of clones formed behind Jiraiya, one holding the completed Rasengan and the other ready to launch him like a missile.
"Now!" Naruto yelled.
The Rasengan Clone launched forward, slamming into Jiraiya's shoulder before dispersing in a splash of water. The hit wasn't perfect—it didn't break through the older ninja's defenses—but it forced Jiraiya to spin mid-air and crash into the pond floor, momentarily dazed.
Naruto landed, panting, water streaming off him as his remaining clone poofed beside him.
"Still can't make it with one hand," he grumbled. "But I'm getting there."
Jiraiya rose from the water like a soaked demon, shaking droplets from his face. But he was smiling.
"That's more like it."
He waded closer, arms folded. "The clones are fine—for now. But that chakra of yours is something few people have ever seen. That fox inside you? It's not just a curse. It's raw, unfiltered power. You need to wield it."
Naruto's eyes narrowed. "You want me to use the cloak again?"
"Not yet," Jiraiya said. "But get your body used to controlling chakra like it's an extension of yourself. The cloak will respond better if you're already pushing your limits."
He patted Naruto on the shoulder. "Now get ready. That was just warm-up."
Naruto blinked. "That was warm-up?!"
Jiraiya smirked. "You want to fight legendaries, don't you? You better start swimming like one."
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If there's one thing I've learned since getting turned into a Pokémon, it's that cities are a lot louder when you have ears that can twitch. Seriously. Between the honking cars, screaming trainers, and the occasional rogue Meowth trying to con people out of lunch money, Vermilion City was a headache with neon signs.
Jiraiya and I were just wandering around like two tourists who didn't speak the language—unless "language" meant "battle grunts" and "pain noises." Trainers were running left and right with beat-up Pokémon in their arms. Some were crying. Others looked like they'd just come out of a warzone. I swear one guy limped by clutching a Pikachu wrapped in gauze like it had fought a lawnmower.
"So, I'm guessing the local gym isn't exactly handing out participation badges," I said.
Jiraiya scratched his chin. "Vermilion Gym. That'd be Lt. Surge's place. I've heard stories."
"Like what?"
"He once knocked out six trainers before lunch. With one Raichu."
"Oh," I said. "Fun."
Naturally, Jiraiya decided we should go watch. Because when you're a toad-summoning pervert turned flying Greninja hybrid, your definition of a "good time" is watching strangers get electrocuted by overgrown rodents.
Inside Vermilion Gym
The place looked like someone fused a power plant with a wrestling ring. Steel floors. Buzzing generators. Lightning bolts painted everywhere because subtlety was clearly illegal in Lt. Surge's dictionary.
The stands were half-full, trainers whispering and placing bets. Jiraiya and I found a spot just as a group entered the gym—three kids and a Pokémon that looked like it drank espresso through a car battery. I didn't recognize any of them, which made sense. New world, new weirdos.
The boy at the front—spiky black hair, red cap, determined "I-watch-too-many-anime" expression—stepped onto the battlefield.
"I've come for a Pokémon battle, to earn a Thunder Badge!" he declared.
One of Surge's assistants looked up from a clipboard. "Hey boss, another victim for the emergency ward."
"Which one?" Surge asked without glancing up.
When he finally did look up, he locked eyes on the redhead girl beside the boy and did something none of us expected.
He hugged her.
"Welcome to Vermilion Gym! Oh, my next challenge is a cute one! Don't think I'll go easy on you."
She shoved him off like he was a Muk at a prom.
"Excuse me, I'm not the challenger."
"Then who?"
The boy raised his hand. "Me, that's who."
Surge squinted. "Huh? Oh, you. Okay, baby."
The kid practically growled. "I'm no baby! My name is Ash Ketchum!"
Surge just grinned, like a guy who eats Pikachu for breakfast. "I call everybody who loses to me baby."
Next to me, Jiraiya whispered, "This is gonna be fun."
I wasn't sure if he meant the battle or watching the boy's pride get fried into a crisp.
"Let's go, Pikachu!"
Cue adorable yellow furball with more voltage than a storm cloud.
"Pikachu, our lucky star is shining today!" Ash said.
The girl—Misty, I think—tilted her head. "Where? I don't see it."
"I don't mean it's actually shining—never mind."
Lt. Surge snapped his fingers and out came his Raichu—imagine Pikachu, but if it had gone through six gym memberships and ate nothing but raw electricity. The thing landed with a thud, sparks flying from its cheeks like it sneezed thunder.
Naruto-me gulped. "Okay. That thing's definitely juicing."
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Let me tell you a secret no one warns you about when you start your Pokémon journey: Gym Leaders play a different game.
Sure, they smile for the cameras, hand out shiny badges, and pose like Saturday morning cartoon heroes. But behind the scenes? These guys have teams that could toast a Dragonite for breakfast.
According to Jiraiya—and his network of ninja spies disguised as Pidgeys—the Gym Leaders actually have multiple teams. One for the TV-friendly kids, and one for the "you-destroyed-a-Machamp-with-a-stare" lunatics. Their real partners, the aces, were monsters. Most of them level 60 or more. If you saw them, your Pokédex would probably self-destruct out of fear.
The League rules were strict though: Gym Leaders couldn't use a Pokémon more than five levels higher than their challenger's best. So when Surge saw Ash's Pikachu—somewhere around level 30 if I had to guess, based on how much static it was leaking—he didn't reach for his main Raichu.
He sent out the other Raichu.
Yeah. Apparently, Surge liked Raichus so much he had a backup. Which felt excessive. Like having a second tank in case the first one got bored.
Ash looked confident. Pikachu looked pumped. But even I could feel the tension in the air—like someone had rubbed the whole battlefield with a balloon.
Raichu landed like a pro wrestler entering the ring, tail crackling with sparks and a smirk that said I eat Pichus for dessert.
"Let's make this quick," Surge said, arms crossed. "Thunderbolt."
Raichu didn't wait for a dramatic speech. It blurred forward, sending a bolt of lightning so loud it rattled my new frog-ears. Pikachu barely dodged.
"Whoa," I muttered. "That thing's fast."
"Level 35," Jiraiya said. "He's holding back. That's not his main one."
I blinked. "How many Raichus does this guy have?"
"Too many," Jiraiya muttered, arms folded. "But he's following the rules. That's the mark of a real professional. Doesn't mean he won't humiliate you though."
Ash gritted his teeth. "Pikachu, Quick Attack!"
They clashed in a blur of yellow sparks—Raichu clearly bulkier, heavier, and faster. Pikachu was struggling to keep up. Every hit it took sent it skidding. Every dodge was just barely in time.
You could tell Ash wasn't used to being the slower one. Pikachu had always been his trump card. His golden child. But here? Against a disciplined Raichu trained by a war vet like Surge?
They were swimming with sharks.
"You know," Jiraiya said thoughtfully, "this is good for him. Being outmatched teaches more than winning."
"Is that what you tell me every time I get my butt kicked?" I asked.
He grinned. "Exactly."
As Raichu smashed Pikachu into a corner with another slam of Iron Tail, I saw it. That look in Ash's eyes. Panic. Determination. And something more.
He wasn't giving up.
Even as Surge smirked like this was already over.
Even as the crowd leaned forward, half-expecting Pikachu to go down.
This wasn't just a kid with a pet. This was a trainer, someone who knew what it meant to get knocked down and keep standing.
Jiraiya saw it too. "This kid… He's green. But he's got guts."
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You ever watch a fight so intense your eyeballs sweat? That was the kind of energy coming off the battlefield.
Lt. Surge didn't waste time. His Raichu wasn't here for a friendly match—it was here to dominate. And the guy had clearly played way too much "speed is king" in his strategy books, because Raichu opened the next round with a move that basically said catch me if you can, sucker.
"Raichu, Agility!" Surge barked.
Raichu blurred like someone had hit fast-forward. One second it was stretching, the next it was behind Pikachu, glowing tail already swinging.
"IRON TAIL!"
Whack!
Pikachu flew. I mean launched. Like someone had stuffed it in a T-shirt cannon and fired it into orbit.
"Oh no—" Ash gasped.
Jiraiya winced. "Oof. That's gonna leave a mark."
"BODY SLAM!" Surge shouted.
Now, imagine a lightning-powered sumo wrestler dropping from the sky like Zeus belly-flopping a swimming pool.
Boom.
The ground shook. Dust exploded. When it cleared, Pikachu was a twitching little starfish in a crater.
Even I winced—and I've seen a Chidori hit to the face.
Ash ran forward. "Pikachu!"
No response.
Jiraiya shook his head. "He's out cold. Surge plays hardball."
"Is this even legal?" I asked.
"Barely. But yeah. Surge is following the rules. He's just not pulling punches."
Brock called over from the sidelines, trying to keep Ash together. "Use Bulbasaur! He's strong and has ranged moves!"
Ash nodded, shaky but determined. "Bulbasaur, I choose you!"
The little plant lizard popped out with a battle cry, vines already stretching.
I had hope. I really did.
Then Raichu hit it.
Agility. Iron Tail. Spark. Slam. Another Spark.
It was like watching a Venus flytrap try to take on a jackhammer.
Bulbasaur barely got off a Vine Whip before Raichu dashed under it, spun, and uppercut it with a tail charged in lightning. It looked less like a gym match and more like an anime boss battle.
Within seconds, Bulbasaur joined Pikachu in the "defeated Pokémon pile."
Ash stood frozen, staring. "I—I didn't expect…"
"Power and speed," Jiraiya said, arms crossed. "That combo's nasty. Especially when the trainer knows how to chain attacks. Surge didn't even give him room to think."
"Like a high-level shinobi ambush," I muttered. "Hit fast, hit hard, no wasted movement."
"Exactly," Jiraiya replied. "You watching closely?"
"I'm watching."
Ash looked devastated. Misty placed a hand on his shoulder, and Brock gave him a look that said, Been there, kid. Surge, meanwhile, was already patting Raichu like a proud dad.
"Come back when you're ready, baby," he said, smirking. "That badge ain't for free."
Ash didn't shout. He didn't argue. He just picked up Pikachu, whispered something to him, and walked out of the gym with the kind of quiet that's louder than any scream.
Jiraiya looked at me. "Think about what you just saw. Because you're going to fight trainers like him."
I nodded.
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Ash had just limped out of the gym with his squad of emotionally crushed Pokémon, and I—I mean, Naruto Uzumaki, Future Hokage, Believe It!—was buzzing with questions.
Jiraiya and I watched the doors swing shut behind them like we were in some tragic theater. Raichu hadn't just won. It had humiliated them. I could practically see the thunderbolt-shaped ego Surge was riding.
"So," I said, glancing up at the Pervy Sage. "What are my chances if I fought that Raichu? Like, his main one. Not the baby version he just used."
Jiraiya didn't answer right away.
Instead, the man casually pulled back the sleeve of his robe, tapped a seal on his arm—because of course he had a lightning-fast communication scroll tattooed into his bicep—and went quiet for a second as if waiting for a reply from the Secret Ninja Internet.
A moment later, the seal glowed, and he nodded thoughtfully.
"Well?" I asked, bouncing on my toes. "I could totally take it, right?"
Jiraiya turned to me with that smirk. The one that meant I'm about to crush your confidence in the most educational way possible.
"Kid," he said, "that Raichu is level 80."
My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"That's not that high, right?"
He raised an eyebrow. "It can move at Mach 50."
I choked. "Fifty?! As in five-zero?!"
"Yep. That's roughly 38,000 miles per hour. Faster than most missiles. Faster than you can blink. Heck, faster than your thoughts."
I was quiet for exactly two seconds before muttering, "Okay, but like… what about its attacks? Just lightning bolts, right?"
"Each bolt," Jiraiya continued, "can vaporize a skyscraper. And it's on lightning pills."
"…I don't even know what that means."
"It's like performance-enhancing drugs for electric types. Makes it more aggressive, faster, hits harder. Think of it as Kyuubi-mode but without the downside of boiling your insides."
I blinked.
"So… what you're saying is… I'd be fried like tempura shrimp?"
"Correct. Even with one-tail chakra mode, you're maxing out at Mach 30. That's not bad, don't get me wrong. You're basically a red-orange missile. But Raichu would dance around you, write its name in lightning on your forehead, and have time for a snack before zapping you into a memory."
I crossed my arms. "You didn't have to put it that way."
"Oh, I did," he said. "This is your wake-up call, Naruto. That level of power? That's where we're going. But you're not there yet. Not even close."
I exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping.
"…So what do I need to do?"
"Upgrade your chakra control," he said, "so you can channel speed and power more efficiently. Learn to move like water, not just fire off power like a cannon. And train your body until it doesn't need the fox cloak to move like lightning. You'll also need to integrate taijutsu, substitution, clones, and sealing arts like a real battle master."
"Right…" I muttered. "Cool. No pressure."
He chuckled, then cracked his neck. "When you can make a Rasengan with one hand and outrun your own shadow? Then we'll talk about facing Surge's ace."
I frowned. "So when am I going to fight him, then? After some epic quest through the mountains? A power-up arc in another dimension?"
Jiraiya smirked again and turned on his heel.
"Nope," he said. "You're going to beat two other gym leaders first. They're not as tough as Surge, but they're not pushovers either. Once you've won those battles and leveled up enough—then you fight Surge."
I brightened. "So we're going to another city?"
He paused in front of the Pokémon Center and opened the door with a casual wave of chakra.
"Nope," he said again. "They're both here."
The door swung open and—speak of the devil—there were Ash, Misty, and Brock, standing at the healing counter. Pikachu was hooked up to wires, snoring like a static-filled microwave. Bulbasaur looked like it had just gotten into a bar brawl with a bus.
I tilted my head. "Wait… Misty?"
Jiraiya grinned. "Vermilion's not just home to Surge. Misty's a gym leader too. And Brock?"
"Don't tell me—"
"Yep. Pewter City Gym Leader. Rock-type specialist."
I stared.
"You're telling me the kid just walked into a gym with two gym leaders watching him get pancaked?"
"Exactly."