The Akimichi Clan's BBQ Restaurant.
The reunited Sannin did not radiate the joy of an emotional reunion. Or rather, only Jiraiya showed enthusiasm for the occasion, while Orochimaru and Tsunade remained distant and cold.
Jiraiya's lively chatter slowed as time passed. His animated storytelling gradually faltered in the face of his companions' silence. Orochimaru sat motionless, exuding a frigid aura, while Tsunade, clearly inebriated, kept pouring herself glass after glass of sake.
Finally, frustrated and flushed, Jiraiya slammed his palms against the wooden table. The dull thud echoed in the room, causing his two companions to glance in his direction.
"It's been three years! Aren't you two even a little happy to see me?"
"You haven't changed, Jiraiya," came Orochimaru's hoarse reply. Tsunade continued staring into her glass.
"That's all you have to say?" Jiraiya leaned across the table, voice rising in protest. "Three years, and that's it?"
"Consider it a blessing, Jiraiya," Orochimaru murmured. "Sometimes, Tsunade and I envy you."
"Envy... me?" Jiraiya blinked, genuinely confused. He had always looked up to them—Orochimaru, the genius; Tsunade, the heiress of the Senju clan. The idea that they envied him felt surreal.
In that moment, Jiraiya felt a growing distance. The years had changed them, and the closeness they'd once shared felt irreparably lost.
"Explain it to me!" Jiraiya scratched his hair in exasperation.
"Life is fragile, Jiraiya. You've never felt loss the way we have. You haven't stared into the same kind of emptiness."
Orochimaru stood, brushed the curtain aside, and looked back briefly.
"I envy you, but don't invite me to pointless gatherings again."
With that, Orochimaru vanished into the night.
Jiraiya stood stunned, watching his old friend disappear. He turned to Tsunade for comfort, but she was already rising, unsteady from drink. A little girl rushed in to help her.
"Is the party over? Then I'm going home too."
Moments later, Jiraiya was alone in the room, the laughter and warmth from years past now replaced by silence.
Just three years had passed. The buildings in the village remained unchanged, but his old friends now felt like strangers. Their changes—Tsunade's brokenness and Orochimaru's coldness—left a growing sense of panic inside him. Maybe they could never go back to what they once were.
—
In the Hokage's office, the Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen, had just finished paperwork when he sensed a familiar chakra.
"Jiraiya?"
A moment later, the white-haired ninja tumbled through the window, reeking of sake.
"Yo, old man."
Sarutobi frowned. "You've been reckless. If it weren't for your war contributions, you might've been branded a traitor for abandoning your duties."
"Konoha won the war without me. Orochimaru was there."
Sarutobi sighed. None of his three disciples gave him peace of mind anymore. Even Orochimaru, once his most dependable, had grown distant. Tsunade had become detached and unreliable, barely showing up to the medical department she led.
"Since you're back, don't leave again."
"I won't. I'm here to see Minato."
Sarutobi nodded. He had high hopes for Namikaze Minato. Despite his humble origins, the boy was gifted, had developed his own combat style based on the Flying Thunder God technique, and possessed a solid moral foundation.
"What's happened to Orochimaru and Tsunade?" Jiraiya finally asked.
Sarutobi puffed from his pipe, then exhaled slowly.
"They suffered a loss."
Jiraiya froze.
"Tsunade lost her younger brother and her lover in the war. She couldn't save Kaidan's life, and now she has hemophobia. She can't even step onto a battlefield."
Jiraiya was silent.
"Orochimaru hasn't seen me in months. If you can, talk to them. Maybe they'll listen to you."
Jiraiya nodded reluctantly. The weight of loss hung over his old team like a stormcloud.
—
In the dense woods above Hokage Rock, a venomous green snake coiled quietly in a tree. It blended so well with the leaves that it was nearly invisible.
Whiz! A shuriken cut through the air and struck the snake dead-on. It fell, writhing.
Nara Haruki stepped from the trees, collected the wounded creature, and pinned it with his shadow jutsu. Immobilized, it squirmed futilely before he extracted its venom and tossed it aside.
Venom Collected +1.
He had gathered over a hundred such snakes recently, dissecting dozens to study their toxins. Poison had become a crucial tool for shinobi since the Second Great Ninja War, used with devastating effect by Hanzo and the puppet masters of the Sand Village.
"Collecting venom, are we?"
The deep, magnetic voice startled Haruki. His shadow lashed out instinctively, but the target broke free immediately.
"You react fast, little Nara," Orochimaru said, suddenly beside him, laying a hand on his head.
Haruki relaxed. Dangerous or not, Orochimaru wasn't an enemy—yet.
"Are you really collecting venom?" Orochimaru asked again, peering into the vial.
"Yes."
"Why? Is there some secret Nara technique that uses it?"
Haruki shook his head. "I want to breed a special insect—something with high adaptability. It can absorb toxins and develop venomous organs. The more complex the poison, the faster it evolves. I plan to make it my summon."
Orochimaru's eyes gleamed. A toxic creature with evolutionary growth potential—fascinating.
"Can I see it? If it's as you say, I'll give you access to all the toxins you need. Even rare venoms."
Haruki hesitated, then nodded. "Sure."
He hadn't expected today's outing to attract the attention of one of Konoha's most dangerous minds. But so far, it seemed curiosity, not malice, had drawn Orochimaru in.