The ink bled slowly across the parchment, each word deliberate, heavy with purpose. Ryosuke sat cross-legged at a low desk in the corner of his room, the morning light diffused through the shoji screen behind him. His pen moved steadily, scratching out lines that spoke of control, of surveillance, of a man crushed beneath the weight of a faceless regime.
This was different. This time, he wasn't adapting, reimagining, or cloaking the message in allegory. 1984 was being written word for word, unfiltered. It felt like exhaling smoke he'd held in his lungs for days.
A half-finished cup of tea had gone cold by his elbow. Around him, silence reigned—no ticking clock, no birdsong. Just the sound of the pen and the occasional rustle of paper.
*Knock*
The knock broke Ryosuke's concentration as his hand froze mid-sentence.
*Knock*
*Knock*
*Knock*
"Ryosuke!" came Kushina's voice, slightly muffled but unmistakably annoyed. "Don't make me break this door down!"
He sighed, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "Give me a moment."
"No moments left! We're late for training."
The door slid open before he could respond, and there she stood—hands on hips, red hair wild from rushing, impatience blazing in her eyes.
"You forgot, didn't you?"
He blinked. "Forgot what?"
Her eye twitched. "Training. Jiraiya. Now."
As he gazed at her slightly annoyed face, he couldn't help but think,'Cute'.
Reluctantly, he closed his notebook and capped his pen. "Fine. Let's go before you start throwing kunai at my head."
As they stepped into the hallway, her irritation gave way to a smirk. "I wouldn't miss."
He didn't argue. Instead, as they walked past the quiet rooms of the Senju estate, he cast a glance toward a softly lit chamber, where an old woman sat near an open window.
Mito Uzumaki's hands were steady as she turned the page of a book bound in worn leather. Its cover read only one word:
Dune
---
The sun filtered through the trees, warm and golden, casting shadows that danced with the motion of Minato and Kushina as they sparred in the clearing. Their chakra surged with every clash—Minato's quick precision against Kushina's fierce intensity. The ground bore the scars of their training, craters and scorched earth dotting the field.
Jiraiya leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, half-watching the fight. His gaze, though, kept drifting toward the silent figure seated on a flat stone a few paces away—Ryosuke, unmoving, eyes on the horizon rather than the match.
"I don't have a lot to teach you anymore.",Jiraiya said eventually, voice calm, a trace of amusement in it.
Ryosuke didn't glance at him. "You're the one who scheduled this."
Jiraiya chuckled. "Fair. But you're not the one who needs it." He paused, then added more softly, "Still, I'm glad you came."
A brief silence stretched between them, filled only by the sound of distant grunts and chakra collisions.
Jiraiya's voice dropped, casual yet deliberate. "You ever think about what peace might look like?"
Ryosuke turned his head slightly.
"Not just the absence of war. I mean real peace. A world where kids don't grow up surrounded by graves. Where no one has to carry the weight you do."
Ryosuke said nothing, but his eyes sharpened.
"I can't say, I fully understand the weight of what happened in Uzushio, what you saw, what you carry." Jiraiya said. "But I understand enough to know how you may feel, and I also know, that beneath that layer, your heart is pure. I know that one day, people will start to understand.... Ryosuke, I understand you don't walk the same path, but I just want you to give this a chance."
He pushed off the tree and stepped closer. "Become my disciple."
That made Ryosuke blink. He looked up at Jiraiya now, uncertain. Not shocked, Just curious.
"I'll take you to Mount Myōboku," Jiraiya added, as if it were just another training ground.
Ryosuke didn't respond. Not immediately. Jiraiya mistook the pause for ignorance.
"That's where I learned Sage Mode," he said, casually scratching his cheek.
Ryosuke looked away again, watching Minato and Kushina. He caught the subtle implication of teaching him Sage Arts but also realised that Jiraiya didn't directly say he would teach him the arts.
A few seconds passed before Ryosuke finally grinned and nodded.
Jiraiya's smile was almost invisible. "Good," he said, and turned back to watch the match.
Ryosuke's face turned neutral, but his thoughts stirred. He didn't need Sage Mode—his system could get him there, eventually. But the name Mount Myōboku carried weight. Political weight. Connections. Influence. And being Jiraiya's personal disciple? That was a key to path of power.
He wouldn't waste it.
Meanwhile,
Kushina's fist grazed Minato's shoulder just as he vanished, reappearing behind her. She spun to block his kunai with a snarl, chakra flaring—but Jiraiya's whistle cut through the clearing.
"That's enough! Save something for the next war."
They broke apart, panting, sweat slicking their brows. Kushina dropped her stance reluctantly, eyes still lit with adrenaline. Minato, ever composed, offered her a small nod of acknowledgment.
Jiraiya sauntered over, clapping his hands once. "Not bad. Kushina, your timing's sharper than last week. Minato, you're still relying too much on your speed to bail you out—work on counters when you can't escape."
They both nodded, Minato silently, Kushina grumbling something under her breath.
Then Jiraiya turned his head slightly, eyes flicking to Ryosuke who had remained seated at the edge of the training field. "Also," he said, almost as an afterthought, "Ryosuke's going to be my personal disciple from now on."
The silence that followed was immediate.
Kushina blinked, caught between surprise and confusion. "Wait—what?"
Ryosuke stood slowly, brushing dust from his sleeves without a word.
Minato's gaze narrowed slightly, thoughtful. He said nothing.
"Yup," Jiraiya said, popping the 'p'. "We had a little chat while you two were busy dancing. It's official now."
"You never even told us you were looking for a disciple!" Kushina said, frowning. "Why Ryosuke?"
"He's got potential," Jiraiya replied simply. "The kind that doesn't need to be told what to do, only what's possible."
Kushina turned toward Ryosuke. "And you said yes just like that?"
Ryosuke shrugged. "I've said yes to worse."
Jiraiya snorted. "That's the spirit."
Minato's eyes lingered on Ryosuke a moment longer before he gave a bright, polite smile. "Congratulations."
Ryosuke met his gaze, slightly smiling back,"Thanks."
The moment passed quietly, but something had shifted—an invisible weight rearranged among the trio. What had been a team was now something else. Not less—but different.
Jiraiya clapped his hands again. "Alright, enough drama. Clean up and head out. We'll be doing something more intense tomorrow. And Minato—start learning to lose sometimes. It's good for your soul."
Minato smiled faintly.
As they began to pack up, Ryosuke glanced back toward the trees. Somewhere beyond them lay Mount Myōboku, Sage Mode, and the future he was carefully shaping—one quiet decision at a time.
---
Inoichi's house sat near the quieter side of the village, tucked behind a small grove of plum trees. The scent of blooming petals hung faintly in the evening air as Kushina knocked on the door, practically bouncing with energy.
Inoichi opened it moments later, his long blond hair tied back neatly, a warm smile on his face. "Hey! Come on in."
His fiancée greeted them from the living room, waving Kushina over. The two women were chatting animatedly within seconds, laughter already spilling between them.
Ryosuke followed Inoichi into a quieter corner of the room, where a pot of tea sat half-finished beside two cushions. He took a seat without ceremony, back straight, fingers tapping lightly against his thigh.
Inoichi poured them both tea and gave him a small smirk. "Didn't expect you to visit. Something wrong with your bookshelf?"
Ryosuke gave a faint smile. "It's not a bad idea to understand the readers sometimes."
Inoichi raised a brow. "Ah, you're here to interrogate me?"
"No," Ryosuke said, picking up his tea. "Just curious. What did you think of Dune?"
Inoichi leaned back, thoughtful. "It's a great book. The kind that sticks with you afterward. Complex, intense. Very thoughtful."
Ryosuke watched him over the rim of his cup. "But?"
Inoichi chuckled. "But... not everybody's cup of tea. Some people don't like the hard hitting points in it."
Ryosuke held his gaze for a second longer, then smiled—cool and unreadable. "I understand."
There was a pause, the weight of shared understanding hanging in the air for just a breath too long. Then, as if on cue, Ryosuke relaxed back into his seat.
"Anyway," Inoichi said, brightening the mood, "So, I heard you went on your first mission. How was it?"
Ryosuke nodded back,"It was ok, except maybe for the fact I took a life for the first time."
Inoichi raised an eyebrow,"So.. how did you feel?"
Ryosuke replied,"Nothing, I have seen much much worse."
Inoichi grunted back as he took a sip of his tea,"I understand."
The comment passed without follow-up, and the conversation turned lighter—tactics, odd mission stories, a joke about Jiraiya's tendency to 'accidentally' vanish when there's a bath house nearby.
Eventually, Kushina emerged from the other room, all smiles. "Ready?"
Ryosuke rose without a word, giving Inoichi a polite nod. "Thanks for the tea."
"Anytime."
As the door closed behind them and they stepped into the cool air of early evening, Ryosuke looked up at the sky, a faint trace of lavender dusting the horizon.
Kushina stretched, arms over her head. "Inoichi's fiancée is so sweet! I can't believe she made that chestnut mochi herself—"
Ryosuke looked at her as she was talking all animated, he couldn't help but smile, his resolve unfazed, and his strength growing.
"Huh?", Kushina noticed and titled her head at him.
"Nothing." He shook his head with a quiet smile. "Let's go."
The walk home was quiet, save for the soft crunch of gravel beneath their sandals. The lamps of the Senju estate flickered to life one by one as the sky darkened.
Kushina hummed something under her breath as she skipped ahead, calling over her shoulder, "I'm going to shower first!"
Ryosuke offered a lazy wave as she disappeared into the hallway.
He pushed open the door to his room and froze.
There, seated gracefully in his reading chair, was Mito Uzumaki—her back straight, posture regal, the faintest glow of chakra outlining her silhouette like a crown. In her hands was the manuscript for 1984, several pages flipped back, her eyes unreadable as they scanned the words.
For a moment, the silence felt thicker than steel.
"You know," Ryosuke finally said, his voice even, "breaking into someone's room and reading their private work is rather rude."
Mito didn't even glance up. "You should not be writing this."
His jaw tensed. "Excuse me?"
She turned the page with a soft rustle. "I had only heard about the discussions because of books that you wrote, I hadn't them till now, Ryo, If I can find out who wrote this book then so can Monkey and Danzo. This book—this story—carries meaning I don't know if you grasp. It's not fiction, not here. It's an accusation. It's a spark in a dry forest."
"That's the point," Ryosuke said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "If the fire's waiting, maybe it's time to burn away the rot."
Her eyes finally lifted to meet his, sharp and old and unblinking. "Stop this. I'm telling you as someone who understands the cost of challenging a village's unity. You're young Ryosuke, and it seems no matter how many times I warn you, you don't understand the strength of a great village. What it can do to people like you."
"I am strong," he said. "Stronger than most Chūnin. Probably stronger than most Jōnin."
Mito's expression didn't change, but the air in the room grew colder.
Ryosuke stepped forward. "Let's spar."
She blinked slowly.
"If I can hold my own," he continued, "if I'm already at the level of a Jōnin—then you'll back off. Let me write. Let me publish."
Mito set the manuscript down on the table with quiet precision. Her expression didn't change, but something about her presence did.
"You have no idea what you're asking for," she said, voice low.
"No," Ryosuke replied, calm and cold. "I know exactly what I'm asking for."
Mito stood, the floor creaking softly beneath her feet.
Her face was like a mask carved from ancient stone.