Chapter 267: Menma And Jiraiya
Rain threads continued endlessly, drumming against the izakaya’s wooden lattice windows, producing a dull and persistent sound.
Jiraiya had a woman on each arm, seemingly lost in a world of tenderness, his hearty laughter intertwining with the coquettish complaints of the hostesses, but the corner of his eye always locked on the street outside that had just been washed by blood and rainwater.
“Oh my, that really scared me,” one of the heavily made-up women beside him patted her chest, looking out at the dispersing crowd with lingering fear.
“Things like this happen every few days, and us ordinary folks, if we’re not careful and get caught up in it, we won’t even know how we die.”
Another woman curiously sized up Jiraiya’s bold and unrestrained attire and that conspicuous white hair: “Customer, you’re… not from our village, are you? Coming to drink at a time like this, you sure have guts.”
Jiraiya laughed heartily, downed a mouthful of sake, the alcohol mixing with his distinctive bold aura: “Hahaha, I’m a traveling writer who tours various countries, specially came to Rain Village for inspiration, collecting material for my writing! The more chaotic the place, the more stories there are!”
He leaned in casually, lowering his voice: “By the way, I heard there’s an organization called ‘Akatsuki’ in Rain Village, have you ladies heard of it?”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the smiles on the two women’s faces froze, a flash of obvious fear in their eyes.
They instinctively glanced around, as if afraid of being overheard by something invisible.
“C-Customer…” the first woman to speak had her voice extremely low, almost drowned by the rain: “Whatever you do, don’t casually mention that name… If those ninja lords hear it, you’ll… you’ll lose your life!”
“Yeah,” the other nervously chimed in: “There used to be such an organization, pretty active in the village, but several years ago it suddenly… went silent. The higher-ups issued a death order, no one is allowed to mention ‘Akatsuki’ again, violators… anyway, no one dares say it now, so please don’t ask anymore!”
Jiraiya’s smile remained unchanged, but his heart sank.
A gag order?
Vanished without a trace?
It seems Yahiko and the others had some major incident a few years ago!
He probed sideways a few more times, but the two women knew little, and their fear was deeply rooted; he couldn’t get any more valuable information.
After three rounds of drinks, Jiraiya left some money behind and excused himself to use the bathroom, staggering out of the increasingly lively izakaya.
As soon as he entered the cold, damp alley, the drunkenness on his face vanished instantly, his eyes becoming sharp and clear.
‘Akatsuki has indeed had problems, and it’s likely tied to Rain Village high-level officials, probably Hanzo.’ He mused inwardly: ‘I need to capture a tongue to interrogate, best if it’s one of Hanzo’s direct Anbu ninjas; they must know the inside story.’
He swiftly moved through the rain curtain, finding a secluded alley entrance.
This spot was not far from a standard Rain ninja patrol route, and the environment was relatively hidden.
He formed hand seals with both hands, low-voiced: “Summoning Technique!”
A faint puff of smoke flashed, and a strangely shaped giant toad appeared on the spot.
“Trouble you again, Gamaken!” Jiraiya greeted it.
“Same as usual?” Gamaken’s shell rapidly deformed and extended, transforming into what looked like a quite cozy ramen shop, blending seamlessly with the surrounding Rain Village buildings.
Steaming false vapor rose from under the sign, an enticing food aroma spreading out.
Jiraiya slipped inside, disguised as a busy shop owner, quietly waiting for prey to take the bait.
What he needed was one or two lone Rain Village ninjas, perhaps tempted by their appetites.
…
Meanwhile, at the center of Rain Village, on the top floor of a tower overlooking most of the village.
Deva Path stood on the outer rooftop, Rinnegan indifferently gazing down at the city forever shrouded in rain. The insignificant rebellion in the distance and the tiny smoke from the suppression had long been thoroughly quelled in the rainwater.
Aoi Rokushō, dressed in Rain Village uniform and carrying a strange umbrella sword on his back, silently appeared behind, kneeling on one knee: “Lord Pain. Hanzo dispatched twelve Anbu, the rebels were five chunin dissatisfied with the rule, already executed on the street.”
Aoi Rokushō, this former Konoha rogue ninja, had successfully established himself in Rain Village through the stolen Second Hokage’s Sword of the Thunder God and various Konoha intelligence, even earning the qualification to meet Hanzo of the Salamander.
However, he had long been awed by Nagato’s power, joined Akatsuki, and become a nail inserted into Hanzo’s forces.
“Hanzo himself remains holed up in the deepest part of his fortress, never stepping out.” Aoi Rokushō added, his tone carrying a barely detectable sarcasm.
That once fearsome “Demigod” was now completely consumed by age, paranoia, and fear of Rinnegan power, only daring to maintain his crumbling rule through iron-fisted suppression and layers of guards.
“Continue monitoring.” Deva Path’s voice was emotionless: “Report any anomalies immediately.”
“Yes.” Aoi Rokushō lowered his head in acknowledgment, his figure quietly vanishing.
…
On the other side, Menma found the distraught Konan in a drenched little alley.
She walked alone in the rain, as if oblivious to the cold rain beating down.
Her purple curls were soaked, clinging to her cheeks and neck, her signature training clothes completely drenched, making her appear even more slender and pitiable.
She kept her head down, shoulders trembling slightly, as if crying silently.
Menma held an oil-paper umbrella from who-knows-where, silently approaching her side, tilting the umbrella toward her to block the continuous rain.
Konan blankly lifted her head, rainwater and tears mixing on her pale face.
She looked at Menma, lips trembling, voice choked: “…They… among them was Kenta… he was a friend I wandered with before… We wandered together, became ninjas together… He said he couldn’t take it anymore, wanted to change all this… joined an organization… but… but…”
She couldn’t continue, overwhelmed by immense grief and helplessness.
She couldn’t even collect her friend’s body; Hanzo’s Anbu circled nearby like vultures, anyone trying to approach would be mercilessly torn apart.
Menma silently watched her.
He knew there were countless Rain Village ninjas like “Kenta” filled with resentment toward Hanzo’s rule; they formed fragile little groups full of hope yet vulnerable, like moths to a flame, each feeble resistance met with the cruelest suppression, ultimately becoming another pool of blood on the street.
“Why…” Konan’s voice broke in the rain: “Why is the world like this? Since I can remember, this country has been at war, people dying… warfare, poverty, hunger… never stopping… Could it be… other countries are like this too?”
Menma sighed softly, a rare trace of pity in his eyes.
He gazed at the hazy, oppressive outlines of buildings in the distant rain curtain, his voice calm yet carrying a heavy penetrative force: “Other places? Heh, maybe they look a bit more glamorous on the surface, but essentially no different. The Five Great Nations, countless small countries, warring with each other, cycle of hatred repeating endlessly. Rain Village is merely a microcosm of the entire ninja world’s millennium of warfare.”
He lowered his head slightly, looking into Konan’s confused eyes: “To truly end all this, the only way is to completely destroy all existing countries and ninja villages. Make the entire ninja world left with only one voice, one will, one powerful, unified nation. Only absolute unity can bring absolute order, and… the true peace you desire.”
Konan listened in a daze; these words were too grand, too shocking for her.
Her limited understanding and kind nature made it impossible for her to comprehend immediately, let alone accept this cruel logic of destruction for rebirth.
She only instinctively felt a massive fear and confusion.
Menma did not delve deeper into the topic.
He pointed ahead to the ramen shop at the street corner, its sign reading ‘Grand Opening Day Specials,’ warm lights shining through.
“It’s getting dark, and the rain is cold; let’s go eat something first.” His tone returned to normal: “What I said earlier, you can think about it slowly. If you’re tired of the rain and death here, and want to seek a different future… I can take you away.”
With that, he pushed open the ramen shop’s door and walked in first.
The wind chime under the eaves rang crisply.
Konan hesitated a moment, wiped the rain and tears from her face, took a deep breath, and followed him in.
Her mood was still heavy, but the hunger in her belly and her curiosity about the boy pushed her inside.
Inside the ramen shop, Jiraiya, dressed as a chef and disguised as the owner, thought he’d gotten his target and enthusiastically called out “Welcome,” only to see two half-grown kids enter, the girl even wearing a Rain Village headband, and felt a wave of disappointment.
But seeing Konan’s obviously tear-streaked face, childish and weary, he couldn’t help but feel a trace of pity.
Such young children already bearing the identity of ninjas, struggling in this quagmire of a village.
Menma naturally walked to the counter and sat down, saying to Jiraiya: “Boss, two bowls of ramen.”
His gaze swept over the simple menu on the wall, casually asking: “What signature dishes do you recommend?”
Jiraiya muttered inwardly about how these two kids ruined his plan to capture a “tongue,” while piling on a business smile: “Oh oh, signature tonkotsu chashu ramen, beef ramen, and udon too…”
His eyes darted between Menma and Konan who sat down after, laughing with a gossipy tone: “You two are… a little couple? Coming for ramen so late?”
Konan’s face flushed red instantly, waving her hands frantically: “N-No! We’re just… just…”
She didn’t know how to define her relationship with the mysterious boy beside her.
Menma smiled and interjected: “Friends.”
Konan nodded vigorously upon hearing this.
“I see, friends are great!” Jiraiya laughed it off, turning to pretend to busy himself in the back kitchen, actually fumbling chaotically for the instant ramen packs he’d brought from Konoha, still complaining nonstop in his mind.
Soon, two bowls of steaming ramen were served.
Konan was starving, picked up her chopsticks for a bite, then frowned slightly, whispering to Menma: “This taste… seems like instant ramen… No wonder there are no customers…”
Her voice was soft, but how could it escape Jiraiya’s ears?
Jiraiya stumbled, nearly falling, feeling utterly embarrassed inside.
Menma took a bite, nodded thoughtfully: “The taste is indeed average. But… I can sense a very familiar feeling from this broth.”
“Oh?” Jiraiya perked up with interest, leaning over the counter curiously: “What does the customer taste? This shop’s broth is a exclusive secret recipe!”
He tried to salvage some face.
Menma looked up, his deep blue eyes calmly meeting Jiraiya’s, that gaze seeming to pierce through his clumsy disguise, making Jiraiya’s heart inexplicably jolt, vaguely feeling an indescribable sense of familiarity in the boy’s features and eyes.
“A bit like the taste of Konoha Village’s mass-produced instant ramen.” Menma pointed out flatly: “Boss, your exclusive secret recipe wouldn’t be imported seasoning packets from Konoha, would it?”
Alarm bells rang in Jiraiya’s mind!
This guy is definitely suspicious!
How could an ordinary boy taste Konoha instant ramen in one bite?
And pinpoint the origin so accurately?
He feigned calm, laughing it off: “Customer’s joking… Have you been to Konoha? You don’t look like you’re from Rain Village.”
He tried to turn the tables and probe the other’s background.
Menma ate unhurriedly, as if just chatting: “I’m a traveler who loves tasting local foods, been to many places. For ramen, the one I recommend most is Ichiraku Ramen in Konoha Village; their craft is truly one of a kind.”
Jiraiya’s suspicions deepened, pressing: “Which countries has the customer visited? Seen any specialty ramens? To be honest, I’m quite the food researcher myself!”
He tried to extract more information through the topic.
Menma spoke as if reciting from memory: “Land of Hot Water’s ramen uses high-temperature hot spring water for the broth, a unique flavor; Land of Lightning’s ramen excels with high mountain canyon specialty ingredients, a rugged wild taste; Land of Water, surrounded by sea, uses seafood bases, exceptionally fresh; Land of Earth’s ramen is rather ordinary, nothing special; Land of Wind’s ramen is quite distinctive, adding oasis-specific spices and desert animal meats, unique texture; finally, Land of Stars…”
He paused, his tone seeming to carry a subtle admiration: “Land of Stars’ capital city is extraordinarily prosperous, gathering ingredients from everywhere. Their ramen shops serve a ‘family reunion’ ramen, all top ingredients in one bowl, layers of flavor unmatched.”
Jiraiya grew more and more astonished as he listened.
This boy before him had knowledge of various countries’ customs and foods far beyond his imagination.
Some of those countries he hadn’t even thoroughly explored himself.
“You’ve been to so many countries?” The two ended up chatting back and forth about foods and cultures from various countries, the atmosphere surprisingly “harmonious” for a moment.
