The rain poured down heavily over Amegakure, drenching the battle-scarred streets in an endless downpour. Jiraiya, the legendary Sannin, stood amidst the rubble, his once-pristine red cloak now tattered and soaked. Blood dripped from a deep wound on his forehead, blurring his vision as he stared at the six figures before him.
Pain. The man who was once his student, Nagato, now stood as a god, gazing down upon him with those cold, merciless Rinnegan eyes. The battle had been long and brutal. Even with Sage Mode, he had been overwhelmed, his techniques countered at every turn. He had managed to kill one of the bodies, but Pain's power was beyond anything he had ever faced.
Jiraiya let out a weak chuckle, the pain in his ribs flaring up. So, this is how it ends? He had dedicated his life to the pursuit of peace, yet here he was, dying at the hands of his own student. Regret gnawed at him—not for himself, but for the dreams he would never fulfill. He thought of Naruto, his student, his godson, his greatest hope. Naruto… I wanted to see how your story ends.
Pain took a step forward, his voice devoid of emotion. "This is the fate of the world, Jiraiya-sensei. True peace can only be achieved through absolute power."
Jiraiya coughed, blood splattering onto the rain-soaked ground. "You're wrong… Nagato." His fingers trembled as he carved a final message onto Fukasaku's back. If he couldn't escape, he would at least make sure Konoha had the information they needed.
Pain raised his hand, the mechanical hum of the Asura Path's arm signaling the end. "Goodbye, Jiraiya."
And then—darkness.
---
Jiraiya jolted awake, his body drenched in sweat. His lungs burned as he gasped for air, his mind still reeling from the pain of his last moments. He clutched his chest, expecting the gaping wound that had ended him.
But there was nothing.
His fingers traced over smooth skin, unscarred, unbroken. The air smelled different—not of rain and blood, but of ink and parchment. Slowly, he sat up, taking in his surroundings.
He was in a small, cluttered room. Scrolls and manuscripts littered the wooden desk beside him. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books—some of them his own works. A half-eaten bowl of rice sat next to an unfinished draft of The Tale of the Gutsy Ninja.
His breath caught in his throat.
This was his old room in Konoha. The same room he had lived in as a young man, decades before the tragedies that shaped him.
Heart pounding, he stumbled toward the mirror in the corner. His reflection stared back at him—a younger man, his face free of the scars and wrinkles of time. His wild white hair was as thick as ever, his body strong, brimming with vitality.
His hands shook. This can't be real.
A sharp knock at the door made him freeze.
"Jiraiya! Get your lazy ass up!"
His blood ran cold. That voice… deep, authoritative, yet not as aged as he remembered.
His feet moved before his mind could catch up, and he swung the door open.
Standing there was Hiruzen Sarutobi, his black hair still untouched by age, his sharp eyes filled with exasperation.
Jiraiya's mouth went dry. "S-Sensei…"
Hiruzen frowned. "What's with that look? Did you drink too much again?"
Jiraiya swallowed hard, his mind racing. This is real. Somehow, against all logic, he had been given a second chance. He was back in his youth, in a time where everything had yet to unfold.
Orochimaru. Tsunade. Minato. Nagato. Naruto.
His fists clenched. If this was his second chance, then he wouldn't waste it.
He wouldn't let history repeat itself.
---
Jiraiya took his time walking through the streets of Konoha, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. The village was exactly as he remembered it—bustling with shinobi and civilians, children running through the streets without a care in the world. The sight filled him with a deep, nostalgic ache.
He passed by a training ground where a group of Academy students were practicing their kunai throwing. Among them, a young Minato Namikaze stood out, his blond hair glowing under the sun. He was still just a boy, but Jiraiya could already see the potential in him.
Jiraiya exhaled slowly. I have a chance to train him properly this time. Minato's death had been one of his greatest regrets. He had never been able to protect him, to guide him fully. But now? Now he had the time, the knowledge. He wouldn't let Minato die again.
Further down the street, he spotted Orochimaru and Tsunade arguing near a food stall. Tsunade's voice was raised, frustration evident in her expression, while Orochimaru's golden eyes glinted with amusement.
Jiraiya felt a pang of sorrow. He had watched them drift apart over the years—Orochimaru succumbing to darkness, Tsunade drowning in her grief. But now, before any of that had happened, he had the chance to change things.
He took a deep breath. This is my second chance. I won't let them fall.
His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice behind him.
"Oi, Jiraiya!"
He turned just in time to see a blur of red and white before something heavy crashed into his face. He stumbled back, rubbing his nose, and looked down to see a young Kushina Uzumaki glaring up at him, her fists on her hips.
Jiraiya blinked. "Kushina?"
"Where have you been? Minato's been waiting for you all day!" she huffed, her red hair flaring out like a lion's mane. "You promised to train him, remember?"
Jiraiya chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that."
Kushina narrowed her eyes. "You better not be slacking off, Ero-sennin."
Jiraiya barked out a laugh. "I haven't even started writing my adult novels yet, and you're already calling me that?"
Kushina smirked. "Call it a premonition."
Jiraiya watched her walk off, her energy as fiery as ever. His smile faded as a thought crossed his mind.
Kushina… I can save her too.
His gaze drifted to the Hokage Monument in the distance. The faces of the First and Second Hokage loomed over the village, but there was still space for more.
Naruto's face would one day be up there. Jiraiya had no doubt about that.
But this time, he would live to see it happen.
He turned on his heel, determination burning in his chest. He had a lot of work to do, and he wouldn't waste a single moment.