Chapter 163: He Really is Useless
"I am the most outstanding Ninja of Root, code-named Kou, number one!"
The faint voice echoed in the void, completely indifferent and devoid of a single trace of emotion. He spoke as if he were discussing the weather, brushing off something utterly insignificant.
Yet, what he had just casually discarded was his own life.
It felt like an eternity trapped within that memory, but in the physical world, the genjutsu had only lasted a dozen seconds. In the span of a single breath, the horrific events that transpired within the illusion were forcefully branded into Jiraiya's brain.
When the illusion finally shattered, Jiraiya remained frozen in his seat. He sat as rigid as a stone statue, his unblinking gaze locked dead ahead. His mind was still trapped in those distant, blood-soaked ruins of the Land of Frost.
Without warning, he shot to his feet. He stumbled two steps forward, his hands grasping at the empty air as if trying to physically drag a ghost back into reality. In his blind panic, his knee slammed into the low table. A bowl of hot soup toppled over, shattering against the floorboards.
The scalding liquid splashed across his bare instep. The sudden, biting pain snapped him back to the present.
In an instant, every drop of color drained from his face, leaving him ashen. A pair of invisible, icy hands clamped down around his throat, crushing his windpipe. He clawed at his own neck, his mouth opening and closing as he desperately gasped for air that refused to enter his lungs.
He looked exactly like a suffocating fish dragged out of the water. Pathetic. Helpless.
A suffocating wave of worthlessness crashed over him. Five years ago, he had woken up in a sterile hospital bed, forced to listen as others delivered the news of Kou's departure.
Now, five years later, history repeated its cruel joke. He was once again reduced to a bystander, hearing from others that Kou had died.
Half a decade of grueling training had changed absolutely nothing.
He was still the same useless trash who could never protect the people who mattered.
He had bled, sweat, and pushed himself to the absolute brink of his limits, yet he remained entirely powerless when it counted. Why could he still do nothing?
Hiruzen Sarutobi had always lectured them about the reality of their profession. The old man claimed that everyone eventually grew numb to the loss. Becoming a shinobi meant standing by as comrades fell, watching them depart one by one until it was finally your own turn to die.
Jiraiya clamped his hands over his face. He could not get used to it.
How could anyone look at the mangled corpse of a friend and feel nothing but calm acceptance?
A bitter, acidic regret clawed at his stomach.
What if he had just stayed at Mount Myoboku? What if he had abandoned his stubborn investigation and stopped digging for a truth that did not belong to him? If he had just let things be, would Kou, who had been unable to leave his post, still be breathing right now?
There were still so many words left unspoken. He had prepared gifts, practiced apologies, and hoarded stories to share.
He had only looked away for a brief moment. How could it possibly be too late? His life had been nothing but a relentless string of tragedies. It was a bitter, agonizing existence devoid of any real warmth.
Perhaps there had been a few fleeting moments of happiness, but the world had ruthlessly snatched them away before he could even grasp them.
The horrific torture Kou had endured in the Interrogation Department had all been a calculated ruse. He had allowed his body to be broken just to earn the trust of the mastermind hiding in the shadows. What kind of terrifying determination did it take to willingly walk into hell? How much sheer willpower did he expend to endure that torment without breaking character?
Kou was made of flesh and blood. It was not as if he could not feel the agonizing pain.
Jiraiya recalled the final look Kou had given him before walking away. That quiet, lingering gaze was entirely uncharacteristic of the usually aloof boy. Kou had stared at him in silence for several long seconds. Was that his silent farewell?
Had Kou known his own death was approaching all along, and thus faced the end with such terrifying calm?
The crushing sorrow suddenly gave way to a violent, frantic killing intent. A roar built in Jiraiya's chest. He wanted to tear Black Zetsu apart with his bare hands. He wanted to rip the Rinnegan out of that hidden enemy's skull. He wanted to drown them all in blood to avenge Kou.
The violent fantasies raged like a wildfire in his mind, only to be extinguished just as quickly by the cold, harsh reality of his own weakness.
Jiraiya slumped forward, burying his bloodshot eyes in his palms. His shoulders shook.
He could not even defeat Kou in a fair fight. How could he possibly stand a chance against a monster that had forced Kou into a corner?
During their clash, Kou had clearly been holding back. If the Uchiha had fought with lethal intent, Jiraiya would have been pinned to the dirt in the opening seconds. How had he been so blind?
He really was completely useless.
"I am sorry." Kato Dan stood near the doorway, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "I wanted to save him at the time. I tried. But I was trapped inside a barrier. I... I could not break through it in time."
Dan's throat tightened, cutting off his words. He looked away, unable to offer any further excuses.
Any explanation he could give right now would just sound like hollow noise.
"Jiraiya..."
Tsunade stepped across the room. She knelt on the floorboards right in front of him, reaching out to press a firm, grounding hand onto his trembling shoulder.
She opened her mouth, desperately wanting to offer him some shred of comfort. But as the words rose to her lips, they turned to ash. She had no idea what to say.
She could not even find a way to soothe the hollow ache in her own chest. How could she possibly mend Jiraiya's broken spirit?
In moments like this, she found herself deeply envying Orochimaru. That snake was always so infuriatingly calm, acting as if nothing in the world could ever make him lose his composure.
Time lost all meaning. Jiraiya stumbled out of the room, his mind a hazy, disconnected void. He walked through the village streets without seeing the faces passing by, his feet moving entirely on autopilot. He did not know where he was going or what he was doing until the wrinkled, solemn face of Hiruzen Sarutobi suddenly came into focus.
Blinking the fog from his eyes, Jiraiya realized he was standing right in the middle of the Hokage Building.
Hiruzen took one look at his student's hollow, bloodshot eyes and instantly understood. Jiraiya already knew the truth about Uchiha Kou.
Orochimaru was far too clever to be bound by gag orders. The snake had undoubtedly found a loophole in the village regulations, ensuring that Jiraiya learned every single detail of the tragedy exactly as it had happened.
"Jiraiya, go home," Hiruzen said softly, his voice heavy with age and exhaustion. "This matter ends here. Your involvement in this incident is officially over. Leave the rest of the burden to us."
"Since I already know the ending, you might as well give me the details."
Jiraiya did not shout at his teacher. He did not slam his fists on the desk, nor did his face twist into an expression of collapse or despair. Instead, an unnatural, eerie calm had settled over his features.
"The shinobi that Kou supposedly slaughtered," Jiraiya began, his voice flat. "Were they just abandoned pawns? Sacrifices made for the sake of the mission?"
Hiruzen let out a long, slow breath. "The Fourth Hokage would not allow such a thing to happen. Therefore, he and Kou orchestrated a grand performance. Those shinobi were secretly transferred out of the village to execute classified missions under assumed identities. They are all still alive, and they will be returning home soon."
"Then what about Tsukiki?" Jiraiya pressed, the image of Hyuga Gen standing solemnly in the cemetery flashing through his mind.
"That person never existed in the first place," Hiruzen revealed, leaning back in his chair. "At the time, Black Zetsu had set his sights on Uchiha Kou due to his exceptional talent. To isolate and control the boy, the enemy used a subtle mind-control genjutsu, deliberately sowing discord to fracture your friendship. Once the Fourth Hokage uncovered this manipulation, he took immediate action. To protect you, Orochimaru, and Tsunade from being targeted next, he fabricated a phantom operative named Tsukiki and planted him within Kou's intelligence reports."
Since the most devastating truth was already out in the open, Hiruzen saw no reason to keep these operational details classified any longer.
"The Tsukiki that was supposedly murdered was nothing more than a Shadow Clone cast by the Fourth Hokage," Hiruzen continued, his tone turning somber. "Uchiha Kou used a highly classified Sharingan technique to alter the perception of reality, deceiving Black Zetsu and securing his absolute trust. If Hyuga Gen had not caused such a massive disturbance at the border, the intelligence regarding this operation would never have leaked back to Konoha."
"So, no one actually died after all. That really is wonderful news."
Jiraiya spoke the words mechanically. He even managed to force the corners of his mouth upward, squeezing out a faint, hollow smile that did not reach his eyes.
He raised a hand and lightly brushed his own shoulder, his fingers sweeping away a non-existent snowflake.
No one died. No one was injured.
Every single person involved in the grand conspiracy was perfectly fine. Everyone, except for Uchiha Kou.
Jiraiya turned his head, looking out the large window of the Hokage's office. The afternoon sun bathed the village in a warm, golden light. A small flock of birds perched on the lush green branches of a nearby tree, their crisp, pleasant chirping drifting through the open glass.
Down on the distant streets, a group of children were running through the crowds, loudly playing a game of shinobi. The boy in the lead sprinted ahead, turning back to make a goofy face at his pursuing friends. In his distraction, he suddenly lost his footing, tumbling forward and rolling across the dusty road.
Instead of crying, the boy scrambled to his feet. He puffed out his chest, pretending to be completely unfazed as he tossed his hair back with what he clearly thought was a dashing, heroic smile. His friends behind him burst into bright, ringing laughter, swarming over him and playfully tackling him back into the dirt.
Everything looked so incredibly beautiful.
Not a single person down there knew the truth. They had no idea that a boy who never truly belonged to this world had quietly surrendered his life just to maintain their fragile stability.
He had entered this world completely alone, and he had died completely alone.
He departed in absolute silence, slipping beneath the surface without causing a single ripple in the water.
The only proof that he had ever existed at all was a blank tombstone sitting in the back of the cemetery, a cold slab of stone where not even a name could be engraved...
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