Ino-Shika-Cho?
Jiraiya reevaluated his disciple with fresh eyes.
This kid had quietly, without fanfare, already roped in one of Konoha's oldest and most established family alliances.
This was no longer just about opening a simple restaurant.
"What exactly are you playing at, kid?" Jiraiya dropped his playful grin; his tone deepened with gravity.
The apartment's atmosphere shifted subtly with those words.
Karin immediately sensed the pressure; she instinctively straightened her back.
"What could I possibly be up to, Master?" Sora replied, still lounging lazily as he poured himself a cup of tea.
"Earn money, then lounge at home sunbathing every day, feed the cats—how leisurely."
Jiraiya snorted, clearly unconvinced by the flippant answer.
"I've heard—Danzō has vanished."
"Orochimaru has defected too."
"And the Third is getting on in years."
Each of Jiraiya's statements landed like a pebble on still water, sending ripples outward.
"The village isn't exactly peaceful right now."
Sora sipped his tea without responding.
"You've pulled in Ino-Shika-Cho, and you're training this Uzumaki girl," Jiraiya's gaze shifted between Sora and Karin. "What are you really scheming?"
"World peace?" Sora quipped lightly.
"Be serious!" Jiraiya glared.
Sora set down his cup and leaned forward slightly.
The lazy facade slipped away; his amber eyes held only profound, unfathomable calm.
"Master, how do you think... Naruto is doing these days?"
Naruto.
At the mention of the name, Jiraiya's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"Uzumaki Naruto—son of the Fourth Hokage, jinchuriki of the Nine-Tails," Sora continued in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. "I treated him to hot pot the other day. That kid... he's starved for affection. Incredibly lonely."
Jiraiya fell silent.
He lifted his teacup but didn't drink.
"You're his godfather—and his father's teacher," Sora went on, as if discussing something trivial. "All these years, you've left him alone in the village, treated like a monster—shunned and ostracized by everyone?"
"I..." Jiraiya opened his mouth, but his throat felt dry; no words emerged.
He had his reasons.
Pursuing Orochimaru, gathering intelligence for Konoha...
He had countless "for the village" justifications that kept him from staying—to fulfill an elder's duty.
But those reasons felt pale and hollow against Sora's calm questioning.
"I'm not blaming you, Master," Sora said, reverting to his cheerful grin; the atmosphere lightened instantly.
"I'm just thinking—some things need someone to step up and do them."
"Like ensuring the hero's son has enough to eat and wear, can make friends, can laugh freely under the sun like a normal child."
"You want to become Hokage?"
Karin sat beside them, chopsticks frozen mid-air, barely daring to breathe.
She could feel the oppressive aura radiating from the usually flippant white-haired man—far more intimidating than Sora on the training field.
"Master, what do you think the Hokage is?"
Jiraiya blinked, caught off guard.
"The Hokage is the village head—the one who stands in front of everyone..."
"No." Sora interrupted gently.
Those perpetually smiling amber eyes were now as still as a bottomless lake.
"The Hokage isn't a position—it's a responsibility."
"The responsibility to ensure a hero's son doesn't grow up in loneliness and scorn; to let every villager live in peace and prosperity; to keep the Will of Fire truly burning."
His voice was soft, yet each word carried immense weight.
Jiraiya's breathing paused for a moment.
Sora looked at him and finally answered the question directly.
The corners of his mouth curved upward—not the usual performative cheer, but a confident, composed assurance.
"So yes."
"I hope that when the day comes, Master Jiraiya—you'll support me."
He let out a long sigh.
"With your current strength and mindset—you're ready."
He lifted the now-cold tea and drained it in one gulp.
"No problem."
The promise came easily.
Sora's smile returned to full sunshine brightness, as if the heart-pounding exchange had been mere harmless banter.
"Of course—not right now."
He waved dismissively, lazy posture resuming.
"I'm still too young, not enough experience. We'll take it slow—no rush."
He picked up his chopsticks again, pointing at the pot.
"For now, just some... advance preparations."
"Master, the tripe will overcook if you don't eat soon."
Jiraiya looked at him, suddenly feeling thoroughly outmaneuvered by his own disciple.
From one hot pot meal, to roping in Ino-Shika-Cho, to this moment's direct confrontation.
He shook his head, picked up chopsticks, and grabbed a piece of tripe to stuff in his mouth.
"Troublesome brat."
He mumbled unclearly.
The latter half of the meal took on an oddly charged atmosphere.
Jiraiya avoided any further talk of the future, focusing solely on eating—as if swallowing the day's revelations along with the food.
After the meal, Jiraiya stood to leave.
At the door, he paused and looked back deeply at Sora.
"I'll keep an eye on Naruto's situation."
"And teach her the Uzumaki sealing techniques properly."
He glanced at the tense, kitten-like Karin nearby.
"That child—I'm entrusting her to you."
With that, he vanished in a flicker—no lingering.
The apartment fell quiet once more.
Only the messy table and lingering hot pot aroma remained.
Karin was still reeling from the immense shock, unable to process.
The Fifth Hokage.
Akashi Sora.
The combination set her blood boiling.
She was about to participate in something vast and monumental.
"Karin."
Sora's voice pulled her back.
"Yes!"
She straightened instantly.
Sora didn't look at her. He ambled back to the sofa, sank into it, and picked up his half-read ancient barrier technique tome.
His relaxed posture contrasted wildly with the words he'd just spoken—as if the man aiming for the Hokage seat wasn't him at all.
"What are you standing there for?"
"Clean up—wash the dishes."