The sun hung high in the sky, blanketing the land with a warm golden glow. Noon had come to the Land of Rice Fields, and the narrow dirt paths weaving through the endless stretches of rice paddies shimmered with heat and the faint glimmer of standing water.
Stalks of rice swayed gently with the breeze, rustling with a soft, persistent rhythm. From a distance, it looked serene, idyllic — like a land untouched by conflict which was just a facade.
Jiraiya walked briskly along one of these winding paths, his wooden sandals clicking faintly against the compacted earth. His gait was deceptively casual, but each step was calculated, his senses alert beneath the veneer of ease.
He was not a stranger to foreign lands, but the peacefulness of the Land of Rice Fields always put him slightly on edge — like silence before the clash of steel.
Though technically a neighbouring country to the Land of Fire, the Land of Rice Fields had never cultivated any significant political clout. Their shinobi presence was negligible at best, and even among the minor villages, they were seen as passive, more of a cultural retreat than a political or military player. Their lands produced food and fine silks, not warriors. They were better known for their proximity to the Land of Iron and their trade relations than any standing army.
But Jiraiya, walking through those open fields, knew that nothing stayed static in the world of shinobi.
In a few decades, this land — this quiet, almost forgotten place — would be reborn under a darker banner. It would become Otogakure, the Hidden Sound Village, founded by none other than his former comrade and traitor, Orochimaru.
But for now, there was no ominous tower rising above these paddies, no eerie silence, no subversive chakra suppressors in the air. Just rice, sun, and the occasional chirping of frogs.
The path gradually transitioned into stone as Jiraiya approached the border gate — a modest structure flanked by two stoic samurai. Their armour glinted with polish, but even through their strict expressions, the tension was palpable. They weren't shinobi, but they were trained, and their posture stiffened the moment they recognized the white-haired man approaching.
"Halt," one of them said firmly, hand on the hilt of his katana.
Jiraiya raised both hands casually, a lazy smile curling his lips. "Relax, boys. I've got clearance. I'm here for the auction."
The other samurai squinted. "Name?"
"Jiraiya of the Leaf. You'll find the name on the guest list, probably written in big, bold letters with a warning next to it."
After a moment of silent consultation, the samurai stepped aside. "You may pass. Good luck in the auction."
Jiraiya nodded and chuckled as he walked past. "Appreciate it. I'll try not to bankrupt any of you while I'm here."
He didn't miss the tension in their shoulders even after he passed them. He understood it well enough — the balance of power was fraying. With the Raikage's latest provocations in the Kage summit, even neutral lands like this one were uneasy. Kumo's aggressive posturing had disrupted more than trade routes; it had shaken the very stability that these smaller nations clung to.
"Tch… damn Raikage," Jiraiya muttered under his breath. "You've gone and thrown the whole damn shinobi world into chaos."
A young man in a dark blue robe greeted him at the village outskirts and bowed low. "You must be the representative from Konohagakure. Please, follow me. The auction hall is this way."
Jiraiya gave a nod and followed, the rhythmic swishing of his robe matching the young man's footsteps. As they walked through the village streets — clean, orderly, almost pristine — Jiraiya heard the distant sound of laughter. Feminine, lilting, and infectious. His head turned slightly.
The scent hit him almost instantly — sweet, floral, like cherry blossoms in full bloom. He sniffed the air, and sure enough, he realized they were near a set of public baths.
A bead of sweat formed on his temple. "Spring baths... when holding such a gathering?" he muttered to himself, voice almost wistful. "Cruel fate."
It takes most of his willpower for him to remain calm and composed as he fights the urge to go and "explore" the baths.
Jiraiya stiffened slightly and reached into his cloak, withdrawing a thin, leather-bound notebook from a storage seal stitched into the lining. He flipped it open with practised fingers and began scribbling rapidly with a quill.
The young attendant glanced over, curious. "Is something wrong, sir?"
"Hm? Wrong? Oh, no, no," Jiraiya replied, eyes still on the notebook. "Just inspiration. Can't let it slip away, you know?"
"Inspiration?"
"For literary purposes," Jiraiya emphasized, winking with a lecherous grin.
The attendant blinked. "You're a writer?"
"Among many other things," Jiraiya said, stashing the notebook away as the bathhouse scent faded behind them. "But yes. Best-selling author. You've probably heard of Make-Out Paradise it recently came out?"
The young man went red and immediately turned away, stammering, "T-this way, sir!"
Jiraiya chuckled, the tension from earlier ebbing away. They reached a wide, high-roofed hall not long after, its wooden pillars polished and adorned with understated iron carvings of dragons — the mark of the Land of Iron. Banners hung from the rafters, representing neutrality and trade more than any clan or village.
Inside, the hall was dimly lit with shafts of sunlight slanting in from skylights above. The air buzzed with restrained energy — dignitaries and shinobi alike sat in arranged seats, whispers spreading like wildfire with Jiraiya's entrance.
He recognized a few immediately.
At the front of the room sat Rasa, an upcoming jounin Konoha had been keeping an eye on, his golden eyes sharp and alert. Beside him, was the ageing but wise Ebizo, brother to the legendary Chiyo.
Of the others, most were unfamiliar — likely delegates from minor villages or trade leaders — but one stood out. A kunoichi from Iwagakure, seated alone, her arms crossed beneath a dark crimson cloak. Her hair was charcoal black, eyes dark with amusement and disdain in equal measure. Jiraiya's gaze lingered.
'So they sent her, he mused, his smile fading slightly. That makes things… complicated. Hopefully, she is experienced.'
He didn't acknowledge her directly, but his thoughts were already calculating. He knew she was the reason he was here, the true objective behind this so-called auction.
The hall was tense. Whispers flitted like leaves in the wind:
"Is that the Toad Bastard?"
"What's he doing here?"
"Konoha's taking this too seriously…"
Of course, they were all wondering why someone like Jiraiya had shown up. The war drums were beating across the continent — villages were fortifying, and drawing battle lines. And yet, here was Jiraiya, one of Konoha's legendary Sannin, attending an auction of all things.
But that was the genius of it.
While the Hokage and the village leaders had their hands full, Konoha needed someone powerful enough to represent them in sensitive political dealings — someone who could handle himself, intimidate without threatening, and also instigate covert matters behind the scenes.
Jiraiya was perfect. Officially, this was a high-level diplomatic mission. Unofficially… it was an SSS-rank mission under the guise of trade negotiations.
He settled into his seat, arms behind his head, eyes roving casually across the room.
"Now… let's see what kind of circus this is going to be."
Moments later, the doors at the far end of the hall creaked open with an eerie finality. Everyone turned.
A tall man in flowing white robes entered, his movements measured, almost theatrical. His hair was midnight black, tied into a high bun, and a thin scar ran from his jaw to his collarbone. He bore the distinct markings of the Shiin Clan — a once-obscure group known more for their music-based ninjutsu than political power and a future pillar of Otogakure, the land of Sound.
But in this land, they were rising, slowly building influence through subtle deals and neutral affiliations.
The man bowed slightly at the waist and raised his voice, firm but cultured.
"Ladies and gentlemen, shinobi and dignitaries, thank you for gracing us with your presence today. My name is Reikan Shiin, and I will be presiding over today's event on behalf of our esteemed hosts. As most of our guests have arrived…"
He let his gaze sweep the hall, pausing for just a moment on Jiraiya.
"…we may now begin the auction."
Jiraiya leaned forward slightly in his seat, fingers steepled.
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