With the battle finally over, Lumian exhaled sharply and nearly dropped to the ground.
"Ugh… damn it," he muttered, clutching his side. A sharp pain flared in his ribs, the same spot Chiori had nailed with that brutal kick.
"My durability's pathetic," he grumbled. "Then again… most Beyonders aren't exactly tanks either."
He ignored the pain and forced himself to stand straighter, eyes drifting toward the alley where smoke still billowed upward, curling into the sky like a signal flare.
"That's going to attract attention… I need to get out of here before some Jonin comes sniffing around."
Turning on his heel, he started to walk away, not even glancing at the unconscious bodies scattered on the dirt. They could lay drooling on the dirt for a while longer...
But then he paused.
"Wait a second… that guy's a Chunin from the Uchiha clan, isn't he?" His lips curled into a grin. "Which means…"
He darted back to the fallen Shinobi and started rifling through the man's gear. As he worked, he felt a faint spirituality spreading through his body: the slow digestion of the Marauder potion still at work.
"Kunais… explosion tags… smoke bombs… ooh, more cash!" he muttered, tossing each item into his pouch. Then he pulled out something odd.... A small trinket?
"A keychain?" He turned it over. "No, more like a pendant without the necklace..."
It was oddly shaped, green with brown edging, almost like wings.
"A butterfly? …No. A moth," he said, narrowing his eyes. The antennas were gone, and the ends were rounded. A weird object to be carrying around... I'm going to pocket it anyways.
By now, his pouches and pockets were crammed full. He sighed and formed a hand seal.
"Shadow Clone Jutsu."
A puff of smoke burst around him, and two identical copies appeared. He handed off some of the loot.
"You two, grab these. Then check the other bodies and take anything useful. Make sure you get it done fast."
One clone rolled his eyes. "You promised you wouldn't use us for grunt work again."
Lumian ignored him. "Yeah, yeah. Hurry up before someone shows up."
Grumbling, the clones got to work. In less than a minute, they regrouped, each one with stuffed pockets and a few extra weapons.
"All right," Lumian said, pointing at each of them. "Change your disguises into different people. Then, we'll each split up in different streets, different directions. Don't act suspicious. After three hours, regroup at our house. Got it?"
A clone smirked. "At least you called it 'our' house this time. Progress."
Lumian grinned. "See? I'm a generous employer."
He crouched, ready to leap away. "Let's move!"
A burst of wind later, and the group of Lumians each scaled the walls of the alley and made their way to the rooftops.
POOF. POOF. POOF.
The yellow hair that each of them appeared to have changed into a shade of black, brown, and grey.
Each of them chose a random direction, and followed it, moving in different directions as they had planned.
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(POV Shift – Jiraiya)
"My wallet…"
Jiraiya groaned, clutching the new leather pouch in his hand, thicker than before, packed with backup ryo he had painstakingly gathered over the past few weeks.
Weeks... and still no sign of the little brat who robbed him.
He dragged a hand down his face and let out a long, pitiful moan.
"And there was so much money in that one... Damn it!"
With a sigh, he slipped the wallet back into his pocket—then patted it twice. Just to be safe.
He straightened up, resolved.
"I need peace… calm… balance…"
A slow grin crept across his face.
"Women. Yes… women will calm me down."
That familiar pervy smile took hold of his face like muscle memory. Without a second thought, he turned on his heel and made a beeline toward his new target.
The hot springs.
Launching himself into the air with a mighty leap, Jiraiya landed atop a nearby rooftop with ease, sandals thudding softly against the tiles. Just as he bent his knees to leap again, something caught his eye.
Far in the distance, a thin pillar of smoke rose into the sky.
It was faint, barely visible to most. A Genin wouldn't notice it. A Chunin might have to squint. But Jiraiya? A Sannin who could wipe the floor with an elite Jonin?
He saw it plain as day.
His grin faded. He squinted, serious now.
"…Interesting."
Without another word, he veered away from the hot springs, heading toward the source of the smoke with silent, purposeful strides.
. . .
(A few minutes later)
Jiraiya crouched on a roof edge, peering down into the alley where the smoke had originated. The acrid scent of burnt paper and scorched earth still hung in the air.
And what he saw made him blink.
A group of blonde-haired boys, about five or six of them, were rummaging through the unconscious bodies of a squad of shinobi. They reached inside each of their clothing, hands touching everywhere.
One of the fallen shinobi groaned and began to stir.
Without hesitation, one of the blondes punched the man square in the face, knocking him back out cold.
Jiraiya stared, mouth agape.
"Oh my…?!"
Wait, no, they weren't stripping them. That would be weird even for him.
"Robbing?! They're robbing unconscious shinobi?!"
He gawked at the sheer boldness, no.... blasphemy of it all. These weren't desperate civilians or rogue bandits. They were coordinated... They moved like trained operatives... or mischievous little thieves as each of them sported a stupid grin on this face while he robbed them.
The boys regrouped in the center of the alley.
"All right," the apparent leader said, pointing at the others. Change your disguises into different people. Then, we'll each split up in different streets, different directions. Don't act suspicious. After three hours, regroup at our house. Got it?"
One of the others smirked. "At least you called it our house this time. Progress."
The leader grinned. "See? I'm a generous employer."
He crouched, ready to leap.
"Let's move."
Jiraiya stayed crouched, still and silent in the shadows, eavesdropping from above. Just as he prepared to leap down and confront the boys, he hesitated.
A thoughtful look crossed his face.
"…No. Not yet."
He abandoned his current position and jumped onto another rooftop and hid himself.
Soon enough, each of the boys made their way to the the top.
In a puff of smoke, the boys transformed. Their appearances changed in a flash, different hair, clothes, even heights. In seconds, they split up, leaping across rooftops and disappearing in different directions.
Jiraiya watched from afar, eyes narrowing.
"Thieves huh? That means your a suspect...."
The Sannin slipped back into the shadows, following one of the transformed boys at a distance.
"All right then… Let's see where you're headed."
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Lumian stood in the center of his cramped apartment, arms crossed, grinning ear to ear as his Shadow Clones dropped their stolen loot onto the floor in front of him.
A waterfall of metallic clinks, rustling fabric, and soft thuds filled the room as wallets, tags, scrolls, and weapons spilled out in a gloriously messy pile.
"Good work, boys," Lumian said, nodding with satisfaction. "I'll call you when I need you again!"
"Please don't…" one clone muttered.
With a collective poof, they vanished into smoke, leaving behind silence... and treasure.
Lumian's eyes sparkled with glee.
"So much money! So many kunai and shuriken!" He crouched down and ran a hand lovingly over the pile. "I'm rich, baby!"
He darted into the kitchen, practically skipping, and pulled out a scuffed old box from beneath the cabinet. Inside lay his growing stash: worn wallets, tagged scrolls, smoke bombs, even some Konoha-issued gear, all lifted from unsuspecting victims over the past few weeks.
He lugged the box to the center of the room and frowned.
"There's no security here at all…" he muttered, glancing around his modest living space. "If someone breaks in, all they'd have to do is open a single cabinet and bam: instant evidence."
With a sigh, he set the box down.
"I need a better hiding spot. Maybe once I get access to the grey space above the fog… then I can store things there."
One by one, he picked up the loot and dropped it into the box, each item landing with a satisfying tink, clank, or dull thud.
When he reached the strange green object, his hand paused mid-motion.
It was the pendant, the odd, keychain-like trinket shaped like a moth.
He turned it over in his palm, inspecting its smooth green surface and brown-edged wings. No antennae. No real signs of chakra on first glance. But it didn't feel... normal.
"What are you, exactly?"
He narrowed his eyes, the Seer potion in his system humming gently, stirring his thoughts. A memory surfaced, an image from a digital article he'd once read back in his original world. A delicate, leafy-green moth.
"Damn... what was it called again...?"
He closed his eyes, letting the Seer potion's skills of memory recollection guide him.
Then it clicked.
"Jade moth," he said aloud, lips forming a silent oh as the name echoed in his mind. He snapped his fingers and gave a short laugh, smacking a fist into his open palm.
"Right, known for its color, wing pattern, and more importantly… its symbolism."
He raised the pendant up to eye level, his gaze sharp.
"Secrecy."
A grin slowly stretched across his face.
"That means you're hiding something."
. . .
Lumian pulled out a second pendant from his pouch, this one strung with a thin black cord. With the green moth-shaped pendant still in his other hand, he moved over to the kitchen table and set it down gently.
The fading sunlight streamed through the window, casting long shadows across the floor.
Taking a slow breath, Lumian held the strung pendant above the green one and began rotating it in tight, deliberate circles, his hands steady, his eyes half-lidded in focus.
The Seer potion within him responded instantly, its mysterious power stirring as he performed the act of spirit dowsing.
Then, his vision blurred.
An old building appeared before his mind's eye.
Faded blue roof tiles. A weather-worn wooden door with a round, iron lock. A cracked barrel sitting outside the entrance that spoke of its age.
That was it.
The vision vanished as quickly as it came.
Lumian blinked, returning to reality, lips slowly curling into a smile.
"So…" he murmured, his voice laced with curiosity and excitement, "something's hidden there. Something important."
He leaned back in his chair and let out a breath, glancing out the window. The sun was sinking beneath the rooftops, painting the sky orange and purple.
"A shame... guess I'll start looking tomorrow."
He stood, stretching his arms, when a sound snapped his attention toward the door.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
He jumped, heart skipping a beat.
"What the—?"
A muffled voice came through the wood.
"Guy? That you?"
KNOCK. KNOCK.
"Alright, alright! Hold up a second!"
Panic surged.
Lumian scrambled to gather the scattered loot, frantically stuffing the last few items into the box. Kunai clattered against coins and tags with a metallic jumble. He shoved the whole thing under the sink cabinet with a sharp thud and slammed the cabinet door shut.
Both pendants vanished into his pockets. He gave the room one final, paranoid sweep. Nothing obvious. Hopefully.
Grumbling under his breath, he made his way to the door.
"Guy, I thought I told you I couldn't meet up with you to—"
He opened the door mid-sentence.
And froze.
Standing in the doorway was a tall man with long, spiky white hair, arms folded, eyes sharp as daggers.
Jiraiya.
The Toad Sage.
"So…" the man said, narrowing his gaze, "it's you."
Lumian's jaw went slack. His stomach dropped into his shoes.
There was a long, horrible pause.
"…I'm so fucked. "
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(Author's note:
Indeed you are....
Anyways, there's not much to say so please leave a comment and a review when you feel like it!
Thank you....
and POWER STONES!!!!!!)