The first thing Naruto noticed about Tanzaku Town wasn't the smell of fried food or the looming white walls of the castle on the hill.
It was the noise.
It wasn't just loud; it was a physical assault. A relentless, two-beat rhythm slammed against the air, shaking the dust off the roof tiles and rattling Naruto's teeth in his skull.
DOOM-DOOM. DOOM-DOOM. DOOM-DOOM.
It was a wall of sound made of thundering taiko drums, the high-pitched metallic clank-clank of kane chimes, and the frantic strumming of shamisen. It echoed off the castle walls, amplifying until the entire valley felt like it was trapped inside a giant heart attack.
"WHAT IS THAT?!" Naruto yelled, clamping his hands over his ears.
"Zomeki!" Jiraiya shouted back, grinning like a maniac. He stood in the middle of the road, letting the sound wash over him. "The fever rhythm! We're lucky, brats! It's the Awa Odori festival!"
They rounded the corner onto the main strip, and the road vanished.
In its place was a sea of humanity moving in a hypnotic, synchronized wave.
Naruto nearly got leveled by a massive bamboo pole, but as he swerved, the music changed.
The standard festival rhythm—the happy, frantic Zomeki—didn't stop, but it was suddenly layered with something sharper. Something that felt less like a celebration and more like a march.
He looked toward a small side-platform where a three-person Ren was performing. They weren't wearing the colorful happi coats of the other dancers. Their style was dark, traditional, and carried an undercurrent of lethal intent.
"Whoa," Naruto breathed, slowing down for a split second.
In the center, a figure crouched low, hidden behind a snarling, white demon mask with golden horns. He held a long, black trident that he slammed against the wooden stage in perfect, bone-shaking synchronization with the taiko drums. Every strike sent a vibration through the cobblestones that Naruto could feel in the soles of his sandals.
Behind him stood a girl with long, dark hair and cold eyes, her arms wrapped in mesh. She wasn't dancing; she was watching the crowd with a predator's stillness, her hands resting on a set of flutes tucked into her belt like kunai.
The third sibling, wearing a spotted headscarf and a comical, long-nosed mask, was lugging a massive ceramic jug labeled 'Human Sake' (Hitoshu). He swung the heavy vessel with a rhythmic, liquid weight, using the momentum to spin through the crowd, clearing a path for the trio with the grace of a drunken combatant.
"Move it, kid," the girl muttered as Naruto stared. Her voice was like silk over a blade.
"Naruto, keep going!" Sylvie yelled from behind him. She didn't stop to look, but her eyes glinted behind her glasses. "Their chakra... it's too steady. They aren't fools. They're professionals."
Naruto looked at her. She was clutching her canvas bag to her chest like a shield, her eyes darting around the chaotic mass of limbs and silk. She looked like she was mentally calculating the probability of being trampled.
"We can't get through!" Naruto complained, trying to shove past a guy in a happi coat who was spinning a fan. "Hey! Watch it!"
"Don't fight the current, Naruto!" Jiraiya bellowed, grabbing Naruto's shoulder to stop him from starting a brawl with a dancer. "Listen to the chant!"
The crowd roared the words, a thousand voices in unison:
"Odoru ahou ni miru ahou! Onaji ahou nara odoranya son-son!"
"What are they saying?!" Naruto screamed.
Jiraiya leaned down, his face solemn and wise in the festival lights.
"The dancing fool and the watching fool are both fools!" Jiraiya translated. "So if we're all fools, why not dance?!"
Naruto blinked. "That's… actually kinda deep?"
"Exactly!" Jiraiya nodded gravely. "We are in a town of vice and foolishness. But a ninja must be a disciplined fool."
He held out his hand.
"Which brings me to the matter of your finances."
Naruto froze. He instinctively covered the pocket where his frog wallet—fat with the silver coins he'd won from the slot machine yesterday—was hiding.
"No way!" Naruto shouted. "That's my ninja savings! I won it fair and square!"
"And you will lose it fair and square in five minutes in a place like this," Jiraiya lectured, his voice cutting through the drums. "You lack restraint. You'll spend it on balloon games and cotton candy. As your teacher, I must ensure you don't over-indulge before your training is complete."
Naruto looked desperately to Anko for backup. Usually, she loved calling Jiraiya out.
Anko was shouting something at a vendor selling grilled squid, but she turned when she saw the confrontation. She looked at the chaotic street filled with gambling stalls.
"He's right, brat!" Anko yelled over a particularly loud drum solo. "For once, the pervert is making sense! This place is designed to eat tourists alive! Let the adult handle the finances!"
"Et tu, Anko-sensei?!" Naruto wailed.
"Hand it over, Naruto," Sylvie sighed, shouting to be heard. "Statistically, the house edge in festival games is predatory! You won't keep it!"
Defeated by logic and betrayal, Naruto fished out the heavy frog wallet and slapped it into Jiraiya's large hand.
"Keep it safe!" Naruto warned. "If you lose one ryo, I'm telling the Hokage! Wait, we don't have a Hokage… I'll tell Iruka-sensei!"
"Trust me," Jiraiya said, pocketing the cash with a speed that was frankly suspicious. "I am the epitome of responsibility. Here."
He tossed Naruto a few loose coins.
"Allowance," he said. "Go buy a snack. Meet us at the castle gate in an hour. Do not get arrested."
Then, with a swirl of his coat, the Toad Sage vanished into the wall of dancers like a ghost stepping into fog.
Twenty minutes later, Naruto was miserable, deafened, and hungry.
"Stupid disciplined fool," he grumbled, ducking under a massive bamboo pole that carried a paper lantern the size of a boulder. "Stupid festival."
He had spent his meager allowance on the only two things he could afford: a tray of piping hot takoyaki and a bottle of ramune.
He held the tray high above his head like a sacred artifact, navigating the crush of bodies. The smell of burning sauce, sweat, and cheap perfume was overwhelming. The Zomeki rhythm was inside his head now—DOOM-DOOM, DOOM-DOOM—rattling his ribs.
He just wanted to find a quiet spot to eat his octopus balls and sulk.
He squeezed past a group of musicians slamming on metal chimes and broke through into a clearing near a high-end open-air sake bar.
"Finally," Naruto gasped.
He looked around to get his bearings.
And then he choked.
There, on a raised wooden platform in front of the bar, was a familiar figure.
He was wearing a festive headband tied around his forehead. He was holding two massive bottles of premium sake—the kind that cost more than a D-rank mission payout. And he was surrounded by a giggling group of women in straw Amigasa hats.
Jiraiya.
He wasn't guarding Naruto's money. He was wearing Naruto's money.
"And then!" Jiraiya bellowed, his face bright red, slurring his words. "I said to the Raikage... I said... that's not a lightning bolt, that's a glowstick!"
The women laughed. Jiraiya laughed. He attempted the crouched Otoko-odori dance, stumbled, and nearly poured sake down a woman's kimono.
"OOOOH! Party foul!" he cheered, taking a swig straight from the bottle. "Barkeep! Another round! On my student! He's rich!"
Naruto felt a vein pop in his forehead. The world turned red.
"PERVY SAGE!"
He wasn't the only one screaming.
From the left, Anko and Sylvie burst out of the crowd. Anko looked murderous, a vein throbbing in her neck. Sylvie looked like she was mentally calculating the trajectory of a kunai into Jiraiya's jugular.
"YOU!" Anko screamed, her voice shredding through the drumbeat. "You said you were being RESPONSIBLE!"
"My money!" Naruto roared, charging forward. "You're drinking my retirement fund!"
"That was for equipment!" Sylvie shrieked, clutching her head. "That was logistics budget!"
Jiraiya spotted them. He didn't look ashamed. He looked thrilled.
"Ah! My beloved students!" He waved the bottle, splashing sake onto the crowd below. "Come! Dance! The fool who watches is a fool who—"
"I'M GONNA KILL HIM!" Naruto yelled.
He ran.
The crowd was dense here. A solid wall of revelry. Naruto had to weave, dodge, and shove. He kept his eyes locked on the target. He held his takoyaki tray high, determined to reach the platform and bite the Sannin's ankles if he had to.
"Out of the way!" Naruto shouted at a guy in a white happi coat.
He was ten feet away.
Then the rhythm changed.
The drummers shifted to a frantic, triple-time beat. The dancers surged forward in a chaotic wave.
A man in front of Naruto—part of a troupe, sweating and frantic—spun around in a wide, sweeping crouch. His shoulder checked Naruto hard.
"Whoa!"
Naruto spun. He lost his footing on the slick cobblestones.
My takoyaki.
The tray went airborne.
For a split second, time seemed to slow down. Naruto watched in horror as six golden balls of dough, steaming with sauce, mayonnaise, and dancing bonito flakes, sailed through the festival lights like saucy comets.
Gravity took over.
They didn't hit the ground.
They hit a man.
Not just any man. A tall, broad man standing near the edge of the VIP section. He was wearing an immaculate, white pinstripe suit that looked like it cost more than Naruto's entire apartment. He was surrounded by four large bodyguards.
SPLAT.
The takoyaki hit the man square in the chest.
The sauce exploded. The mayonnaise splattered. A single octopus ball rolled slowly down the pristine white lapel, leaving a dark, greasy trail of destruction.
The man froze.
The bodyguards froze.
Even the drums seemed to stop for a microsecond.
The man looked down at his ruined suit. Then he looked up. His eyes, cold and dark behind tinted sunglasses, locked onto Naruto.
"My suit," the man named Gantetsu whispered, his voice low and dangerous.
Naruto gulped.
"Uh," Naruto said, his voice squeaking. "Five second rule?"