Sixteen days until the finals.
The morning air was crisp as Naruto moved through his training routine, shadow clones filling the Forest of Death with the sounds of combat and technique refinement. His body flowed through kata with mechanical precision, each movement optimized through thousands of hours of practice.
He sensed Jiraiya's approach long before the Sannin appeared.
The chakra signature was familiar now—heavy with guilt and desperation, carrying none of the boisterous confidence that had characterized their first meeting. The legendary ninja who had trained the Fourth Hokage walked like a man carrying an unbearable weight.
Naruto didn't stop his training.
"I told you not to return."
"I know." Jiraiya's voice was rough, stripped of its usual theatrics. "I know you did. And I know you have every right to never speak to me again."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I can't..." The Sannin paused, struggling with words that didn't come easily. "I can't just walk away. Not again. I did that once, and it cost you everything. I won't make that mistake twice."
Naruto continued his kata, not acknowledging the statement.
"I'm not asking for forgiveness," Jiraiya continued. "I'm not asking for a relationship, or training sessions, or any of the things I offered before. I understand now that I haven't earned any of that."
"Then what are you asking for?"
Jiraiya took a deep breath.
"I'm asking if there's anything—anything at all—that would let me at least be near you. Not as family. Not as a teacher. Just... present. In your life, in some capacity, even if it's the smallest one imaginable."
Naruto's movements slowed, then stopped.
He turned to face the legendary Sannin, those empty blue eyes studying the broken man before him.
Jiraiya looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes spoke to sleepless nights. His clothes were rumpled, his hair unkempt. The proud ninja who had stood against armies looked like he might collapse at any moment.
"You want to be near me."
"Yes."
"Despite my repeated rejections."
"Yes."
"Despite knowing that I feel nothing for you and likely never will."
"Yes." Jiraiya's voice cracked. "Even if you never acknowledge me. Even if you never speak to me again. I just... I need to know you're okay. I need to see it with my own eyes. I can't go back to pretending you don't exist."
Naruto considered this request with his usual analytical detachment.
Jiraiya's presence had been an annoyance, but not a significant impediment to his training. The Sannin possessed intelligence resources and village connections that could prove useful in certain circumstances. And his obvious desperation suggested he would accept virtually any terms Naruto set.
"You understand that I will never consider you family."
"I understand."
"You understand that I will never seek your training, your guidance, or your emotional support."
"I understand."
"You understand that any relationship between us will be entirely on my terms, and I may terminate it at any point for any reason."
"I understand."
Naruto was silent for a long moment.
"There are conditions."
Hope flickered in Jiraiya's eyes—desperate, fragile hope that he clearly expected to be crushed.
"Anything. Name them."
"First: You will not approach me uninvited. If I wish to speak with you, I will seek you out. Otherwise, you will maintain distance."
"Agreed."
"Second: You will not speak to me about my parents unless I specifically request information. Your memories of them are yours. I have no interest in inheriting your grief."
Jiraiya flinched but nodded. "Agreed."
"Third: You will not interfere with my training, my missions, or my relationships. The women who care for me are not your concern. My methods are not your concern. My choices are not your concern."
"Agreed."
"Fourth: You will provide intelligence when requested. Your spy network has value. If I require information, you will supply it without question or condition."
"Agreed."
"Fifth: You will never again attempt to invoke guilt, family obligation, or emotional manipulation to influence my decisions. If I detect such attempts, our arrangement ends permanently."
"Agreed."
Naruto studied him for a long moment.
"You accept these terms."
"I accept them."
"You understand that accepting them gains you nothing except the knowledge of my continued existence."
"I understand." Jiraiya's voice was barely above a whisper. "It's more than I deserve."
Naruto turned back to his training.
"Then you may remain in the village. You may observe from a distance. But you are not my grandfather. You are not my teacher. You are not my family."
"What am I, then?"
Naruto considered the question.
"A resource. Nothing more."
The words should have been devastating. In many ways, they were. But Jiraiya felt something unexpected alongside the pain.
Relief.
He wasn't being cast out entirely. He would still be able to see Naruto, to know he was alive and well. It was the barest minimum of connection—less than an acquaintance, barely more than a stranger.
But it was something.
And after twelve years of nothing, something was more than he had any right to expect.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Naruto didn't respond.
"I know it doesn't mean much coming from me, but... thank you for giving me even this much."
Still no response.
Jiraiya turned to leave, then paused.
"For what it's worth—and I know it's worth very little—I'm going to try to be worthy of even this small chance. I won't bother you. I won't interfere. I'll just... be here. In case you ever need anything."
Naruto's voice was flat when he finally spoke.
"I won't need anything from you."
"Maybe not. But I'll be here anyway."
The Sannin walked away, his posture slightly less broken than when he had arrived.
It wasn't forgiveness.
It wasn't reconciliation.
It was barely even acknowledgment.
But it was a start.
From the shadows, Anko watched the exchange with narrowed eyes.
She didn't trust Jiraiya. Didn't believe his sudden reformation or his promises of non-interference. Men like him—men who abandoned children for decades—didn't change overnight.
But she also recognized the strategic value of what Naruto had done.
He had transformed an annoyance into a resource. Had established terms that gave him complete control over any future interaction. Had demonstrated, once again, the cold pragmatism that made him so formidable.
Her boy was brilliant.
Terrible and brilliant and hers.
She emerged from hiding as Jiraiya disappeared from sight, approaching Naruto with the ease of long familiarity.
"You let him stay."
"Under conditions that benefit me and cost him everything he wanted."
"Clever."
"Practical." Naruto resumed his training. "His intelligence network is extensive. His connections reach across multiple nations. These resources may prove valuable in the future."
"And if he violates your terms?"
"Then he will learn that the terms were the only things protecting him from my full attention."
Anko smiled—a sharp, predatory expression that mixed maternal pride with something darker.
"That's my boy."
Naruto didn't respond to the possessive claim.
But he didn't reject it either.
The news spread quickly through the devoted network.
Jiraiya had been given terms. Minimal terms that reduced him to little more than an information resource, but terms nonetheless.
Sakura and Satsuki discussed it during their own training, their transformed figures moving through combat drills as they analyzed the implications.
"He's learning to use people," Sakura observed. "Not just accept their devotion or reject their presence, but actually leverage them for practical benefit."
"Is that a good thing?" Satsuki asked.
"I don't know. But it's something. He's engaging with the world in ways he didn't before."
Ino, Hinata, Tenten, and Temari received the information through the invisible channels the devoted had established. Each processed it according to her own understanding.
Ino saw manipulation mastery—a skill she respected as a Yamanaka.
Hinata saw protection—Naruto ensuring that another person who had failed him could never hurt him again.
Tenten saw pragmatism—weapons were meant to be used, and Jiraiya was simply another tool in Naruto's arsenal.
Temari saw strength—the ability to dictate terms to a legendary Sannin spoke to power that transcended mere combat capability.
All of them saw the same underlying truth.
Naruto was changing.
Slowly. Imperceptibly to most observers.
But changing nonetheless.
The anger that had emerged in the arena hadn't faded. It had settled into something more permanent—a capacity for feeling that, while still limited, was undeniably real.
And if anger could break through the emptiness...
Maybe other emotions could too.
That evening, the seven devoted women gathered at Naruto's apartment.
They had coordinated this through their silent network—a unified show of support following his confrontations with Jiraiya. Each had brought something: Anko with a home-cooked meal, Sakura with medical supplies, Satsuki with training notes, Ino with flowers, Hinata with tea, Tenten with weapon maintenance supplies, Temari with information from her Sand contacts.
Naruto observed their coordinated arrival without comment.
"You're all here."
"We're always here," Anko said simply, moving to the small kitchen to prepare the meal. "You know that."
"We wanted to make sure you were okay," Sakura added. "After everything with Jiraiya."
"I am functional."
"That's not the same as okay," Hinata said softly, settling into position behind him with practiced ease.
"Perhaps not. But it's accurate."
The evening proceeded with comfortable routine. Anko cooked while the others arranged themselves around Naruto in their established positions. Conversation flowed around him rather than demanding his participation—updates on training, village gossip, observations about the upcoming finals.
He noted that their presence was not unpleasant.
That was significant.
For most of his life, the presence of others had been either threatening or irrelevant. These seven women had somehow become... acceptable. Even, perhaps, preferable to solitude.
"You're thinking about something," Satsuki observed, her Sharingan catching subtle changes in his expression that others might miss.
"I'm considering the value of consistent presence."
"Consistent presence?"
"You are all here. You have been here, in varying configurations, for months. Your presence has become... expected. Normal." He paused, searching for accurate words. "The absence of your presence would be noted."
The room went very quiet.
"Naruto-kun," Sakura said carefully, "are you saying you would miss us if we weren't here?"
"I don't experience missing. But I would observe the absence. And that observation would carry... weight."
It wasn't a declaration of love. Wasn't even a declaration of affection.
But for Naruto—for the empty boy who felt nothing—it was enormous.
He would notice if they were gone.
He would care, in whatever limited way he was capable of caring.
They mattered to him.
Not emotionally. Not yet. But practically, consistently, undeniably.
They mattered.
Ino's eyes had filled with tears. Hinata's hands trembled where they rested near his shoulders. Tenten and Temari exchanged glances that communicated volumes. Satsuki's Sharingan spun with barely contained emotion.
Anko turned from the stove, her own eyes bright.
"We're not going anywhere," she said, her voice thick. "Ever. You understand that, right? No matter what happens—the finals, the village, anything—we're not leaving you."
"I know."
"Do you? Really?"
Naruto considered the question seriously.
These women had devoted themselves to him completely. Had reshaped their lives around his existence. Had offered love he couldn't return, support he couldn't acknowledge, care he couldn't appreciate.
And they had done it anyway.
Every day. Without fail. Without expectation of reciprocation.
"Yes," he said finally. "I know."
Anko crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her chest in that familiar maternal embrace.
"Then that's enough. For now, that's enough."
The other six women gathered close, their transformed figures pressing against him from all directions—warmth and softness and unwavering devotion.
Naruto stood at the center of their attention, their love, their absolute commitment.
He felt nothing about it.
But he observed it.
And observation, he was learning, was the first step toward something more.
Fifteen days until the finals.
The training would continue.
The preparations would intensify.
And somewhere in the vast emptiness inside Naruto, small seeds of feeling continued their slow, uncertain growth.
Anger had broken through first.
But it wouldn't be the last.