Chapter Text
Jiraiya’s student dies before he does. He does not forgive himself for it.
“The world has found his legacy,” he says. “I’ll be leaving for him soon.”
The funeral of the Fourth Hokage is a public occasion. Civilians and Ninja alike swarmed the shrine of remembrance and added to it; pictures and notes and stories about the Fourth Hokage all gathered and placed on the terrace, framed by mountains of flowers. Jiraiya walked stiffly, seeing without really looking. A lot of people stopped him, talked to him of Minato. He didn’t really listen.
“So the boy knows now,” a voice muses. “What is his reaction?”
Hiruzen Sarutobi stood high above the masses, a sad look to his eyes, his face set like stone. Jiraiya watches as he rolls his shoulders and straightens his back, sees how his stance becomes as immovable as a statue, a strength to his frame. He is old, with wrinkles and tiredness etched into his very being, but the hive of people quietens, the buzzing of conversation dissipating. He begins to speak. For Jiraiya, he sounds lightyears away. A lot of his speech is lost to his unhearing ears, and a lot of him just feels numb. Tired. Sad.
“Unhappy. Confused and scared.” He doesn’t really know why, but he adds, “He’s twelve.”
“Minato Namikaze will be cherished and remembered, as well as all of those who lost their lives here. We have all lost someone or something precious in the attack, and we might never get them back. We will grieve, but we will not let pain consume us. We must move forward. Our walls may be destroyed but our spirit is intact, and our Will of Fire can never be extinguished!”
“I thought he wanted to be acknowledged? You yourself heard from the old raisin that he wanted the glory of the Hokage position, even.”
“He wanted to be acknowledged. Just not like this.”
“In the words of our Late Fourth Hokage himself: We will not fall apart because of what has been lost, but rather find strength in what is left behind.”
“Love of glory can only create a great hero. Contempt of glory creates a great man.” The voice said, and with a start, Jiraiya remembers Minato, whose brilliance beamed like a beacon of gold amongst the evergreen leaves of Konoha, who rose like the sun from the ocean, quickly outshining all others. He thinks of the legacy he left behind - the blue-eyed baby with roots of radiant gold gleaming on his head - and he remembers the black seal on his soft stomach, stark against paleness of his skin.
Jiraiya turns to stare at the shrine, where only one picture stood out to him. Minato smiles back, a calm, small sort of smile, and next to him Kushina is grinning so wide it nearly reaches her ears. They look so deliriously happy. He feels sick.
He bowed his head, eyes slipping shut. “A great hero, but only at the price of danger, his life, and his child’s safety.”
“And Naruto?” They asked.
“Naruto Namikaze will be great.” Jiraiya said, the silent meaning to his words captured by his companion, who bows their head, releasing a breath.
“To the lives lost. To the Fourth Hokage, Minato Namikaze,” Hiruzen Sarutobi raised his glass, a solemnness in his eyes betraying his voice, “Our hero.”
A hero, a man, a husband, a father.
(I want him to be cherished—loved—accepted.)
...If only the world was so kind.