The riverbank glowed under the dying sun, a canvas of gold and green smeared across the earth. Water lapped at the shore, its surface shimmering like molten fire, and my sandals sank into the damp soil, the scent of wet grass and faint smoke curling into my lungs. Jiraiya stood beside me, his shadow stretching long and dark, his presence a heavy thing that pressed against me, unyielding. He'd been quiet since Garaga slithered off, his usual grin traded for a frown that carved lines into his weathered face. I didn't prod. I knew what was coming—more training, more tests, more ways to shatter me and piece me back together.
He turned, his eyes slicing through the dusk, sharp as a kunai's edge. "You seem to have chakra control down, kid. Better than most Jonin I've met, honestly. But that's not enough. Chakra's just a tool. What matters is how you wield it—how you think, how you fight. Let's test your battle tactics."
I nodded, my pulse steady, hands loose at my sides. "I'm ready."
Jiraiya's grin slunk back, slow and sly, a predator baring teeth. "Are you? We'll see. Genjutsu—know what it is?"
I tilted my head, keeping my tone light, casual. "Illusions, right? Messing with someone's head. Making them see what isn't there."
"Close," he said, arms folding over his chest. "But it's deeper than that. Genjutsu's about control—grabbing your enemy's senses, twisting their reality. If you're sharp, you can lock them in a nightmare they can't escape. If you're sloppy, you're the one caught in the trap."
A flicker of unease coiled in my gut. Genjutsu wasn't my forte. Back in my old life, I'd glossed over it—too vague, too intangible. But here, it was a weapon I couldn't dodge. "How do I fight it?"
Jiraiya's grin stretched, his eyes glinting with a shadow of mischief. "First, you learn to break it. And the fastest way to learn is to drown in it."
I blinked, my voice flattening. "You're casting one on me?"
"Yep," he said, popping the 'p' like it was a child's game. "Nothing too brutal. Just a taste. Ready?"
I squared my shoulders, jaw tight. "Do it."
His hands blurred—Serpent, Rat, Tiger. The air quivered, a ripple I felt more than saw, and the world twisted. The riverbank dissolved, swallowed by a black void, and I was falling, tumbling into cold, endless nothing. My heart slammed against my ribs, hands grasping at air, panic sinking claws into my throat. *It's not real,* I screamed inside, but the fear was alive, gnawing at me, relentless.
Then—light, harsh and blinding. I squinted, and the Uchiha compound loomed around me, its walls stark and towering, the sky bleeding red. Bodies sprawled across the ground, blood pooling thick and dark, faces frozen in torment—Mikoto, Fugaku, Sasuke. Itachi stood ahead, his blade dripping crimson, his eyes hollow, a ghost wearing his brother's skin.
"No," I rasped, my voice splintering. "This isn't—"
"Isn't what?" Itachi's voice cut through, icy and remote, echoing from behind. I whirled, and there he was, Sharingan spinning, his face a mask of cold detachment. "This is your future, Menma. Your failure."
My chest locked, breath trapped in a vise. "No! I can stop it—I *will* stop it!"
He stepped closer, blade scraping the ground, a sound that raked my spine. "You're too weak. Too slow. You'll watch them die, and you'll do nothing."
The words slammed into me, a brutal fist, knocking me off balance. My hands shook, knees buckling under the weight. But then—*hold on.* Itachi's tone was off, too harsh, too hollow. He wouldn't taunt like this, not the real Itachi. This was a fake, a puppet of chakra.
I clenched my fists, nails digging into flesh. "This isn't real," I growled, voice raw and ragged. "It's genjutsu. I'm breaking it."
Itachi's form flickered, a crack in the illusion, but the scene held. I needed more—disrupt the chakra, snap the leash. I bit my tongue, pain flaring bright, and shoved my chakra outward in a messy surge. The compound trembled, bodies smearing into shadow, and then it shattered—light bursting through, the illusion crumbling like brittle glass. I hit the riverbank hard, knees in the dirt, gasping for air.
Jiraiya loomed above, arms crossed, grin erased. "Took you long enough."
I spat blood, wiping my mouth with a trembling hand. "That was low."
"Genjutsu's low," he shot back, shrugging. "It's not fair, not gentle. It's a blade, same as any other. You broke it, though. Quicker than I expected."
I hauled myself up, legs wobbly, heart still pounding. "How?"
He tapped his temple, voice dropping. "You saw the lie. That's the first step—doubt. Genjutsu thrives when you buy it. Question it, and it cracks. Then you mess with your chakra—pain, a burst, anything to break the grip."
I nodded, breath steadying. "So I stay sharp. Spot the trick."
"Dead on," Jiraiya said, a nod of approval. "But it's not just escape. A real ninja flips it—uses the enemy's own illusion against them. That's later, though. We'll build to it."
I rubbed my neck, the genjutsu's echo still clinging like damp cloth. "What's next?"
He cracked his knuckles, grin sliding back, sharp and wicked. "We go again. New illusion, new snare. You've got to catch the signs faster, break cleaner."
I groaned, but a smirk tugged at my lips. "You're loving this, aren't you?"
"Damn right," he laughed, rough and bright. "Watching you flail's half the fun. Brace yourself."
His hands flashed through seals, and reality bent again. This time, a forest swallowed me—trees gnarled and black, branches clawing at a bruised sky. A howl rolled through, low and chilling, and footsteps thudded close. A wolf emerged, massive, its fur midnight-dark, eyes burning red, fangs gleaming as it prowled toward me.
My pulse spiked, body screaming to bolt, but I rooted myself. *Not real.* I bit my cheek, pain anchoring me, and flared my chakra. The wolf lunged, jaws wide, but the illusion fractured, the forest splintering into light. I was back, river humming in my ears, Jiraiya's laugh a jagged edge.
"Better," he said, nodding. "Faster that time. You're catching on."
I exhaled, shaky but smug. "What's next?"
He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Let's spice it up. Layered illusions—one inside another. Peel them back, find the real."
My stomach sank, but I nodded. "Hit me."
Seals flashed, and the world melted. I stood in the Hokage's office, dim and smoky, Hiruzen behind his desk, face carved from stone. "Menma, you've betrayed the village," he said, voice cold as winter. "Conspired with the Uchiha. You're a traitor."
My heart jolted, his words a dagger twist. "No, I didn't—"
"Didn't what?" He rose, robes whispering, eyes unyielding. "We have proof. You've schemed against Konoha."
I shook my head, panic clawing up. *It's fake.* But the room felt too real, the guilt too heavy. I bit my lip, blood sharp on my tongue, and surged my chakra. The office warped, Hiruzen's face twisting, but it shifted—now the academy, Iruka-sensei glaring, voice cutting. "You're a disgrace, Menma. A failure. You'll never be a ninja."
The sting hit deep, but I gritted my teeth. *Another layer.* I slammed my fist into my palm, pain spiking, and pushed my chakra harder. The classroom cracked, light bleeding in, and I was back on the riverbank, panting, sweat slicking my skin.
Jiraiya clapped, slow and loud. "Not bad, kid. You're a stubborn bastard."
I wiped my brow, grinning through the ache. "Had to be. You're a monster with these."
He laughed, full and free. "Gotta be, to train you right. Genjutsu's a head game. Outthink it, every damn time."
I nodded, the lesson rooting deep. "What if they're stronger? Better at it?"
His face hardened, voice low. "Then you're screwed. But that's why we're here—train to sense the chakra, spot the tells. Worst case, make them bleed for getting close enough to try."
I smirked, fists flexing. "I can work with that."
He chuckled, ruffling my hair. "Figured you would. Now, your turn—cast one on me."
My eyes widened, shock jolting through. "Me? I don't even know where to start."
"You will," he said, firm and sure. "Same deal—control their chakra, twist what they see. Start small. Make me see something fake."
I swallowed, mind spinning. Genjutsu felt like a maze, but I'd navigate it. I had to. "Okay. How?"
He formed a seal—Ox—and nodded. "Focus your chakra, picture it clear. Push it at me. Simple, but finicky."
I copied the seal, hands steady, chakra simmering. I pictured a kunai, gleaming and lethal, soaring at him. I released it, my chakra stretching thin, wobbly. Jiraiya's head tilted, eyes flickering, but he grinned. "Felt it, but it didn't take. Too flimsy."
I scowled, irritation flaring. "Again."
We drilled for hours, sun dipping low, sky bruising into dusk. My illusions sharpened—a snake at his feet, a branch snapping above. Each time, Jiraiya snapped them with a flick, his laugh goading me on. But I kept going. The Uchiha massacre loomed closer, a storm I couldn't outrun, and I needed every weapon.
At last, under a star-pocked sky, I cast one that stuck—a glimpse of Mikoto's face, soft and mournful. Jiraiya froze, breath hitching, caught for a moment. Then he broke it, voice gruff. "Enough for today, kid. You've got it in you."
I nodded, bone-tired but proud. "Thanks, sensei."
He ruffled my hair, gentler now. "You're quick, Menma. Don't get cocky, though. Genjutsu's a tool, not a lifeline. Use it smart."
"I will," I said, resolve firm. The day's weight settled, heavy but manageable.