Kapitel 240: 239-Anbu Sage
The silence in the room was almost palpable, stretching for several long, tense minutes. Renjiro stood near the back, his newly donned fox mask concealing his face.
His breath was steady, the rise and fall of his chest hidden beneath the oversized grey-white cloak. Around him, more figures began to file in, each one clad in the same uniform, their porcelain masks glinting dully in the dim lighting of the hall.
Renjiro's eyes scanned the room, watching as new arrivals arrived and took their places periodically. Some stood rigid, military-like in their bearing, while others seemed more casual, their postures relaxed. The hush that had settled over them felt both eerie and oppressive. Renjiro's mind drifted as he observed the others join the assembly.
'And they were telling me that I was late,' Renjiro mused, suppressing a chuckle behind his mask. It was ironic—he'd been chastised for being tardy, yet here they were, waiting for more and more recruits to trickle in.
But the idle thought passed quickly, giving way to the more pressing questions that had gnawed at him ever since his current situation dawned on him.
'But who the hell recommended me for the ANBU?'
Renjiro's brows furrowed beneath his mask as he wrestled with the thought.
'The Uchiha aren't even integrated into the ANBU. So why am I here? I am one by association after all.'
The thought made him uneasy. Not because he had anything, particularly against the ANBU—they were skilled, no doubt about it—but the demands placed on ANBU shinobi were time-consuming just like the force.
Renjiro had just left the police force, and that had been exhausting enough. The police force had taken its toll on him both physically and mentally, and now he was being thrust into something on the same scale if not even more demanding.
Not to mention Danzo's influence in the Anbu...
'I didn't sign up for this,' he thought bitterly, his eyes narrowing as he fought the urge to fold his arms across his chest. His exit from the police force had been a way to gain some freedom, to pursue his own goals as a Jounin.
And now, this? He had been preparing to start distancing himself from the Uchiha clan altogether, hoping to carve out his own identity, and now this chain of events seemed determined to pull him back in.
'Was it Hiruzen who did this?'
Renjiro's thoughts wandered toward the Third Hokage. The old man had always seemed kind enough, but he wouldn't pull something like this without at least giving Renjiro a heads-up.
'Unless…' The thought of another person crossed his mind.
Danzo.
The name sent a bitter taste coursing through his mouth.
'That bastard.'
It was well known in certain circles that Danzo meddled in the darker aspects of the village's affairs, often working in the shadows to secure Konoha's interests at any cost. If he had any involvement in this, Renjiro wouldn't be surprised. But it only deepened his frustration.
And the timing… Renjiro clenched his fists beneath his cloak, feeling the weight of this decision bearing down on him.
'I was just thinking about leaving the Uchiha clan, and now this?' The irony of it stung.
Suddenly, his musings were interrupted by movement on the far end of the hall. A figure approached the podium at the front, and immediately, all eyes were drawn to him.
Unlike everyone else in the room, this person wore no mask, no cloak. His tall, imposing figure was instantly recognizable, even from a distance. His wild, white hair, untamed and spiked in all directions, was unmistakable.
Renjiro didn't need to see his face to know exactly who it was.
'Figures…' Renjiro thought with a sigh.
'He had to have a position in the village before being considered Kage material.'
The figure before them was none other than Jiraiya, one of the three legendary Sannin of Konoha. While Renjiro had known of Jiraiya for years, he'd always been something of a mystery.
Unlike Orochimaru, who headed the village's research division, or Tsunade, who commanded the medical corps, Jiraiya had always been considered a wanderer—someone who moved beyond the confines of the village, chasing his own pursuits. But here he was, moonlighting as the ANBU Commander.
'I guess this is where he fits in,' Renjiro thought with some surprise.
He had never really known what Jiraiya's role in the village was beyond being a Sannin. The man was often seen as a wayward sage, constantly travelling, gathering information, and indulging in his eccentric hobbies.
But now it made sense. Jiraiya had always been deeply involved in intelligence gathering, and Renjiro could understand how such skills would make him a prime candidate for leading the ANBU.
'I swear,' Renjiro thought wryly, 'if he also gives another speech about the Will of Fire, I might just kill myself.'
Jiraiya stepped onto the podium, his presence commanding attention. His broad shoulders and muscular build made him stand out even more among the masked figures that filled the room.
He stood tall, his hands resting casually at his sides, yet there was an undeniable gravity to his posture. Despite his recently garned reputation as a pervy sage, this version of Jiraiya seemed more serious, more battle-worn.
"Welcome," Jiraiya's deep voice echoed through the hall, silencing the faint whispers that had been circulating among the recruits.
"For those of you who aren't aware yet, you've been inducted into the ANBU."
Renjiro's heart skipped a beat, though outwardly, he remained stoic. 'So it's official now.'
Jiraiya's eyes swept over the crowd, his expression unyielding. "I won't waste time with pleasantries. The ANBU isn't for everyone. If you aren't ready to die for the village, this is your chance to leave."
The bluntness of the statement caught Renjiro off guard. Jiraiya's tone was sharp, unyielding—so unlike the man's usual carefree attitude. This was a side of the Sannin that few ever saw.
It was easy to forget that he had lived through one shinobi wars, had seen death and destruction on a scale most couldn't comprehend. Renjiro could see it now, the weight of those experiences carved into Jiraiya's every word.
'Guess the war changed him, or maybe he still hasn't had his character development' Renjiro mused, feeling a flicker of understanding.
'Living through that many battles must harden anyone. But if he's leading this group, then… maybe that carefree persona is his way of coping. Maybe in the future, he'll need that positivity to drown out all the negativity surrounding him.'
Renjiro glanced around the room. Not a single person moved. No one dared leave. It wasn't just because they had no choice—after all, walking out now would be like telling a Sannin to his face that you weren't willing to fight for your village.
But Renjiro also knew that for many shinobi, being inducted into the ANBU was considered a great honour. It was a validation of their skill, a recognition of their loyalty to Konoha. And for that reason, no one was willing to walk away. Not even Renjiro, despite his reservations.
Jiraiya's eyes swept over them again, his gaze piercing even through the masks. "From now on, you have no choice but to complete your missions. Even if it means losing your life."
Jiraiya's expression softened slightly, but his voice remained firm. "In the ANBU, your identity is your greatest weapon. You'll keep your identity hidden at all times. Only your squad members will know who you are."
"Look at the hem of your cloak," he instructed, his voice ringing clearly through the room.
Renjiro glanced down, following the command. There, stitched into the fabric, was a small number, barely noticeable unless one was specifically looking for it.
"When your number is called," Jiraiya continued, "you'll move to one of the rooms to meet your superior. From here on out, you answer to them. They'll be your guide in the ANBU."
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