Chapter 29 - Harem No Jutsu Aftermaths

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Kushina’s expression shifted from fiery anger to puzzled disbelief, her once furious scowl softening into confusion. Even she couldn’t predict where this absurd story was going, but Mi Blade clearly wasn’t done.

“My brother and I were haunted by what we witnessed. How could we stand by in silence? How could we let such shameful behavior go unpunished? But just as we began whispering about Jiraiya’s disgraceful actions behind his back, he heard us!”

Jiraiya’s complexion paled, his wide eyes betraying the dread building within him. He looked like a man staring down his worst nightmare.

“Kid, stop talking,” he growled, desperation thick in his voice.

Undeterred, Mi Blade pressed on with all the subtlety of a runaway ox.

“Jiraiya-sama, in his so-called wisdom, decided to ‘teach us a lesson.’ He told me to bury my outrage, to swallow my disgust! Can you imagine it, Sister Kushina? Can you comprehend the horror?!”

With every embellishment, Jiraiya felt another nail being driven into the coffin of his reputation.

“I was just… doing research!” Jiraiya stammered weakly, trying to defend himself, though his voice was laced with guilt.

“Research?!” Mi Blade gasped, clutching his chest dramatically as if the mere word was an affront to his very soul.

“Is that what you call peeping now? Because I’m fairly certain that’s not listed under acceptable ninja tactics!”

By now, even Kakashi was barely containing his amusement, while Jiraiya looked like he was ready to toss Mi Blade into the nearest river, hoping it would cleanse the world of the lies spilling from the young man’s mouth.

“Shut up, brat!” Jiraiya finally snapped, his face flushed crimson with a mixture of rage and humiliation. His expression was that of a man teetering on the brink, caught between exasperation and despair.

Mi Blade, ignoring Jiraiya’s outburst, placed a sympathetic hand on the older ninja’s shoulder, giving him a look of patronizing pity.

“Don’t worry, Jiraiya-sama,” he said in a soothing tone, as if speaking to a troubled child.

“We all have our demons.”

Kushina’s once fierce anger had simmered down to a simmering boil, but her crossed arms and the deadly glare she fixed on Jiraiya made it clear that her judgment was far from over.

“We’ll deal with this later, pervy sage,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

Jiraiya groaned, recognizing the futility of his situation. There was no escape from the reckoning that awaited him—a reckoning he had unknowingly brought upon himself, thanks to Mi Blade’s theatrics.

Seizing the opportunity, Mi Blade ramped up the drama, his voice trembling with faux vulnerability.

“Sister Kushina, our father always taught us to uphold honor, to be virtuous in all we do! Yet here I was, forced—forced—to endure this ordeal! Lord Jiraiya dragged me into his misdeeds, cornering me with threats. He said I’d never escape unless…”

His voice broke, cracking under the weight of the imaginary burden.

“Brother… what did you say to me?” he continued, his eyes glistening with the most theatrical tears he could produce. With a pitiful wail that could have come from a weeping spirit, he unleashed a mournful cry, “Woo-woo~!”

Kushina’s eyes shimmered with sympathy, her tender heart responding to the emotional spectacle unfolding before her. She rushed forward, throwing her arms around Mi Blade, patting his head as if he were a wounded animal seeking solace.

“Oh, you poor, sweet little brother,” she cooed, her voice filled with compassion. “You’ve been through so much!”

Jiraiya, standing off to the side, stared in bewilderment, his face a mix of horror and disbelief.

“Wait, what?!” he muttered, as if someone had just rewritten reality right before his eyes.

But Mi Blade wasn’t done. With Kushina’s sympathy now fully won, he leaned into his tragic role, his hands covering his face in shame.

“At that moment, Sister, when I thought there was no hope left… I had no choice! To buy myself time, I had to create the Harem Jutsu to distract him—to escape his evil clutches!”

Kakashi, who had been valiantly trying to stay out of the chaos, was now trembling with barely suppressed laughter, his shoulders shaking as he struggled to maintain his composure. Mi Blade’s story had reached such ludicrous heights that it was impossible not to be entertained.

“Sister, I am guilty!” Mi Blade continued, his voice rising to a wail as he dropped to his knees.

“I am impure! I gave in to temptation, but only to save myself!”

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Jiraiya’s face twisted in exasperation, his arms flailing as he tried, and failed, to regain control of the situation.

“You little devil! I’m not the monster you’re making me out to be!” he cried, his voice full of frustration.

But Kushina was already too far gone, her eyes blazing with righteous fury as she turned her gaze back to Jiraiya, her voice laced with menace.

“Jiraiya, you pervert! I’ll make sure you never forget this!”

Jiraiya’s shoulders slumped, defeat written all over him as he muttered under his breath,

“Not again…”

Sensing his performance was reaching its crescendo, Mi Blade threw his arms around Kushina, giving her a tearful smile.

“Thank you, Sister! I’ll never forget your kindness!”

Kushina, now fully convinced of Mi Blade’s innocence and Jiraiya’s guilt, marched towards Jiraiya, her fists clenched and ready to deliver some much-needed justice.

Watching the scene unfold, Kakashi finally gave in, his laughter ringing out as he gasped,

“Mi Blade, you’re the true master of deception… or at least, of ninja-level bull—” he cut himself off, too overwhelmed with amusement to finish his sentence.

Jiraiya, meanwhile, could only groan, realizing that no amount of protest would save him from the impending storm. The damage was done, and Mi Blade’s absurdly theatrical tale had ensured that his fate was sealed.

Jiraiya, sensing that his very survival was hanging by the thinnest of threads, knew he had to act fast. Kushina’s anger wasn’t the type to wait and see what happened next—it was a force of nature, and anyone caught in its path had two choices: run, or get swept away.

As Kushina comforted Mi Blade, who was still basking in the glow of his successful performance, and Kakashi silently chuckled in the background, Jiraiya’s mind raced. His eyes darted toward Minato, his trusted student, hoping for an escape route.

Jiraiya gave him a frantic look, eyes wide with urgency, trying to communicate a message through sheer desperation alone. He winked—though it was less of a conspiratorial signal and more of a wide-eyed plea for help.

Minato, ever calm under pressure, gave a reassuring nod.

“Don’t worry, sensei. I’ve got your back,” he whispered, though his expression betrayed a flicker of amusement.

Jiraiya shot him a scowl, muttering, “Yeah, thanks for nothing, traitor. Real supportive.”

Without wasting another second, Jiraiya clapped his hands together, channeling his chakra into a Reverse Summoning Jutsu. With a swift poof, he vanished from sight, leaving behind a cloud of smoke like a magician fleeing from a heckling crowd.

His destination was none other than Mount Myoboku, the peaceful sanctuary of the toads. As he materialized among the giant amphibians, he let out a deep sigh of relief.

“Safe at last,” he thought, picturing himself sipping tea in solitude, far from the impending storm that was Kushina’s wrath. He’d lay low here, hiding out like a guilty fugitive, hoping time would heal the wounds—both literal and figurative.

But what exactly had pushed Kushina to the brink of this fury? Jiraiya, ever the trouble magnet, had surpassed even his own legendary antics.

The night after the chaos involving the Hatake geniuses, he’d been unceremoniously yanked from his slumber by none other than the Third Hokage himself, Sarutobi Hiruzen, for what was diplomatically described as “urgent disciplinary action.”

Caught red-handed indulging in his usual pervy antics, Jiraiya had tried, in vain, to feign sleep, hoping to dodge the confrontation altogether. But Sarutobi wasn’t fooled. With the persistence of a parent who’d seen it all before, he dragged Jiraiya from his bed and into what would be the longest lecture of the man’s life.

For hours, Sarutobi’s voice thundered through the air like an impending storm, scolding Jiraiya with the fury of someone who had long since lost their patience.

Jiraiya, meanwhile, fidgeted awkwardly, feeling like a schoolboy caught misbehaving. His face burned red with embarrassment, and he wished more than anything that the ground would swallow him whole.

Standing to the side, arms folded and an amused smirk plastered across his face, was Orochimaru. He looked on as though watching a live comedy performance, thoroughly enjoying Jiraiya’s misery. Every now and then, his lips would twitch as if barely containing a laugh.

Orochimaru’s amusement only grew as Sarutobi’s lecture dragged on, and he couldn’t resist the urge to twist the knife.

“Maybe next time, you should refrain from terrifying the villagers into thinking the local pervert is back in town?” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jiraiya, his face now resembling a ripe tomato, grumbled under his breath.

“Look, it wasn’t my intention to embarrass myself… but when you're surrounded by beautiful women, how could I not—” He stopped himself mid-sentence, realizing just how bad it sounded. Even he, in his eternal bravado, couldn’t justify his own words.

Orochimaru’s eyes slid sideways, casting Jiraiya a glance of sheer disdain. The look said it all: Really, Jiraiya? Again?

“And you wonder why I call you a shameless fool?” Orochimaru said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You won’t find me helping you clean up this mess. You’re on your own.” The expression on his face was one of utter exasperation, as though he had just caught Jiraiya rifling through garbage in the name of “research.”

Jiraiya, desperate to defend his shattered pride, threw his arms into the air, flailing wildly.

“Come on, man! Admit it—your student’s a genius! Creating a jutsu so powerful it traps people in an illusion they never want to escape from? That’s next-level genius!” His voice swelled with pride as he gestured theatrically, as if unveiling a groundbreaking discovery.

But instead of awe, Orochimaru’s expression remained one of thinly veiled disgust. Jiraiya, ever the performer, looked more like a street vendor peddling wares than a legendary sage explaining his latest innovation.

Orochimaru smacked his palm against his forehead with such force it seemed like he was trying to rearrange his own brain.

"Please, for the love of everything sacred in the ninja world, just stop."

With that, Orochimaru stormed off, leaving Jiraiya to his own devices. Jiraiya let out a theatrical sigh, flopping onto his bed like the protagonist of a melodramatic play. In his mind, he wasn’t just any ninja—he was a visionary, a misunderstood genius, the tortured artist of his time, waiting for the world to recognize his brilliance.

Grinning to himself, Jiraiya spoke aloud to the empty room.

“Hahaha! I’ve done it! The ultimate jutsu!” His smile stretched wide, like a child who’d just discovered a new trick.

He could almost hear the accolades already, the admiration from fellow ninjas as they marveled at his invention.

"This... this will change everything!" he declared, a manic gleam in his eyes as he imagined his future parade, where he'd be hailed as the revolutionary sage.

With renewed enthusiasm, Jiraiya quickly formed the hand seals, his movements swift and confident.

“Shadow Clone Jutsu!” he shouted. A puff of smoke filled the room, and when it cleared, a shadow clone stood before him.

Only, instead of the expected excitement, the clone looked utterly unimpressed, its expression flat as if it had just been rudely awoken from a nap. It blinked lazily at Jiraiya, its posture slouched like it couldn’t care less about this so-called "ultimate jutsu."

Before the clone could voice its apathy, Jiraiya clapped his hands again, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Now for the real test!" he exclaimed, hardly able to contain his excitement.

“Transformation Jutsu!” Another poof, and the shadow clone morphed into an image of Tsunade.

However, what stood before him wasn’t the grand result Jiraiya had anticipated. The clone, now in the form of Tsunade, crossed its arms with an unimpressed glare so cold it could’ve wilted an entire garden of cherry blossoms.

"Ah, at last!" Jiraiya cried, raising his arms triumphantly, as if expecting thunderous applause to accompany his success.

But instead of indulging in his over-the-top theatrics, the clone sighed deeply and canceled the transformation with a sharp puff of smoke.

"Absolutely not," it said flatly, staring at Jiraiya with a mix of disappointment and pity, like a parent looking at their child’s failed science experiment. "I didn’t sign up for this nonsense."

Jiraiya blinked in disbelief, his grin fading.

"Wait... aren’t you supposed to do what I say?" he asked, scratching his head, genuinely confused by this unexpected insubordination.

The clone remained defiant, arms still crossed.

“I have limits,” it replied, its tone sharp. “I’m not participating in your weird experiments. No offense, but I have standards.”

Before Jiraiya could even attempt to reason with it, the clone let out an exaggerated sigh, its patience clearly exhausted. With a quick wave of dismissal, it dispelled itself in a puff of smoke, leaving Jiraiya alone, staring at the empty space where it had stood. He lay back on his bed, eyes gazing at the ceiling in bewilderment.

“Seriously? This is how it ends?” he muttered, feeling like a once-great hero who had just been unceremoniously kicked out of the spotlight.

After hours of trying to "experiment" with his clones, Jiraiya found himself in a dilemma he hadn’t anticipated: his shadow clones were rebelling. Each one of them refused to cooperate with his grand ideas, behaving more like disgruntled reality show contestants than obedient ninjas.

One particularly melodramatic clone flung its arm across its forehead, sighing as if it were the tragic lead in a romance novel.

“Me? Lower myself to these antics? I’m a respectable ninja, not a clown!” it declared, as though its very dignity were at stake.

Another clone, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, chimed in, "How about you do the transforming for once? Why should I be the one to entertain you?" It scoffed, its attitude clear.

“I didn’t sign up to be your cheerleader!”

Jiraiya, utterly exasperated, stared at the rebellious clones, his patience wearing thin.

“What is this? A bad sitcom?” he muttered, struggling to comprehend how his creations had turned against him.

In a final attempt to salvage the situation, Jiraiya opted for the simplest solution: the Clone Jutsu. But when the basic clones appeared, they were lifeless, like hollow projections—visually perfect but lacking any substance or spark.

Jiraiya sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. "It’s like trying to talk to a rock... A really beautiful rock, but still just a rock,” he groaned, staring at his non-responsive creations, now thoroughly defeated by his own genius.