A brief silence settled over the office.
The wind outside the window and the faint shouts of shinobi training in the distance suddenly seemed unusually clear.
Tsunade straightened and walked to the window, turning her back to Jiraiya as she looked out at the lights gradually flickering on in the dusk.
Konoha—so prosperous, so… peaceful.
How much of that peace had been built upon the blood, tears, and humiliation of countries like the Land of Rain?
She stood there for a long time—so long that Jiraiya thought she might not answer at all, or would offer some equally uncertain reply.
Then she turned around.
The anger on her face had vanished, replaced by a calm so cold it bordered on cruel.
She met Jiraiya's eyes and said, word by word, clear and icy:
"Would you… bare your heart to an ant?"
Buzz—
The sentence struck like a steel needle piercing his eardrum and driving straight through his brain.
The color drained from Jiraiya's face instantly. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He could only stare at Tsunade in disbelief.
He understood.
An ant…
In Tsunade's eyes—in Konoha's eyes—in the eyes of the leadership of the Great Nations—the Land of Rain, and all similar small and weak countries… their suffering, their struggles, their lives—
Perhaps they truly were nothing more than… ants.
Seeing his paper-white face and trembling pupils, a flicker of reluctance crossed Tsunade's eyes. But it was quickly buried beneath deeper exhaustion and the crushing weight of reality.
She let out a heavy sigh, one filled with fatigue.
"My words are harsh," she said, her voice lowering but remaining firm. "But, Jiraiya… that's the truth."
She walked back behind her desk but did not sit. Her fingers traced absentmindedly along the grain of the wood.
"Great Nations and small nations. Strong and weak. Resources, influence, living space… they've never been equal."
"So-called 'mutual understanding' is often nothing more than a demand—or charity—from the strong toward the weak."
"And the weak… have no room to choose."
"They either accept it, or they are destroyed."
"What those people in the Land of Rain said—was it painful? Was it real? Of course it was. Every accusation, every tear, was real."
Her voice was calm—so calm it chilled him.
"But that truth doesn't change the reality that they are weak. And it doesn't change the rules of the power struggle between Great Nations."
A cold, mocking curl touched her lips.
"Do you think the other nations don't know what that kid Kurowa was saying?"
"Of course they know. But when those reports land on the desks of high-ranking officials, they're glanced at, scoffed at… and tossed straight into the trash."
"Why?" She answered her own question. "Because it doesn't matter."
"In their eyes, the public opinion of the Land of Rain—their pain—doesn't matter."
"What matters is Nagato's power. The Rinnegan. That damned 'Devil Fruit.' The future revealed by the mysterious projection."
"As for the cries of civilians… they're just the wails of 'ants.' No one cares. No one needs to."
She looked at Jiraiya, her gaze complicated.
He sat slumped in his chair, as though all strength had left his body.
Tsunade's words were colder than the accusations of the Rain civilians.
Because they tore away every layer of warmth and idealism, exposing the cruel, naked core of international reality.
Was he wrong? Was Konoha wrong?
On the level of ideals—perhaps.
But on the level of reality, this wasn't about right or wrong.
It was about rules.
The weak adapt to the rules.
The strong create them—or exploit them.
And trying to bridge that chasm with "heart" and "understanding" would often end like this—
Head bloodied from crashing into a wall.
Rejected by both sides.
The office lights flickered on, casting long shadows of the two of them against the wall. They looked strangely lonely.
Jiraiya stared up at the ceiling, his eyes hollow.
The cold rain of the Land of Rain—and Tsunade's even colder words—had soaked through something he had relied on for years, freezing it stiff.
"In truth, isn't Konoha the same?" Tsunade let out a short, humorless laugh and rubbed her face. "You think Nagato's method of peace is extreme, don't you?"
Jiraiya forced himself back to awareness and nodded immediately.
"He wants to create a weapon capable of destroying an entire village—or even a country. How is that not extreme? It's wrong!"
"Wrong?" Tsunade murmured.
Then she burst into laughter.
"Jiraiya, you're too naïve."
He gave a bitter smile. "Sometimes… I think so too."
"Then let me show you the rules of this world."
Her expression hardened, and she snapped,
"You think Nagato is wrong—but you don't realize that what Nagato learned… he learned from us. Konoha rose to power by the very same logic."
"That's impossible!"
The denial burst from Jiraiya instinctively—the reflex of someone whose core beliefs had just been shaken.
"That's impossible! How could Konoha produce something like that?!" His voice cracked with agitation, his face even paler than before.
Tsunade only looked at him coldly, with a trace of almost cruel mockery in her eyes—like someone watching a grown child finally being forced to face an unbearable truth.
"Heh…"
She turned away and faced the enormous Hokage Monument carved into the mountainside.
◇ BONUS & SUPPORT ◇
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 10 reviews — drop a comment!
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 100 Power Stones.
◇ Read 70 chapters ahead on P@treon → patreon.com/Sagamaster789