Simultaneous Transmigration: From Douluo Continent to the Pinnacle

Night completely swallowed up the daytime hustle and bustle of Konoha, and the entire village shed the lively atmosphere of the daytime matches, returning to tranquility and seclusion.

The evening breeze swept through the alley, stirring up the cool night air, and passing over rows of neat apartment buildings.

Scattered lights peeked through the windows of every household, soft and delicate, illuminating the dark night sky.

The noise from the training ground in the distance had long since dissipated, and there were few pedestrians on the street. Only the streetlights cast long, dim, yellow shadows, making the shadows of the corridors appear narrow and lonely.

The apartment building corridors were silent, even the chirping of insects had become sparse, with only the soft sound of the evening breeze brushing against the walls echoing gently in the empty corridors.

Tonight, Jiraiya has shed his carefree and unrestrained, hippie-like demeanor from the daytime, and his loose kimono makes him appear lonely.

Her long, silvery-white hair fell casually over her shoulders, gently swaying in the night breeze. Her eyes, which usually held a playful smile, were now devoid of any nonchalance, filled with an overwhelming sense of melancholy and guilt.

He stood alone in front of the wooden door of an ordinary apartment, his figure frozen, hesitant to raise his hand.

Fingertips hovered in mid-air above the door, slightly curled, rising and falling repeatedly, as if trying to knock, only to retract them each time.

Having been away from Konoha for many years, he wandered the world, traveled far and wide, witnessed the myriad aspects of the ninja world, and heard countless tragic songs of war, yet a sense of indebtedness remained hidden in his heart.

That was Sarutobi-sensei's last wish, Konohamaru's childhood with no one to support him, and the guilt he had been avoiding for years and never dared to face.

He knew he owed this child far too much.

In the long years since Hiruzen Sarutobi passed away, the Sarutobi clan was unjustly overthrown, and the entire clan carried a stigma, the villagers either looked on coldly, criticized, or distanced themselves from him. Only his master and elder went far away and stayed out of it, never returning to protect him in the slightest.

Over the years, a child alone bore the stigma and criticism of the entire clan, growing up amidst rumors and gossip, with no one to support him or comfort him.

After a long while, a complex and indescribable bitterness flashed across Jiraiya's eyes. Suppressing the surging guilt in his heart, he finally slowly raised his hand and gently tapped the wooden door with his knuckles.

Thump, thump, thump.

Three soft, low, and gentle sounds broke the silence of the night in the corridor.

After a few moments of silence inside, accompanied by the soft rustling of fabric and the sound of dragging footsteps, the old wooden door creaked open and slowly slid inward.

The door gradually opened, and the boy's slender figure stood behind it, coming into full view of Jiraiya.

Sarutobi Konohamaru has shed his childish and frail appearance, growing much taller and becoming slender and upright, beginning to show the features of a young man.

Despite being a vibrant and carefree teenager, he showed no signs of youthful energy or spirit.

The boy's brows were furrowed, his face was thin, and his skin was pale. Years of pent-up worries weighed on his eyes, making his once bright eyes appear shrouded in an unyielding gloom and stubbornness.

His brows were filled with a strong sense of alienation, stubbornness, and hostility, a kind of aloofness and coldness forged by years of being ostracized, criticized, and entangled in prejudice.

This is the image of a young man utterly trapped by worldly gossip, clan stigma, and the loneliness of having no one to comfort him.

When he saw the white-haired figure standing outside the door, his slender body suddenly stiffened, his pupils contracted slightly, and he froze on the spot.

Stun, shock, and being caught off guard instantly overwhelmed him.

Countless complex emotions surged, intertwined, and collided rapidly in his eyes.

There was surprise at the long-awaited reunion, resentment and anger that had been building up for years, grievances and unwillingness that had no one to confide in, and a faint hope that he had suppressed so tightly that he would never reveal it.

He had fantasized countless times about the elder's return when he was alone at night, and he had resented the elder's absence countless times. But when they finally met again, all his emotions were stuck in his chest, a mixture of feelings, bittersweet and unbearable.

After a few seconds of silence, Konohamaru lowered his eyes slightly, concealing the turbulent emotions within them. When he looked up again, his expression had returned to cold indifference. His thin lips parted slightly, and his voice, hoarse and dry from long-term suppression, was devoid of any warmth.

"Lord Jiraiya."

He paused, a cold, mocking glint in his eyes, and spoke slowly, each word carrying years of pent-up resentment:

"You finally decided to come back."

His tone was calm, yet every word was barbed, concealing countless days and nights of grievances and questions.

Looking at his prickly and wary appearance, Jiraiya felt even more guilty. His throat tightened slightly, but he didn't say anything to argue. He simply nodded slightly, lifted his foot, and quietly walked into the house.

The interior furnishings were extremely simple, bordering on spartan.

The room is a small one-bedroom apartment with very little furniture, consisting of only the most ordinary wooden tables and chairs, without any fancy decorations, giving it a cold and bland feel.

Although he lived alone for many years, his home was spotless and tidy. The floor was clean and spotless, the table was empty, and the bedding was folded neatly. This showed the self-discipline of the young man when he was alone, and also revealed a deep-seated loneliness.

The room had poor lighting; under the cover of night, only an old incandescent bulb was lit, its dim, yellowish light filling the entire room and making the coldness and oppression in the room even more pronounced.

Jiraiya's gaze swept across the corner of the room, then suddenly fixed on something.

On a low cabinet in the corner, a small wooden photo frame sits quietly.

The frame was slightly worn, the corners faded, showing signs of years of handling and careful preservation. Inside the frame was a yellowed old photograph, its image both warm and jarring.

In the photo, the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, in the prime of his life, has gentle features and a kind and loving smile as he gently protects the young, innocent, and adorable Konohamaru in his arms.

At that time, Konohamaru had bright eyes and a radiant smile. He nestled in his grandfather's arms, carefree and innocent.

Those were the warmest and purest times of his life, and also a past he can never return to now.

An old photograph separates two lives, a world of vicissitudes and endless sorrow.

Jiraiya stared silently at the photograph, his mind slightly dazed, tears welling in his eyes, unable to come back to his senses for a long time.

After a moment, he suppressed his complicated emotions, walked slowly to the wooden chair in the room, sat down gently, his posture upright and his expression calm.

The atmosphere inside the empty, quiet cabin was so suffocatingly tense.

After a long silence, Jiraiya finally spoke, his voice low and gentle, carrying a hint of barely perceptible fatigue and apology:

"Konohamaru... I know that you have too many questions in your heart, and you have been suppressing resentment for years."

A simple sentence instantly pierced through Konohamaru's deliberately feigned cold exterior.

The grievances, resentment, and unwillingness that had been building up in his heart for years finally found an outlet at this moment.

Konohamaru suddenly raised his head, his previously restrained emotions instantly collapsing, and his aura suddenly tightened.

His arms were tense, and his hands suddenly clenched tightly, his fingers squeezed together with great force, making his palms dent and his knuckles turn white and bluish-white.

His thin shoulders trembled slightly, and the boy's tense body could not hide his extreme emotional fluctuations.

His voice trembled slightly, a sob that had been suppressed for countless days and nights with no one to listen, yet he stubbornly maintained the stubbornness of a young man, refusing to show weakness.

"resentment?"

He repeated it softly, then suddenly raised his voice, and years of pent-up emotions erupted, his voice growing louder and louder, filled with a trembling, roaring grief and indignation.

"Of course I'm resentful!"

"Where were you when the Sarutobi clan suffered a calamity, facing nationwide condemnation and the entire village's rejection? Everyone called us traitors, sinners, and a scourge to Konoha?!"

"My grandfather devoted his entire life to protecting Konoha, only to meet a tragic end with his death and his clan being unjustly accused. Where were you when he passed away, alone and wronged?!"

The young man's words were filled with tears and blood, each sentence a question, unleashing years of pent-up loneliness and pain.

"So many years! All these years!"

"I bore all the stigma, all the insults, all the cold stares, all the exclusion—I carried it all alone!"

"The whole village is gossiping behind my back, saying that the Sarutobi clan deserved their fate, and that I am a traitorous remnant who deserves to be looked down upon!"

"I grew up all alone, bearing the legacy of my grandfather, carrying the burden of the entire clan's infamy, and struggling amidst everyone's prejudice!"

His chest heaved violently, his emotions completely out of control, and large patches of crimson quickly welled up in his eyes, with warm tears accumulating wildly in his eye sockets.

But his inherent stubbornness and pride would never allow him to show weakness or shed tears.

He clenched his teeth, tightened his jaw, and trembled violently, forcing back all the tears that were about to fall, leaving only a red and wet look in his eyes, hiding a breakdown and heartache that no one knew.

"I have never done anything wrong! The Sarutobi clan has never let Konoha down! My grandfather devoted his life to the village and protected all living beings. Why should he bear such a stigma!"

"I'm not reconciled! I'm really not reconciled!"

"I train relentlessly, strive tirelessly, and desperately want to become stronger. I just want to restore the glory of the Sarutobi clan!"

"I just want to show everyone who looks down on me, everyone who slanders my grandfather and clan—I, Sarutobi Konohamaru, have never been a piece of trash! The Sarutobi clan has never let Konoha down!"

His last few roars nearly exhausted all his strength.

The boy was panting heavily, his body swaying slightly, and a stubborn and courageous flame burning in his eyes.

That was his only obsession over the years, the only belief that sustained him through countless cold stares and loneliness.

Jiraiya sat quietly, without saying a word, listening silently to all the boy's accusations and questions.

He didn't argue or interrupt, but just stared at the hysterical, obsessive boy in front of him, feeling a mix of emotions—guilt, heartache, helplessness, and regret.

In a daze, he seemed to see through the red-rimmed, fierce, and stubborn Konohamaru in front of him the Uchiha Sasuke of the past, who carried the hatred of the annihilation of his clan, pursued power single-mindedly, and was obsessed with proving himself.

They were both young and lonely, both had no one to support them, and both were driven forward by hatred and obsession.

Similarly, they place all their life's hopes, all their obsessions, on "becoming stronger" and "proving themselves."

The only difference is that Sasuke was fortunate enough to encounter bonds, redemption, and people who could pull him out of the darkness, ultimately breaking free from the shackles of hatred and escaping the abyss of obsession.

But Konohamaru is trapped in the stigma of his clan and his lonely situation, sinking deeper and deeper into despair with no one to pull him back, and becoming increasingly obsessive.

Jiraiya knew perfectly well that gentle words of advice, empty words of comfort, and cheap sympathy could not save him.

This boy has developed a stubborn obsession due to years of prejudice and loneliness. He lives in a self-indulgent fantasy of revenge and revitalization, and is so immersed in it that he refuses to wake up.

If we simply tolerate and appease him, he will live in unrealistic fantasies forever, and one day, this obsession will completely ruin his life.

Long-term pain is worse than short-term pain.

Today, he must be the ruthless one, personally tearing apart all the boy's illusory fantasies and shattering all his self-numbing obsessions. Even if he is resented and vilified, he must make him face reality.

With his mind made up, Jiraiya slowly concealed all the tenderness and guilt in his eyes.

Those eyes, which were usually gentle and playful, concealing all the romance, were instantly covered with a chilling coldness, and the aura around him suddenly became cold and solemn.

Even he himself felt a vague sense of unfamiliarity with the cold tone of his voice at this moment.

He raised his eyes, looking directly at Konohamaru, whose emotions were collapsing and whose eyes were filled with stubbornness. His words were clear and his voice was as cold as ice:

"Konohamaru, have you ever truly understood yourself? What makes you think you can revive the Sarutobi clan?"

The sudden cold words froze Konohamaru, who was already on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

The boy's trembling stopped abruptly, his bloodshot eyes staring blankly at the suddenly indifferent Jiraiya, his face full of astonishment and disbelief.

Before he could even react, Jiraiya's icy words followed, each one sharp as a knife, showing no mercy, piercing straight through all his fantasies and obsessions, and stabbing deep into the depths of his most inferior and least willing-to-admit heart.

"Ask yourself honestly, with your current talent, shallow aptitude, and stagnant strength, what do you have to turn things around? What do you have to revive the clan?"

"Your chakra has stagnated for years, without any progress. Ninjas of the same age have already broken through and advanced, but you have remained stagnant."

"You have mastered very few advanced ninjutsu, lack practical combat experience, and are impetuous and stubborn. You have countless shortcomings."

"Your academic performance, cultivation progress, and combat strength have always been mediocre among the new generation of your peers."

"The revenge you speak of, the revitalization you are obsessed with, and the unwillingness you are so proud of have never been pride."

"This is just the self-numbing of the weak's helplessness, and the self-deception and self-pity of the losers."

Every word is piercing to the heart, every sentence is chilling to the bone.

Every word precisely shattered all the beliefs that Konohamaru relied on for survival.

The remaining color drained from the boy's face instantly, leaving it as pale as paper, completely devoid of any vitality.

He shuddered violently, as if all his strength and support had been brutally drained away.

His frail body swayed precariously, his lips trembling violently, opening and closing slightly as if trying to argue, to refute, to scream and resist.

But it felt like a cold, large hand was gripping his throat tightly, making it dry and constricted, so that he couldn't utter a single sound.

All the grievances, all the resentment, all the obsessions, all the persistence, collapsed and shattered completely at this moment.

Years of self-sufficiency, years of perseverance, years of solitary courage and stubbornness were completely overturned by a few words, turning into a ridiculous and laughable illusion.

Seeing the boy's sudden breakdown, bewilderment, and helplessness, Jiraiya felt a pang of sadness but did not soften his heart in the slightest.

He slowly stood up, his tall figure completely turned away from Konohamaru, unwilling to look at the boy's broken and helpless appearance any longer. His voice remained cold and resolute, devoid of any warmth:

"Let go of these unrealistic and harmful obsessions of yours."

"Stop wasting your time in fantasies of revenge and revival."

"For you, the best and most peaceful ending in this life is to shed your hostility, let go of your hatred, blend into the crowd, and live a peaceful and ordinary life."

The words were spoken without lingering for even a moment.

Jiraiya took a step and walked straight toward the door, his steps steady and resolute, without the slightest hesitation.

The old wooden door was gently pushed open, and the night breeze, carrying the cool night air, rushed into the room, dispersing the stagnant air and completely shattering the boy's last shred of vain hope.

Then, the wooden door closed gently, cutting off the light and shadow between the inside and outside, and also cutting off the last bit of warmth and connection between the master and disciple.

The moment the door closed, Konohamaru, who had been holding back all his emotions, could no longer maintain his composure.

The suppressed emotions, pushed to their limit, erupted completely in an instant.

There were no heart-wrenching cries inside the room, only a muffled, hoarse, broken sob squeezed out from deep within the boy's throat.

The voice was weak and mournful, like a wounded little animal with broken wings, trapped in a desperate situation, licking its wounds alone in the darkness, helpless and pitiful.

He collapsed onto the bed, burying his face deep in the soft pillow, trying his best to stifle his sobs and prevent any whimpers from escaping.

His shoulders heaved violently and trembled uncontrollably; his frail body shook uncontrollably. Years of pent-up grievances and despair finally burst forth at this moment.

The corridor outside the door.

Jiraiya's steps suddenly halted, and he froze in place.

The suppressed, broken sob from inside the door reached his ears with crystal clarity, striking his heart and tearing at his already guilty mind.

He closed his eyes tightly, his brows furrowed, his eyes swirling with a deep bitterness and reluctance, his heart filled with unspeakable pain.

After a long while, he took a deep breath of the cool night air, forcibly suppressing all his tenderness, guilt, and reluctance, burying them deep in his heart, never to reveal them again.

He knew he was cruel, and he knew he was heartless.

But he knew even better that short-term pain was salvation, while long-term pain was destruction.

Rather than letting the boy, clinging to his delusions, head towards destruction, it's better for him to be the villain, shattering all illusions with his own hands, allowing him to settle into mediocrity and live a peaceful and uneventful life.

This is the best possible ending.

After a moment of stillness, Jiraiya opened his eyes, all emotions in them returning to calm.

He didn't look back or linger. He resolutely strode forward, his posture upright, and slowly walked towards the end of the corridor.

Along the way, he silently confirmed and repeatedly reviewed everything in his heart.

Over the years, Konoha has never mistreated Konohamaru in the slightest.

The village provided him with a safe and secure home, and gave him a sufficient living allowance to ensure that he had enough to eat and wear and could grow up in peace. They never implicated him because of the Sarutobi clan's past, and never suppressed, held him accountable, or mistreated him.

Uchiha Yao has already done everything he could to be kind and righteous.

The last thing he could do was to personally sever the boy's obsessive obsession and make him completely give up his unrealistic fantasies.

Accept your mediocrity, live a peaceful and stable life.

Mediocrity is not a crime, and stability is a blessing.