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“Jiraiya, pay attention!” Tsunade huffed, flicking her teammate on the side of the head. She felt like she had already said those same words a thousand times since she had been put on her genin team with him and Orochimaru. She had to admit, she could have been happier with the way things had worked out. Jiraiya was annoying, immature and a pervert, while Orochimaru was a little bit… creepy (but at least he cared about becoming a good shinobi).
Jiraiya made a shooing motion at her with one hand, the other holding open the pages of a book that Tsunade knew for a fact wasn’t allowed for people under the age of eighteen. She rolled one of her sleeves up. She refused to let this lecherous slacker ruin her chances of getting nominated for the chuunin exam in a few weeks. She brought her fist down on Jiraiya’s head, nearly knocking his face into the book he was reading.
“Hey!” he cried, rubbing the spot she had hit, “what was that for?”
“I refuse to let you ruin my chances of getting nominated for the chuunin exams! We only have a few more weeks to prove that we’re good enough, and I’m not going to let your lecherous habits keep us – and by extension, me – from at least attempting it this year.”
Jiraiya snorted, turning another page in his book. “Have you seen the other genin cells this year? We’re so far ahead of them it’s barely even funny.” He paused, looking contemplative. “Well, actually, it is pretty funny.” He grinned.
Tsunade let out a huff. He was pretty much right – her cell was well advanced when compared to their peers – but her anxiety was making her a bit jumpy.
“And anyway,” he continued, “sensei isn’t even here yet. You dragged me out of bed almost a half hour early, the least you could do is let me read in peace,” he said, resettling himself against the tree he had been sitting beside. He cleared his throat and made a show of reopening his book and flipping to the page he had left off at, finding the exact word with his finger with an exaggerated “aha!”
She really wanted to hit him again.
The books on the shelf were gaudy and orange, and her feelings toward them were summed up by series’ logo: a red circle with a slash through it. Tsunade still picked it up though, endured the shopkeeper’s raised eyebrows as she paid. She felt the weight of it in the paper bag as she and Shizune walked home, or as close as they got to “home” when you didn’t live in your village anymore: to their room in the local inn.
Later that night, when Shizune was asleep on the futon next to hers, Tsunade unwrapped the book carefully, perhaps even reverently, examining the binding and the text. But the part she was most interested in was the section on the back.
“The author of Icha Icha Paradise travels the world to find out everything
he can about the things contained in this book! At the time of this writing,
he was in Mizugakure, paying special attention to the multitude of hot
springs! If you read the book, you can definitely tell he did his research!
Be sure to check out the other books in the Icha Icha series!!”
She felt something in her chest unclench.
She carefully placed the book next to the others on the desk and went to sleep.
There were too many names on the memorial stone that she knew. Some were worn by time, like Dan’s, her little brother’s, even sensei’s was starting to show some wear. Others were too new. A painful reminder that not long ago, those people had still been here.
Tsunade ran her fingers over the engravings, recalling faces and voices. The newer ones, ones of people she had barely known for her time out of the village, hurt almost more with the knowledge that it had been her judgements as hokage that had caused their deaths. She knew, in the rational part of herself, that it hadn’t really been her fault, but she still felt the guilt of it like a dull knife in the ribs.
She hadn’t come this morning to pity herself, however. She picked one name out of the rest, traced the characters with a fingertip.
“Good morning, Jiraiya,” she said, but that was all wrong. “’Morning, idiot,” she tried again, and wanted to laugh and wanted to cry at the thought of his stupid eyes-closed, hands-behind-his-head grin. “I bought the last volume of your gross pervert book series. I figured I may as well have a complete set, since I’ve been collecting all these years,” she pulled it out of her robe and turned it over to the back.
“The author of Icha Icha Paradise travels the world to find out everything
he can about the things contained in this book! At the time of this writing,
he was in Konohagakure, researching the feisty women there! If you read
the book, it’s evident he’s had firsthand experience! Make sure to purchase
the rest of the Icha Icha series if you want more!!”
“I got up a half hour early for this,” she said, voice half-breaking on the last word. She settled herself against a nearby tree and flipped to the first page.