The room Jiro was escorted to was nothing like the single-room house he used to live in Doldia.
He stood near the wide window, one hand resting on the polished sill, and tried to make sense of the space he had been left in. The floor was smooth stone that reflected the soft glow of the lanterns, even though outside it was still bright with sunlight. The bed was large enough for three people and piled with blankets finer than anything he had ever touched. A low table held a porcelain teapot and two cups that looked too delicate to use. Even the air smelled different here, clean, and giving off the faint scent of incense and something floral he could not name.
Roland had brought him here after the chaos at the gate. The big knight had said almost nothing, nor did the Pope. He had simply guided Jiro through corridors that seemed to go on forever, opened this door, and told him someone would come for him later. Then he had left.
That had been nearly an hour ago.
Jiro paced once from the window to the door and back again. His head still throbbed where it had struck the carriage frame. Every few steps, his thoughts circled back to the same place.
‘Is Tsunade-san okay?’
She had dropped onto the ground being unconscious the moment the fighting ended. One second she had been asking if he was hurt; the next she was face-down on the courtyard stones with blood ruining the front of her clothes. The Pope had taken over immediately, issuing quiet, precise orders to the remaining knights. No one had spoken to Jiro beyond the bare necessities. No one had told him whether she was even still breathing.
After 10 more minutes of pacing the whole room, he finally stopped in front of the door and considered opening it. The idea of wandering the Temple halls alone made his stomach tighten, knowing how big it was already. The old man in white robes had not looked particularly welcoming on top of it. Getting lost, or worse, interrupting something important, felt like a good way to make an already complicated day worse in front of that guy.
Then a soft knock interrupted the thought.
“Come in,” Jiro called.
The door opened. A young woman in a neat, muted uniform stepped inside first, a folded bundle of pure white fabric held carefully in both hands. Behind her came two others carrying a basin of steaming water, clean towels, and a small wooden box that looked like it held soap and oil. They moved with quiet efficiency as if they were trained for exactly this kind of work.
“Sage-sama,” the first servant said, bowing. “The Pope instructed us to bring fresh clothing and water so you may prepare. The formal audience will begin shortly.”
Jiro accepted the folded clothes. The fabric was heavier and finer than anything he had worn in his life, deep white with subtle bluish embroidery along the collar and cuffs, cut in a long, clean style that reminded him of the better hanfu he had seen on traveling merchants, only far more refined.
The three women exchanged a quick glance. The lead servant hesitated only a moment before answering.
“Sage-sama, you will be told everything once you are ready and present in the main hall. The Pope himself will explain. We are in place to speak of such things. Please prepare. We will wait outside to guide you when you are finished.”
They set the basin and towels on a side table, bowed again, and left as quietly as they had entered. The door closed with a soft click.
Jiro stared at the clothes in his hands for a long second. Then he sighed, stripped out of the travel-stained garments he had worn since the train, and began to wash.
The corridors of the Temple felt even longer when he finally stepped out. The servant led him at a measured pace, never rushing, never speaking unless necessary. By the time they reached the towering double doors of the main hall, Jiro’s new clothes already felt both too fine and strangely heavy on his shoulders.
Outside the doors, he spotted a familiar broad-shouldered figure speaking with a cluster of other knights. Relief loosened something in his chest seeing a familiar face. He walked straight over.
“Hey, Roland-san. What happened to Tsunade-san? And why did you leave me in that room? You said to wait, but you never came back.”
The knight turned. Up close, the differences were small but clear: a slightly leaner face, a fraction less height, eyes that held a quieter kind of readiness.
“Ah… Sage-sama. You must be speaking of my elder brother, Roland. I am Rudolf. His younger twin.”
Jiro stopped short. He looked the man up and down once more. The resemblance was almost uncanny.
“Oh. My bad, Rudolf-san.”
Rudolf smiled, the expression easier than his brother’s usual stern set. “It’s all right. Many people make the same mistake. No harm done.”
Jiro scratches the lower part of his cheek, a little embarrassed. “Still. Having people mix you up all the time… having your own identity get blurred with someone else’s… that has to wear on a person. I’m sorry you have to deal with it. It’s just….you look exactly like him, or should I say he looks exactly like you, haha…” He gave an awkward smile.
The words landed heavier than he expected. Rudolf’s companions, who had been listening with polite half-attention, all turned fully toward him. Rudolf himself looked briefly startled, then something warmer settled across his features. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
“Haha… Sage-sama. My brother said you were different from most people. He didn’t mention you were also this kind and insightful.” He placed a fist over his heart in a brief, formal gesture. “This humble man feels small beside you. No wonder the oracle named you. Not just anyone could stand in that place.”
The other knights murmured quiet agreement. Jiro felt a little embarrassment creep up his neck under the weight of their sudden respect. He didn’t realise just acknowledging someone’s problem could have that effect.
Then he managed a small, awkward smile and was saved from having to answer when a clear voice rang out from inside the hall.
“Jiraya Namikaze, the Fourteenth Sage of the Mortal Realm, Approaches!”
The great doors swung open.
Jiro stepped through, and his mouth fell open at the sheer grandness of the scene in front of him.
If his guest room had been luxurious, the main hall was something else entirely. The floor was polished marble that caught the light of dozens of hanging lamps and threw it back in soft gold. Pillars rose like pale trees toward a ceiling painted with constellations and stylized clouds. At the far end, a raised dais held a simple but imposing chair. Everything, from the carved railings to the embroidered banners along the walls, spoke of wealth and careful craftsmanship that a small village like Doldia could not have imagined.
People lined both sides of the long central path. They stood in distinct clusters, and even at a glance Jiro could see the differences in their clothing. Some wore elaborate layered robes with wide sleeves and intricate folds. Others wore single-piece garments closer to the style of his home village, but the fabric was finer, the stitching more precise, the colors richer. A few women in one of the nearer groups caught his eye and smiled. Jiro looked away at once, ears warming.
‘Let’s not stare. Who knows what they’ll think.’
He kept his gaze forward and walked. The weight of so many eyes made his shoulders tight. Every step echoed faintly in the vast space.
Then at last he saw her.
Tsunade stood to the right of the dais, a half-step behind the old man in white, the Pope. Around them clustered several other figures in formal clerical robes. She looked pale, and a fresh bandage peeked from beneath the collar of her cleaned and changed clothes, but she was on her feet. And certainly alive.
Relief hit him so hard he almost missed the small, sharp movement of her brow, a clear, silent warning not to keep staring. Jiro dropped his eyes and continued until he reached the circle inlaid in the marble floor directly before the dais. He stopped there, as the space seemed to feel like a spot for standing. Then he waited for the Pope to speak.