The banquet itself passed in a blur of stuffing mouths with food, overlapping voices pressing into the new Sage’s ears, and the constant weight of attention from every noble family of the kingdom.
Jiro sat at the central table beneath hanging lanterns that painted everything in gold light. Nobles from every major house in the kingdom rotated past him in carefully timed waves, fathers offering measured compliments, mothers smiling too brightly, daughters lowering their eyes just long enough to be noticed. Tsunade and Roland handled most of the social navigation for Jiro with practiced ease, steering conversations away when they grew too pointed and filling silences before Jiro himself had to answer.
For the first time he felt in it his heart, without them he would have died for sure in this banquet.
The food helped a little. Dish after dish arrived: roasted meats glazed in honey and spice, delicate steamed fish, dishes cooked with rare ingredients, sweets that melted on the tongue. Growing up in a farming household had not meant poverty on the table for Jiro. His father, Minato Namikaze, had often returned from the nearest town market with unfamiliar delicacies, and the forest around Doldia had supplied venison and wild boar more than once. The capital’s excess did not overwhelm him the way the crowd did.
If anything, he found himself quietly comparing every bite to his mother’s cooking and finding most of it unsatisfactory. Still, he ate steadily. While his mouth was full, fewer people expected him to speak. That simple strategy carried him through the long evening.
By the time the final toasts were offered, the outdoor lanterns had burned lower, making the area a little darker, and the air had grown warmer with wine and perfume. Jiro rose with the others, offered the required polite bows, and allowed himself to be excused out of the gardens.
The corridors of the Temple felt cooler after the chaotic crowd of the banquet. Roland walked on his right, Rudolf on his left, and a small cluster of other young knights trailed behind them. All of them carried the loose-limbed ease of men who had drunk more than they should. Jiro, who had limited himself to a single cup, found their company oddly comforting. The formality of the evening had peeled away; what remained felt closer to the easy camaraderie of the village paths.
Rudolf was still talking about the earlier conversation outside the hall.
“No one has ever said it to my face before, Sage-sama. That my name always comes second to my brother’s. I felt it, of course. Every day. But hearing you mention the thing so beautifully… it settled somewhere in here.” He tapped his chest with a slightly unsteady finger. “I am grateful. I’m honored.”
Roland let out a booming, wine-softened laugh and clapped his younger twin on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.
“What did I tell you? Our Sage-sama sees people. He truly sees our heart. And you should have watched him at the gates, Idiot! When Lady Tsunade was about to take that bastard’s sword through the heart, who saved her? Our Sage-sama, that’s who! One clean throw of that poisonous liquid and the man was on his knees screaming. It was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”
“We all… well. Lady Tsunade has been the pride of the Temple guard for years. Most of us grew up watching her train. To think the new Sage protected her on his very first day…” He trailed off, ears red, but the sentiment was clear enough. The others nodded, some more shyly than others. Their admiration for Tsunade had never been a secret among the lower ranks; tonight the wine simply made it audible.
Jiro felt a heat of embarrassment creep up his own neck at the praise and said nothing. He was still turning over the image of Tsunade’s bloodied face, how dashing she looked back then, when they reached a quieter wing of the Temple. Steam drifted faintly from beneath a heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor.
Roland stopped, swayed once, and grinned with sudden mischief.
“Ah. Here we are. Sage-sama, your private bath has been prepared. And…” He leaned in, voice dropping into a conspiratorial, slightly slurred stage whisper. “Your slave has already been placed inside. Do as you please, Sage-sama. No one will disturb you while I, Roland the great, am here.”
He and Rudolf both sank down against the opposite wall with boneless satisfaction. Both looked like men who had decided the floor was an acceptable bed for tonight. Within moments their breathing had evened into the soft snoring of the thoroughly drunk.
Jiro stared at them.
“Oi, get up. You two can’t sleep here. At least find a proper bed…”
Neither of them answered. Roland’s head had already lolled onto his brother’s shoulder.
Jiro exhaled. Rubbing the back of his neck, he pushed the bathhouse door open.
The room beyond was larger than he expected, easily the size of the guest chamber he had been given. Smooth stone walls rose to a high ceiling, and a wide, rectangular pool occupied the center, fed by a continuous flow of hot water that filled the air with gentle steam and the clean mineral scent of deep springs. Low benches lined the sides. Soft lantern light turned the rising mist gold.
Everything looked carefully prepared and quietly luxurious.
Except for the single figure in the water.
A girl sat in the pool with her back partially turned, wet slender shoulders glistening, dark hair floating around her like ink. The water reached just below her shoulder blades. When she shifted to reach for a cloth on the edge, the movement revealed the soft, full curve of a breast and the delicate line of a waist that narrowed before flaring into hips already shaped by young womanhood. Her most private places were hidden only by the shifting surface of the water and the angle of her body, yet even that incomplete glimpse was enough for him to recognize her immediately.
Jiro’s mind went completely, utterly blank.
The door was still open behind him. The soft sound of the knights’ snoring drifted in from the corridor. Steam curled around his ankles. And in the middle of the private bath prepared for the new Sage of the Mortal Realm sat a naked girl who had, only that afternoon, still worn iron cuffs around her thin wrists.
He could not move, could not look away, too. He only knew this was not the person he had bought from the temple market.
After all, instead of a man, this was a fully naked, stunning, beautiful, slender girl.