Just as quietly as he had arrived, Jiraiya was gone.
Hagoromo had entertained the brief thought of clubbing him from behind and tossing him into the river, but he didn't follow through.
On one hand, he was a good person. On the other, he wasn't entirely sure who would end up in the water if things got messy.
So, he suppressed his annoyance—a frustration born primarily from Jiraiya's mockery of his current Water Style proficiency and his "clumsy" training methods. In the end, the Sage hadn't offered a single shortcut.
This wasn't actually due to Jiraiya being stingy. Nature transformation training is fundamentally a slog; it's a process of slow, steady accumulation with no real shortcuts.
Jiraiya couldn't just manifest a magic trick to speed it up. Furthermore, the Sannin believed in personal enlightenment—that a ninja must find their own path to mastery for a technique to truly become their own.
Thirdly, Jiraiya felt that a ninja's strength should develop at a steady pace. Based on what he'd learned from Minato and Kushina, he already had a good grasp of Hagoromo's capabilities. For a boy his age to be proficient—arguably exquisite—in two elemental transformations was already a staggering feat. He felt there was no need to rush a third; nature should take its course.
To Jiraiya, ninjutsu wasn't everything. He believed there were things far more important than the techniques a ninja mastered.
How did Orochimaru define a ninja? One who uses ninjutsu. How did Jiraiya explain a ninja? One who endures all things.
The gulf between their ideologies was clear. Of course, that was Jiraiya's perspective, and he hadn't bothered to explain it to Hagoromo in detail.
For Hagoromo's part, he desperately wanted to master Water Style as quickly as possible. He knew he'd be heading back to the front lines soon, and the deadline was likely approaching fast. Expanding his arsenal was a necessity for survival in the unpredictable chaos of the Great War.
In terms of raw, peak destructive power—setting aside his unique physiology—Hagoromo's "Elemental Cap" was around 100. Even if he mastered Water Style, that peak value wouldn't necessarily exceed 100. After all, a Hagoromo using Lightning Style was always going to be the strongest version of himself.
But combat isn't just about peak numbers. The more elements a ninja masters, the more versatile and unpredictable they become. A wider array of tools means more options, making it easier to catch an enemy off guard and seize victory.
Still, his progress with Water was... well, not fast.
He had no idea that in the future, a certain blonde kid would "cheat" by using thousands of Shadow Clones to parallel-process nature transformation training, mastering Wind Style in record time. Hagoromo had never even considered using the Multi-Shadow Clone Jutsu that way. Even if he had, his chakra reserves wouldn't support it—and even if they did, he wouldn't do it.
His individual processing efficiency was high—certainly higher than a young Naruto's—but the backlash of information from two thousand clones would likely cook his brain the moment the jutsu was released.
Ninjutsu ate my brain was a tragic headline he wanted to avoid. Unless it was absolutely life-or-death, Hagoromo refused to use training methods that placed an extreme burden on his brain. Keeping a healthy brain was vital to him. (Actually, that's true for everyone, but for Hagoromo, it was doubly so.)
Five days after returning to the Hidden Leaf, Hagoromo sat at his desk. A glass, filled about three-quarters of the way with water, sat before him.
He clasped his hands into a seal, focusing his chakra into his left palm. He laid his arm flat on the table, pressing his hand against the glass. Slowly, the water level began to rise, eventually spilling over the rim.
Compared to five days ago, his progress was noticeable. At this rate, he'd have enough instantaneous conversion power to perform low-level Water Style in about a month. In three months, he'd likely be able to handle B-rank techniques or higher—at least in terms of raw chakra output.
He kept his hand on the glass, intending to test his sustained output, but then changed his mind. He stopped the flow, wiped his damp palm on his shirt, and walked toward the front door.
He reached for the handle and pulled.
An Anbu ninja was standing right there. It wasn't a coincidence.
"Hagoromo Kamishiro. The Third Hokage summons you."
The Anbu blinked, momentarily taken aback by Hagoromo's sudden opening of the door, but he didn't dwell on it. He simply delivered the command.
"When?" Hagoromo asked. That was the beauty of dealing with the Anbu: no small talk, just business.
"Immediately."
"Understood."