Chapter 20: Of Sake, Senpai, and Secret Suffering
From Issei's Point of View — In which we learn that training your body is fine, but training your heart takes sake, soft lighting, and scandalous company.
Look. I'm not saying I was going to have a mental breakdown. But if I had to do one more lap around that giant frog swamp while being chased by a toad the size of a delivery truck, I was going to sit down, scream, and let the amphibian eat me.
That's where I was mentally.
Thankfully, my savior came in the form of a white-haired, big-grinned, legendary pervert-slash-sensei-slash-novelist: Jiraiya of the Toad.
He watched me trip over my own feet during dodging drills and said, with all the solemnity of a wise sage, "Kid, you need to get laid—uh, I mean, relax."
Next thing I knew, we were dressed decently (which for me was very new), heading toward a cozy lantern-lit bar with the subtle, casual name of The Silken Petal.
Now, here's the thing. In my world? I'm a nobody. Girls either ignore me or treat me like I'm radioactive. In this world?
I'm the student of Jiraiya the Gallant.
And if Jiraiya is the rockstar, then I was the opening act—and the ladies were totally here for it.
The moment we stepped in, the atmosphere shifted like some rom-com anime moment: warm lighting, soft music, beautiful women turning their heads, eyes sparkling with curiosity. One even giggled and whispered something to her friend. I'm pretty sure it was "He's kind of cute in a lost puppy way."
I can live with that.
Jiraiya took the lead, naturally. One wink and the hostesses were practically arguing over who got to sit next to him. We ended up at a booth with three ladies—one at his side, one at mine, and one who floated between us like some flirty fairy of fun.
And for the first time in weeks?
I relaxed.
We drank. Nothing too strong for me (Jiraiya insisted I "pace myself, young grasshopper"), but enough to feel warm in the face and looser in the shoulders. I told a few exaggerated stories about "missions" I'd done with the Pervy Sage. Jiraiya laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world and added just enough spice to make me look cool.
The girls giggled. One asked me to tell her more. The one next to Jiraiya fed him grilled skewers like some sort of spicy princess. And I started to get why Naruto liked hanging around ramen shops and open bars so much. It wasn't just the food.
It was the peace.
"So," Jiraiya said, between pouring sake. "Still feeling like training's eating your soul?"
I blinked, then looked at the table full of half-empty plates, the sparkle in the hostess's eye beside me, and the faint hum of music.
"…Maybe not so much right now."
He grinned. "Good. Remember this feeling. Power's no good if you forget why you're chasing it."
I didn't answer immediately.
Because I was thinking.
Why was I chasing it?
Sure, I wanted to go back home. Be strong. Not be the weakling. But more than that…
I didn't want to be the guy who just watches everything. The bystander. The one who dreams big but never leaves the starting line.
Naruto had tossed me into the deep end of another world, and instead of drowning—I was swimming. Sort of. Splashing wildly. Flailing with style.
But still moving forward.
I took a sip of my drink and smiled at the hostess. She smiled back. Jiraiya leaned back and cracked a joke that made everyone laugh.
And for a moment?
Yeah. Life was good.
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Okay. So I'm not proud to admit that while the world burns in magical wars and chakra conspiracies, my number one goal in life is still to become the Harem King.
But hey, everyone needs dreams, right?
For some people it's climbing mountains. For others it's finding inner peace or saving the world.
Me?
I just want to be smothered in glorious, heavenly, affectionate boobs.
Big ones, soft ones, comforting ones. The kind that make you want to cry tears of joy because you know God is real and she's thicc.
So, sitting there in The Silken Petal, watching Master Jiraiya get pampered by two gorgeous women who clearly thought he was the reincarnation of cool, I had a lightbulb moment.
This man—this legend—was living the dream.
And here I was, his spiritual student, spiritually dry.
Sure, I was technically in Naruto's body. But I had used the Transformation Jutsu to look like my original, super-hot, anime-protagonist self. Even the girls at the table were starting to take notice, which was a good sign the transformation had maxed out its effect.
I leaned in, serious as death. "Pervy Sage."
Jiraiya arched a brow. "Hmm?"
"I want… guidance. On building a harem."
A silence fell. Not dramatic. More like "this is the most respectful thing I've ever said in my life" kind of silence.
Jiraiya didn't laugh. Didn't scoff. He took a deep breath, set his sake cup down, and turned to face me with the expression of a man who'd waited his whole life to be asked that exact question.
"My boy," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder, "you have no idea how long I've waited to hear those words."
I'm not gonna lie—I teared up a bit.
He continued, "First of all, forget everything those cheap rom-com animes told you. Harems aren't about tripping over girls into boobs and magically earning love. No. A true harem is like building a garden. Each flower has different sunlight needs. Each one blooms in its own season. And if you neglect them, they'll wither and leave."
Wow.
That was… unexpectedly poetic.
"And secondly," he said, "you have to figure out who you are. Not the pervert you pretend to be. The man underneath. Women can tell the difference."
That one stung a little, not gonna lie.
He paused, then smirked. "But if your heart's true, and your ambition firm, and your pillow game strong… I, Jiraiya the Gallant, shall take you under my wing."
"Sensei!" I cried, clutching his sleeve with the emotion of a romance drama protagonist.
"Student!" he grinned, gripping my hand like we were brothers-in-perversion.
The girls around us clapped. One said, "Aww, that's kind of sweet."
And just like that, the dream didn't feel so far off anymore.
The path to Harem King wasn't just about chasing boobs.
It was about understanding hearts. Including my own.
Still… the boobs were a very strong bonus.
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Okay, so here's the situation:
I, Issei Hyoudou—proud aspiring Harem King—had just received the blessing of the legendary pervy sage himself.
That's right. Jiraiya-sama. Naruto's master. The man who wrote Make-Out Paradise, survived wars, trained literal demigods, and still found time to be smothered in boobs and sake.
And now he was taking me under his wing.
But…
Apparently, I had the charm of a confused puppy and the seductive skill of a wet sock.
"You have potential, sure," Jiraiya said as he adjusted his robes and smoothed back his ridiculous mane of hair. "But potential means nothing if you walk up to a girl and ask her her cup size before her name."
"Okay, fair," I muttered.
So there we were, still in The Silken Petal—the kind of classy bar where everything smelled like perfume and possibility. The lights were soft, the music mellow, and the women way out of my league.
"Observe," Jiraiya said, cracking his knuckles like a master preparing to carve a sculpture. "Lesson one: read the atmosphere. Don't crash in like you're desperate. Be the breeze, not the bulldozer."
And just like that, he locked eyes with a tall, elegant woman at the bar. She looked like she belonged on a fashion magazine cover. Jiraiya strolled up like he had plot armor in a romance anime.
He didn't start with a line. Oh no.
He picked up a napkin, gently set it in front of her, and said, "Forgive me, but it would be a crime not to give beauty its proper stage."
She laughed. Laughed. Like she was genuinely charmed. Then they started chatting, and within seconds she was twirling her hair and smiling like she was back in high school.
I was floored. "He's like a reverse ninja. He just sneaks into their hearts…"
Jiraiya came back a few minutes later, the lady's number in hand and her perfume trailing behind him like victory smoke.
I blinked. "Was that Genjutsu?"
He chuckled. "No, kid. That was confidence, timing, and sincerity. Girls can tell when you're trying too hard, and they really know when you're not seeing them as people."
I scratched my head. "But… isn't this all about being smooth?"
"Being smooth is about respect," he said, wagging a finger. "Flirting isn't about tricking someone. It's about dancing with them. Teasing, listening, giving them a moment where they feel like the main character."
Mind. Blown.
"So… how do I practice that?"
Jiraiya smirked and pointed toward a nearby waitress. She was cute, had an easy smile, and was heading our way. "Step one: go ask her if she's having a good night. Don't ogle. Don't be weird. Just… talk."
I swallowed hard. "Right. Talk. Like a normal human being. Not a hentai protagonist."
"Exactly."
So I stood up, fixed my collar, made sure I didn't have wasabi on my face, and walked up to her.
My heart was pounding like a taiko drum.
"Hi," I said. "Sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to say thanks. You've got a really kind vibe—it makes the whole place feel relaxed."
She blinked. Then smiled. "That's sweet of you to say. Thanks!"
Boom.
My first non-creepy compliment.
"Uh, I'm Issei," I added, almost forgetting my name.
She gave a little wave. "Nice to meet you, Issei. I'm Emi. Enjoy your night, okay?"
I nodded and walked back to Jiraiya, who gave me a proud nod and tossed me a grape like I was a performing seal.
"Well done," he said. "You didn't combust. You didn't drool. And most importantly, you made her smile."
"Baby steps," I said, sitting down and feeling oddly… mature.
"Next time," he said, "we'll cover humor, voice control, and the lost art of romantic confidence."
My grin spread wider than a Devil's contract.
At this rate, I was going to earn that Harem King title—the right way.
Watch out, world.
This king's learning how to charm.