The wilderness.
Naoto stood amidst a chaotic battlefield, gasping for air. Scattered around him were several corpses—the targets of his just-completed mission, a small squad of rogue Grass Ninja.
Following the end of the Second Shinobi World War, if one were to judge which village produced the most defectors by sheer numbers, the Hidden Mist would take the crown—they had even established a dedicated departnt just to hunt their own.
However, in terms of the ratio of defectors, the Hidden Grass Village stood atop the list. It was a place of absolute disorder and moral vacuum.
After the war, realizing their own weakness and their precarious position between two Great Nations, the Grass Ninja grew desperate.
Lacking their own heritage, they stole from others. When petty scrolls weren't enough, they turned their eyes toward Kekkei Genkai, descending into child abduction and human trafficking.
Naturally, many within the village could not stomach such an environnt and chose to flee.
"Thirty-two thousand ryo."
A low, familiar voice vibrated from behind. Naoto didn't even turn; his white tendrils lashed out in a reflexive strike.
Kakuzu tilted his body, letting the threads whistle past. "Reaction was 0.3 seconds faster than last ti," he noted tonelessly.
Naoto retracted the tendrils and turned to face him. This was the fourth ti they had crossed paths in this wasteland.
The first ti, Kakuzu had ambushed him; the second, he had intercepted Naoto mid-mission; the third, Kakuzu had appeared just as Naoto collected a reward, acting like a self-appointed tax collector.
Each ti, Kakuzu would drop a few words of "instruction" during the fight, snatch the bounty head, and vanish.
"You're late this ti," Naoto said, wiping blood from his cheek. "The mission is done. I've already collected the fee from the client."
"I know." Kakuzu walked to the bodies and kicked one. "But these heads are the currency for the Underground Exchange. Did you not know?"
Naoto froze.
Kakuzu sneered. "You use the Earth Grudge Fear well enough, but you are illiterate when it cos to the rules of the world.
In bounty hunting, the body is a double profit. The client pays once; the exchange pays again. You've lost at least five hundred thousand ryo in the last two weeks alone."
Naoto remained silent. Kakuzu knelt, expertly decapitating the corpses and wrapping the heads in cloth before standing up.
"The timing of your hardening is still off. You only harden after I strike. Too late. You should begin the process the mont you predict the trajectory of my attack."
Kakuzu turned to leave.
"Wait."
Kakuzu stopped, looking back as Naoto asked, "You've had countless opportunities to kill . Why haven't you?"
A glimr of amusent danced in Kakuzu's green eyes. "Your bounty is too low. Killing you now isn't worth the effort. I'm letting you grow... waiting for your price to rise."
With that, he vanished into the dust. Naoto watched the horizon, recalling Shisui's words. That man truly was the piece they were missing.
Half a month later, they t for the sixth ti.
This ti, Naoto struck first. His tendrils were more fluid, his hardening precise. They traded nearly a hundred blows across the wasteland before Naoto was finally pinned down.
"Fast progress."
It was a rare piece of positive reinforcent from the legend. Kakuzu sat on a boulder, watching Naoto pant on the ground.
A complex shadow crossed his face. "The Earth Grudge Fear in your body is definitely different from mine.
My threads co from five distinct hearts, each with its own chakra nature. Yours... seems to have integrated sothing else entirely."
Naoto said nothing. Shisui had taught him well: a ninja's secrets are his life. To reveal the chanics of one's jutsu is to hand soone the knife to kill you.
Kakuzu was silent for a while, then suddenly spoke. "You keep wandering back and forth through this territory. Are you trying to lure back to Takigakure?"
Naoto blinked, but before he could speak, Kakuzu scoffed. "You think I can't see it? Half these missions were bait designed to draw out. Your fighting style is mimicking mine, and your retreat paths lead straight into the areas I prefer for ambushes."
He stood up, looking down at Naoto. "Who exactly wants back? It can't be those old fossils in the village; they're terrified of . They wouldn't dare let through the gates."
Naoto slowly climbed to his feet and nodded. "As expected of a senior, nothing escapes you. It is the Lord I serve who wishes for your return.
Months ago, the bounty on your head was officially revoked. You are no longer a rogue ninja. You can co ho, Kakuzu. You are still a man of the Waterfall."
Kakuzu was silent for a long ti. The wind howled through the crossroads of Rock, Grass, and Waterfall, kicking up yellow sand.
"Co back when you can defeat ," he finally said, turning away.
This ti, his back didn't seem quite so cold to Naoto. For a mont, he reminded Naoto of the stubborn, grumpy old n his niece used to draw in her sketchbooks.
The Land of Rain
In a hidden valley, three simple wooden huts stood against the mountain. In the small courtyard, three children were practicing.
A red-haired boy sat with his hands in a seal, struggling to mold chakra. A girl with purple hair stood beside him, whispering encouragent. On the other side, an orange-haired boy was ticulously practicing hand signs—slow, but perfect in form.
Jiraiya lay on the roof, a stalk of grass in his mouth, staring at the leaden sky. Suddenly, he sat up.
A figure erged from the treeline—tall, pale, with a familiar, thin smile.
"Jiraiya. It's been a long ti," Orochimaru's voice rasped.
"Orochimaru?" Jiraiya hopped down, eyes wide. "How did you find this place? And your voice... You sound old. Are you sick?"
Orochimaru didn't answer. His voice wasn't due to illness, but the recovery period from several "minor surgeries" he had perford on himself—procedures that would soon make his body far superior to the fragile shells of ordinary n.
He wouldn't be like Jiraiya, whose bones would crack from a single punch from Tsunade.
"How could people like us get 'sick'?" Orochimaru mused. "We simply grow, and our hearts grow weary. I almost envy you, Jiraiya—always keeping the heart of a child."
Orochimaru's gaze drifted to the three children. He glanced over the girl and the orange-haired boy, but his eyes locked onto the red-haired boy. Long hair, shy deanor... and an ocean of chakra.
An Uzumaki?
As Orochimaru stepped forward to investigate, Jiraiya blurred into motion, positioning himself directly between his teammate and the children. He didn't say a word, but the playfulness in his eyes had vanished.
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