The Kisatsutai worked as bounty hunters, responsible for tracking down rogue ninja—fugitives who had committed countless atrocities—to be exchanged for money.
In Aoki's mind, a vision unfolded: a group of shinobi cloaked in black, moving swiftly beneath the pale moonlight.
Their footsteps were soundless, their eyes sharp and merciless, like wolves bred only for the hunt, knowing nothing of hesitation or forgiveness.
The Kisatsutai—a corps of paid executioners—were the ones who pursued traitors, murderers, and criminals of the shinobi world, dragging them back—alive or dead—in the name of money and the fragile stability of nations.
The Oni worked differently. Disguised as eateries scattered across various regions, they served as hubs of information, responsible for selling secrets and passing vital intelligence to the Kisatsutai.
In Aoki's imagination, he could see a modest roadside tavern: red lanterns swaying gently in the night breeze, the rich aroma of steaming broth rising into the air, the cheerful laughter of patrons echoing through the hall—unaware that behind the tables and kitchens, priceless secrets were being traded.
The Oni were not just simple restaurants, but a spider's web spun wide across the land. Through those strands, whispers of villages and armies alike were slowly pulled in, stored, and then sold to the highest bidder.
But relying on the Oni alone was not enough. Aoki needed a third organization.
Before him, a great map stretched across the table. His fingers traced the jagged borders and territories, following the lines of rivers and mountain ranges.
His heart whispered a warning: two organizations would never be sufficient. The world was too vast, the secrets too many, and the enemies far too cunning.
What he needed was a third hand, an extra pair of eyes, a new shadow capable of slipping into the deepest dark.
This organization would not only gather intelligence, but also take on other roles as needed. The essence was clear—Aoki desperately required a new force, one that would become indispensable to him.
Perhaps this force would not move openly, but in silence. They would be spies, infiltrators, even hands ready to spark flames when the time was right.
Aoki knew this third organization had to be built with absolute precision, for from its foundation, he would gain leverage over a world forever shifting under the weight of the butterfly effect.
...
...
...
Time passed. Four months had gone by—two full months since the turn of the year.
The days felt as though they sprinted endlessly forward, each new report crashing in like relentless waves against the shore, pushing the world onward faster than any man could hope to keep pace with.
The candles in Aoki's study had burned down more often than he cared to count, their wicks consumed to nothing, testifying to the countless nights he had spent buried in thought and strategy.
The heavy scent of melted wax mingled with the mustiness of old parchment, filling the air. His desk was buried beneath stacks of reports, scrolls stained with half-dried ink, and maps scarred with bold red lines.
It was there that Aoki received the news: the Third Raikage had perished, collapsing from exhaustion after battling ten thousand shinobi for three nights and three days.
And now, "A"—the man who had long stood as the successor—finally ascended to claim the title of Fourth Raikage. Alongside this, Aoki also learned of another critical development: the Fourth Raikage had confined Killer Bee within Kumogakure.
The report froze Aoki where he sat. His gaze lingered blankly on the parchment. The brush in his hand hovered motionless in the air, a single droplet of black ink falling onto the document, spreading like a wound across the page.
The Third Raikage—a legendary shinobi, renowned for a body as unyielding as steel—had fallen only after fighting alone against ten thousand enemies.
Three nights without rest, without respite, until at last his body yielded beneath the crushing burden of the world.
The image rose vividly before Aoki's eyes: a solitary figure standing amidst a battlefield blanketed with corpses, his silhouette unbroken, his spirit burning even as the tide of death swallowed all around him.
Now, the title of Raikage had passed into the hands of "A"—a man long known for his ambition and his unbending, tempestuous will.
The additional revelation that Killer Bee, the jinchūriki of the Eight-Tails, had been sealed away within Kumogakure only deepened Aoki's understanding of the unfolding game.
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