The downpour was the norm in the Land of Rain. Today, Amegakure was once again shrouded in its heavy veil of rain, yet compared to the past, the atmosphere in the village felt palpably more oppressive and heavy. Any discerning eye could see the anxiety and restlessness in the demeanor of its shinobi.
The number of Ame-nin patrolling the streets had more than doubled. In any given corner, it wasn't hard to spot squads drifting about.
Every so often, groups of Ame-nin who had been out on missions hurried back in a rush.
In just two or three days, aside from the units stationed at the borders, almost all shinobi outside the village had been recalled.
Such a drastic shift stirred unease not only among Amegakure's ordinary citizens, but even more so among the "less ordinary" ones—the spies scattered throughout the village, dispatched from every land and village. They could hardly sit still, springing into action and exhausting every means to uncover why Amegakure was suddenly massing its forces.
---
Inside an unremarkable tavern.
At this hour, guests were scarce—just a handful of old drunkards swaying in their seats, looking as if they could topple over into a drunken slumber at any moment. But behind the counter, the bartender ignored them, methodically polishing a glass that was already spotless.
Tok, tok!
A figure, silent as a ghost, slipped in and took a seat at the counter, tapping the walnut wood surface with a finger.
"What'll it be, sir?" the bartender asked, raising his head.
"The new drink I tried two days ago," the customer replied.
The bartender asked no further, swiftly preparing a deep-red cocktail. Beneath the glass lay a small slip of paper.
On it, only a single line was written:
[Hanzō is dead]
The customer's hand nearly trembled, almost spilling the drink outright. Luckily, he was no ordinary man—an elite of Konoha's ANBU. He steadied his body and mind in an instant, suppressing the jolt of shock, then swallowed the paper along with the alcohol in one gulp.
Frowning, he muttered in dissatisfaction, "This doesn't taste quite the same as last time… you didn't water it down, did you?"
"Sir, that's a dangerous thing to say," the bartender replied with a smile, his tone calm but firm. "This tavern may be small, but we've been here for over twenty years. Every drop we serve is the real thing." His emphasis on those last words carried a weight that couldn't be missed.
The customer's brows furrowed. He grumbled vaguely as if unwilling to concede, yet didn't dare press further.
Finishing the odd-tasting drink, he simply said, "Put it on my tab," and departed. He needed to relay this shocking intelligence to the village immediately.
Hanzō of the Salamander—the pillar of Amegakure—had fallen.
It was staggering.
And who could say what kind of storm this revelation would stir in the shinobi world?
The Third Great Ninja War itself had ignited from a spark: the sudden disappearance of Sunagakure's Third Kazekage. Yet, Amegakure had never involved itself directly in that conflict. And now, with the war nearing its end, most great villages had neither the strength nor the appetite to spark another.
So perhaps Hanzō's death would not shake the world the way the Kazekage's disappearance had.
Still, for a spy, this was priceless information. And so, Konoha's operatives in Ame—and every spy from other villages who managed to sniff out the secret Amegakure's higher-ups had tried so hard to conceal—rushed to transmit the news back home, even at the risk of exposure.
---
Meanwhile, in one of the towers of Amegakure, the jōnin had convened again.
The conference room was lit by harsh white lamps, holding back the gloom. The tightly sealed windows dulled the endless patter of rain, turning it faint and faraway. Within, the loudest sounds came not from the storm but from heated arguments—jōnin bickering and slamming fists upon the table.
Of course, Amegakure had far more jōnin than those present. But like everywhere else, ranks among jōnin varied. Not every jōnin had the right to sit at such a council that would determine the village's fate. Each person here represented the backing of other jōnin and scores of chūnin and genin. Together, they stood for the will of nearly the entire shinobi population.
In the past, as long as Hanzō lived, all decisions were his alone. No one dared to challenge his authority. Benefits, resources, power—everything flowed through him, and his distribution was final. For that reason, Amegakure had remained internally stable, if not harmonious.
But now Hanzō was dead.
Though Fuyu had been named his successor… it was painfully clear that he lacked Hanzō's absolute command. Three days had already passed since Amagumo had brought word of Hanzō's death, yet Fuyu had neither seized full control nor dared to announce the news publicly or hold the succession ceremony.
Instead, the leaders quarreled endlessly over power.
If not for the mutual understanding not to bare fangs outright, the chamber might already have erupted into blows.
BANG!
At last, Fuyu's patience snapped. With a single punch, he shattered the table before him.
The noise silenced the room.
"I've heard enough of this nonsense."
His bloodshot eyes glared, brimming with killing intent, as he roared, "Hanzō-sama is dead! Without him, do you really think this is the same Amegakure as before? Forget Konoha, Iwa, and Suna—the hungry tigers. Even Akatsuki, that starving wolf, might be more than we can handle!"
"I gathered you fools here to discuss how Amegakure can avoid ending up like Kusagakure, a pitiful mockery of a village. If we sink to their level… what use is all this squabbling for scraps of power?"
He vented days of pent-up fury through his words.
"What's there to fear?" one jōnin scoffed, unfazed. "Konoha, Iwa, Suna—they're all battered from this war, their strength gutted. They won't be picking fights for at least a decade. And Akatsuki? Fuyu, you don't really think they'd dare come at us directly, do you?"
This dismissive reply found support from half the room.
"…Did none of you even read Amagumo's report?" Fuyu demanded, disbelief twisting his face. "Hanzō-sama died at their hands!"
"We read it," another replied calmly. "The report said Hanzō-sama was killed by some jōnin of the Koeda Clan, didn't it? Not by Akatsuki's pack of strays."
"You—!"
Words failed Fuyu.
For a long moment, he could only stare at them in mute despair, feeling as though not just their minds but the very future of Amegakure itself had rotted away.
Perhaps, he thought bitterly, the Land of Rain was destined to become Akatsuki's domain.