"Humph, it's that smart guy Aoki. To get more people to watch his match with Rasa, he secretly spread the news around."
"Fortunately, he's not completely foolish. At least he didn't spread it everywhere—he only passed it along to jonin and senior chunin."
Ebizo paused for a moment while holding a document. He then picked up another one beside him and read aloud:
"Aoki is such a clever fool. It's not wrong to say he lacks foresight."
"What if some of the ninjas who know about the Third Kazekage's disappearance are actually hidden spies, or perhaps bribed by other villages? What then?"
Chiyo was silent for a while before she spoke meaningfully:
"Let's wait until Rasa arrives."
"That's true, sister. Hearing that boy's opinion won't hurt."
By now, the Third Kazekage had already been missing for two days.
The siblings had long given up hope that he was still alive.
Thinking of this, Chiyo suddenly recalled her only grandchild.
It was obvious that he too was a gifted puppeteer, and it was only a matter of time before he surpassed her.
But for reasons she still couldn't understand, he had suddenly chosen to betray the village.
Remembering this filled Chiyo with sorrow, for that child had always been obedient and well-behaved since birth.
In a desolate underground cave somewhere in the Land of Wind, a figure cloaked in black stood deep inside. Only fiery red hair spilled out from beneath the hood. His posture was graceful, elegant—it was obvious at a glance that this was someone raised with strict discipline and refinement.
The robed man gazed at the two puppets before him. At first glance they seemed alive, releasing Wind and Fire chakra ninjutsu in turn.
But closer inspection revealed a horrific truth: these were not ordinary puppets—they were made entirely from human bodies.
"Ah… worthy indeed of being the personal guards of the Kazekage. Puppets crafted from them are truly excellent, ranking among the finest."
The black-robed man admired the scene, speaking slowly in a neutral voice that revealed no hint of gender.
With the slight twitch of his left index finger, the two puppets—floating in midair and spitting out jutsu—descended at once.
His gaze then shifted toward the man lying motionless on a stone bed not far away.
The man's eyes were open, staring blankly at the cave ceiling. Every ten seconds or so, he blinked mechanically.
He wore only thin underclothes, his body lean but strong, appearing to be in his thirties.
The robed man knew perfectly well that this man could hear nothing. His brain's nerves had long ago been severed by his own hand, leaving him a breathing husk.
Yet the robed figure still spoke in that same calm, androgynous tone:
"Don't worry, Kazekage-sama. In a few days, you will be reunited with your guards."
"For someone of your stature, I must prepare only the finest materials for your transformation. I refuse to tarnish your legacy."
With that, he reached into his robe with slender fingers, drew out two scrolls, and tossed them toward the puppets' heads.
As soon as the scrolls touched, they unfurled, swallowing the puppets in smoke.
The scrolls, as if guided by an invisible force, then flew neatly back into his hands.
On each, he wrote the numbers "thirty" and "thirty-one" in clean, elegant script. Anyone who saw the handwriting might assume its owner was kind and meticulous.
Finishing, he once again glanced at the figure on the stone bed.
"Rest assured, Lord Kazekage… you will become my proudest, most perfect creation. Your title as the strongest Kazekage will never be sullied."
He clapped softly, then picked up a green syringe and walked gracefully to the Kazekage's side.
"Ah, time for your daily nutrition. I must keep your body healthy until I've gathered everything I need."
"Two days have passed since you vanished. With the Sand Village's temperament, chaos must already be spreading."
"Haha… peace has lasted eleven years. But this rotten world is on the verge of the Third Great Ninja War. To spare you from seeing your village's downfall…"
"I'll make sure to perfect your transformation quickly. As your former subordinate, I'm not such a bad person, am I?"
...
"It's wonderful! Rasa promised yesterday he'd have dinner with me today!"
The sharp, cold voice of a mature woman echoed in Sunagakure's corridor.
Yasha Rei frowned at Pakura.
"Then why don't you wait until evening? Rasa is supposed to come to our house this afternoon."
"No! He's coming to my house this afternoon!"
Pakura stormed over to Rasa and clutched his left arm tightly against her chest.
Rasa felt her full, supple breasts pressing against him, her fragrance drifting into his nose.
He smiled helplessly but stayed silent.
In moments like this, saying nothing was the wisest choice.
To him, Pakura's behavior felt less like jealousy and more like two close friends bickering over who got to keep their dinner plans.
Seeing this, Yasha Rei—emboldened by her sister's support—refused to back down like she had yesterday.
"Why are you so domineering?" she demanded.
Pakura, proud and fiery by nature, snapped back:
"I am domineering—so what?! Rasa and I already agreed yesterday!"
Yasha Rei's cheeks flushed red.
"You—you're impossible!"
"I don't care what you say. He's coming to my house this afternoon!"
Yasha Rei pouted angrily, glaring at her rival.
But Pakura only clung tighter to Rasa's arm, pressing his hand even more firmly into her chest.
"Sister, don't be upset."
Karura, who had been silent until now, finally spoke gently to calm her sister.
Then she turned her gaze toward Pakura.
Noticing the way Pakura pressed herself against Rasa, Karura raised an eyebrow. But when she looked at Pakura's flushed, angry face, she seemed quietly surprised.
Her smile softened, her tone gentle as silk:
"Pakura, since you're older than me, I'll call you Sister Pakura. Is that alright?"
Pakura blinked at Karura's unexpected courtesy. Something about it felt off, but it was only a matter of address. And she didn't want to seem petty in front of Rasa.
So she nodded warily.
"Fine."
Karura's smile brightened. After a brief pause, she clapped her hands lightly.
"You and Rasa made plans first. That was our fault. How about he comes to our house tomorrow instead?"
She looked from Pakura's face to Rasa's.
Rasa smiled back, but after a few seconds, he averted his gaze.
It wasn't that he disliked her look—only that her eyes were too gentle, too tender.
Almost as though they wanted to wrap him up completely.
And since when had Karura dropped the honorific?
That very morning, she had called him "Lord Rasa." Now it was simply "Rasa."
Still, he didn't mind, so he let it slide.
"Lord Rasa, Lady Chiyo requests your presence in the Kazekage's office."
Suddenly, a kunoichi in a yellow windbreaker and an eagle mask appeared.
She almost knelt, but quickly corrected herself with a respectful bow.
"Thank you, Ayame."
Rasa smiled politely at the plump woman before turning to Pakura.
"Pakura, go on ahead. I'll come to your house when I'm finished."
Pakura arched a brow proudly.
"You even know where I live?"
"Yes. The third house in the first row on the east side of the village center."
Her face lit up with a brilliant smile.
"Haha, so you did know! I thought you didn't."
Rasa offered a casual excuse to cover it up. He certainly wouldn't admit that Hanori had told him earlier.
After Pakura left, Rasa turned to speak to Karura—only to find her already smiling warmly at him, eyes curved like half-moons.
Feeling her gaze, Rasa grew slightly embarrassed.
"Uh… Karura, I'll visit your house tomorrow afternoon. Is that alright?"
Karura nodded sweetly.
Instead of replying, she walked up to him, reached out her pale hands, and straightened his slightly rumpled clothes.
Then she drew a fresh white towel from her robe.
Though tall at about 1.70 meters—an ideal feminine height—she was still shorter than Rasa's 1.73 meters.
So she rose on tiptoe, carefully wiping the sweat from his face.
Rasa felt the soft towel brushing against his skin, her faint fragrance drifting closer.
His heart stirred. Instinctively, he turned his head, but Karura's gentle voice stopped him:
"Don't move—it'll be over soon."
Once finished, she neatly folded the towel, tucked it away, and clasped her hands behind her back.
Her tender eyes reflected him clearly.
Suddenly, she laughed softly, extended a slender finger, and touched his chin.
Raising it slightly, she teased:
"Your beard's grown long… aren't you going to shave?"
Rasa felt her delicate fingertip tracing small circles along his stubble.