Since the last interrogation, Nawaki had been unsettled, murmuring odd phrases about the Ten Cruel Tortures of Konoha. The ordeal had left him fractured.
Three days later, Yura returned to where the three waited.
"Come with me, your mission has arrived," she said without ceremony and walked ahead.
"According to what the last prisoner revealed, we tracked the squad that attacked us to a Sand Village outpost," Yura said as they followed. "But the trail reached us too late. Those Sand shinobi had already withdrawn."
"In that case the trail should be cold by now," Hayashi said, puzzled.
Yura sneered. "You underestimate us. Even broken trails leave traces. Our captain is skilled at tracking."
Hayashi did not argue. He had watched them follow Iwa operatives before. Four comrades had died in that ambush, including Yura's brother, and that kind of hatred did not fade with talk.
From what he had observed, clashes between the villages had become routine. Since Konoha and Iwagakure began skirmishing in the Land of Rain, battles had flared repeatedly. Hayashi had not suffered such a personal loss himself, but he understood the drive.
"Have we caught up with them?" he asked.
"Almost. We intercepted one scout trailing behind the main group," Yura replied. "This is where your Sharingan will help. We need information quickly."
Hayashi nodded. The Sharingan offered a clearer path than further physical coercion.
They descended the familiar spiral stone steps into the prison again. The stale air smelled of iron and old blood. The Iwa operatives who had filled the place before were gone; their bodies had been dealt with after interrogation.
On a shelf near the far wall a single man sat bound, wearing Iwagakure's forehead protector. He was tall, pale, his hair streaked white, older than the usual soldiers.
There was no fear in his eyes. If anything, he seemed composed, even pleased. Given Yura's hatred, that calm made no sense.
Hayashi set his jaw and prepared to cast a genjutsu with his Sharingan.
"Retreat," he hissed.
Mikoto and Nawaki withdrew a few steps at once. Yura, who had not yet responded, was hauled back by Hayashi's grip.
Hayashi's free hand drew several shuriken and launched them before the man could react.
The Iwa shinobi smiled as the blades struck through his torso and neck. Blood arced in a dark spray. He was dying.
In those last moments his mind slipped through fragments: the torture chamber, the bodies of his comrades—visions of a room soaked in Iwagakure's blood. Faces of the fallen blurred into memories of family and friends. He thought of his son, recently taken and killed, and the hollow ache left behind.
They had sought Konoha, but had Konoha not also sought them? In a cycle of vengeance there was no resolution, only escalation.
The man laughed, madness and resolve braided together. "Konoha's shinobi, accept my gift."
A bright light bloomed from his abdomen.
Boom.
The explosion ripped through the chamber with force that buckled stone. The shockwave raced outward; the tunnel shuddered as if the earth itself had been struck.
Far to the east, Iwa sentries crouched in the dark. Their forehead protectors marked them: these were the operatives Yura's squad had trailed. They clustered around a youth who wore the mantle of their captain.
He could not have been older than fourteen or fifteen, with a square jaw and spiky brown-yellow hair. His eyes were an uncommon green. He sat motionless in the gloom, the weight of command pressing down on him.
Iwagakure had fewer kekkei genkai compared with villages like Konoha or Kirigakure, so when a child manifested a rare ability it marked him as precious. This boy had shown a kekkei genkai—Explosion Release, Bakuton—at a young age. The Third Tsuchikage had once considered training him personally, but the boy's defiance and recklessness had stirred trouble. As punishment, he had been sent to the Land of Rain to fight.
He had wanted to test himself against the strongest, to measure Iwagakure against Konoha. That desire led him into the clash with the squad that was ambushed. Hatred grew, and strategy hardened into vengeance.
"Captain, Yamamoto volunteered to be bait," one of his men protested. "We cannot just let him be sacrificed."
"Are you questioning my orders?" the boy demanded, his voice thin but hard.
Yamamoto had indeed chosen to be bait to avenge his son. The revelation left the others silent.
Then a distant flare lit the night. Kari stood and laughed, triumph cracking his voice. "It worked. Kill Konoha's shinobi tonight."
A few followed him, racing toward the glow.
_____
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