"Heh heh heh…" Kakuzu watched coldly as Zetsu and Konan exchanged words. Clearly, the one in charge of intelligence, Zetsu, had withheld a great deal of information.
He wasn't bothered by being ignored. In fact, he found the friction among members somewhat amusing.
From beginning to end, their leader had barely spoken a few words, yet the pressure he exuded only grew heavier. Even as nothing more than a projection, his mere presence was enough to make one's heart pound.
Compared to when he had first recruited Kakuzu, he was much stronger now.
The projections gradually vanished.
This time, Obito hadn't joined the meeting. He was focusing on infiltrating the Land of Water. Ever since the Sharingan had enslaved Yagura, Obito had ruled Kirigakure with brutality—purging powerful bloodline clans and draining the nation's finances.
To Zetsu, the rise of the Uchiha clan was the greatest potential disruption to his plans. Naturally, he sought ways to handle it.
And the biggest variable among the Uchiha was Uchiha Natsuki. If he could be pulled into Akatsuki, everything would go much more smoothly.
That was why Zetsu had shared his latest intelligence.
"Should we recruit Natsuki as well?"
Nagato, in Yahiko's guise, was noncommittal. "You may try. Do as you see fit. The Rinnegan has grown stronger, and I must devote more time to mastering it. The organization will need your efforts in the meantime."
He paused, then spoke slowly. "But in the end, all of this is insignificant. Once I fully command the Rinnegan, overwhelming power will render everything else meaningless. I will make the world feel pain—and from that pain, true peace will be born."
Konan gazed at his oppressive eyes. Nagato always sought to solve everything through the Rinnegan's might.
She, however, supported him in broader ways. And with the coming task of capturing the Tailed Beasts, they would need more people. After all, Nagato could no longer move freely.
No matter what, she had to fulfill Yahiko's dream.
Konan steadied herself.
"Then I will go."
White wings of paper unfurled, carrying her aloft.
Below, villagers looked up in awe.
"Ah, it's Lady Angel!"
"Lady Angel! What good fortune today…"
—
Across the desert, a lone figure trudged onward.
Whoosh, whoosh—endless grains of sand whipped about in the wind. Without proper clothing, one could be torn raw by the scouring grit.
Natsuki pulled his cloak tighter, adjusted the straw hat on his head, and kept walking.
No wonder the Sand shinobi wrapped themselves head to toe in bandages and coatings—the sandstorm was like knives. Sunburn was nothing; sand cuts were the real agony.
His destination: to meet a boy who played with sand—and to give that boy's father a lesson.
Back when Natsuki had first seen that story unfold, he'd nearly exploded with rage. What kind of idiot father treated his child like that? Passing a test meant repeating it until failure, and once failure came, branding the child defective.
Why not just declare him a failure from the start?
It was like throwing glass from higher and higher floors, waiting until it shattered—when its fate was always to break.
Gaara was innocent. Losing his mother at birth, then cursed with a brainless father who, fearing Shukaku's power, never reinforced the seal but instead tormented his son with constant "tests."
When the boy was finally branded a failure, the assassins came one after another, pushing him further and further into despair.
Seriously? Who plays with fire right next to a bomb?
That Rasa was killed by Orochimaru was pure luck. Had he lived, Gaara would eventually have been consumed by Shukaku, bringing ruin to the village.
Lost in such thoughts, Natsuki marched toward the Land of Wind.
Suddenly, a vast shadow fell over him, bringing a blessed coolness.
Looking up, he saw two enormous white wings descending with the breeze.
As the paper wings dissolved, Konan alighted gracefully on the sand.
Her appearance was stunning—no wonder the people of Amegakure called her an angel.
Konan? Why is she here for me?
Natsuki didn't panic. Though Konan was secretary to a terrifying organization, she wasn't one to kill without reason. She was also, essentially, their talent scout.
Don't tell me…
As Konan landed, Natsuki made no move, no words of surprise or fear—only mild curiosity.
Seeing his silence, Konan introduced herself.
"I am Konan of Akatsuki. I have come to invite you, Natsuki-san, to join our organization."
Wait, what? How did you guys get the idea that I'd want to join Akatsuki?
Pointing at himself, Natsuki asked with disbelief, "Me? What exactly does Akatsuki do? And why invite me?"
Konan replied softly, "We are an organization dedicated to creating peace.
"As for why—we believe you are of great value. You've brought countless opportunities to the Uchiha. The [Chinese Cuisine] spreading across the nations—that was your creation, wasn't it?"
Natsuki waved a hand dismissively. "So what if it was? I'm a Konoha shinobi. Why would I join a group that clearly doesn't look the least bit proper?"
Konan smiled faintly. "You jest, Natsuki-san. Your clan's ties with Konoha are not exactly harmonious, are they?"
Natsuki raised a finger. "Answer one question first, then I'll consider your offer."
Konan straightened, attentive. "Please ask."
Natsuki gestured around them. "It's scorching hot out here. Why do you people wear black cloaks? Don't you know black absorbs heat?"
Konan: "…"
Yes, it was hot in the desert. But she had lived through far worse. Heat and cold meant little to her.
Still, she admitted awkwardly, "It is our uniform. All members wear it."
Natsuki rubbed his chin, asking another long-held doubt.
"If it's a uniform, then what about the nail polish? Don't tell me everyone in Akatsuki—men and women alike—has to wear it?"
Konan froze. That was classified. How did Uchiha Natsuki know?
Seeing her expression change, Natsuki casually waved it off. Then he unsealed a scroll.
Before her watchful eyes, he produced a parasol, a large water flask, two cups, and a pair of chairs.
Calmly, he set them down.
Sitting himself in one, he said, "Relax. Sit. Have some iced tea."
Pouring two cups, he slid one toward Konan.
She was momentarily at a loss.
This… this attitude was nothing like a shinobi.
Storage scrolls were expensive—usually reserved for critical supplies. Shuriken and kunai didn't even amount to one percent of a scroll's worth.
The scroll Natsuki had just used, filled with mere leisure items, must have cost millions.
So he really is loaded…
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