Time passed.
Quietly.
Patiently.
Exactly the way Silver liked it.
Five years slipped by like pages turning on their own.
He stood in an empty warehouse at the edge of the city, dust floating lazily through broken sunlight. His body had grown—taller, leaner—but his movements were still restrained, deliberate. Every step measured. Every breath controlled.
Across from him—
"Oi, leader," Deidara called out, crouched atop a rusted container. His blond hair was tied back, eyes sharp but amused. "You're spacing out again. Art waits for no one, yeah?"
Silver exhaled slowly.
"No explosions," he said calmly. "Again."
"Tsk." Deidara clicked his tongue, hopping down. "You're boring sometimes."
They moved.
Deidara rushed in first—fast, aggressive, messy. Silver didn't counter with power. He sidestepped, redirected, let momentum die on its own. A hand strike aimed for his shoulder—
Silver absorbed it.
Not visibly.
Not dramatically.
The force simply vanished.
Deidara's eyes widened a fraction. "Still creepy every time," he muttered.
Silver stepped in, palm resting lightly against Deidara's chest.
Then released.
Deidara flew backward, skidding across the concrete before crashing into a pile of crates.
"…Oof," Deidara groaned, staring up at the ceiling. "You sure you don't have chakra or something?"
Silver shook his head. "No chakra. Just Preta Path ability."
He flexed his fingers slowly.
Absorb.
Release.
That was all.
And it was enough.
Taijutsu training had been… educational.
Deidara wasn't bad—but he wasn't good either. Too flashy. Too dependent on overwhelming force.
As expected, Silver thought calmly. I'll wait for Kisame for swordsmanship.
He turned away as Deidara laughed from the floor.
They weren't alone anymore.
The warehouse door creaked open.
Heavy footsteps.
"Talking about money again?" a deep voice rumbled.
Kakuzu stepped inside, adjusting his gloves. Tall. Broad. Calm in a way that felt unsettling. His eyes immediately drifted to a crate in the corner—counting something only he could see.
"Training wastes time," Kakuzu said. "Time is money."
Silver glanced at him. "You say that every time."
"And I'm always right."
Behind Kakuzu—
"Yo~!"
A head rolled across the floor.
Silver caught it mid-bounce without even looking.
"…You dropped this," he said.
Hidan's head laughed wildly in his hand. "Hahaha! Thanks, leader! Man, getting decapitated never stops being funny!"
Silver placed the head back onto the regenerating body as if it were routine.
Kakuzu sighed. "You're disgusting."
"Jealous 'cause I can't die? man i don't know lord Jashin has blessed me with regeneration ability" Hidan grinned.
"…Maybe."
Silver watched them quietly.
Three anomalies.
One obsessed with art.
One obsessed with money.
One obsessed with death itself.
And the strangest part—
"You two being cousins in this world and you two over 40 years old," Silver said, tone mild. "Still surprising."
Hidan shrugged. "Blood's blood, I guess."
Kakuzu scoffed. "Don't associate me with him."
Silver smiled faintly.
Akatsuki is stabilizing nicely.
That night, Silver sat at home, lights off, television casting pale shadows across the room.
The news anchor spoke with tension barely hidden.
"—multiple criminals apprehended or found deceased. Witnesses report three individuals wearing identical cloaks patterned with red clouds. All wore masks. No identities confirmed."
Images flashed.
Blond explosives.
Black threads.
A laughing man holding his own head.
"Authorities are unable to determine whether this is an organized villain group or unrelated incidents."
Silver rested his chin on his hand.
"…Good."
Everything was moving exactly as planned.
A quiet knock came from the hallway.
"Silver?" his father called softly. "You still up?"
He switched off the TV instantly.
"Yeah. Just thinking."
Ame peeked in, tired smile on his face. "Don't stay up too late."
Silver nodded obediently. "Good night, Dad."
The door closed.
The mask returned.
Elsewhere.
In apartment.
All Might stood before a screen, his massive frame unusually tense even in his weakened form. The footage replayed again and again.
Red clouds.
Masks.
Coordination.
"…Who are these people?" he murmured.
Tsukauchi stood beside him, arms crossed. "Too organized to be random."
All Might's eyes narrowed.
"And too symbolic."
He clenched his fist.
"…Are they connected to All For One?"
Silence answered him.
Far away, Silver lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Five years.
No mistakes.
No exposure.
No spotlight.
He closed his eyes.
Let the world wonder, he thought calmly.
I'll remain a background character…
A faint smile curved his lips.
…until the shadows become unavoidable.