When the first light of dawn touched the horizon, Saiki had already carried Konan out of the borders of the Land of Rain.
The purple-haired girl in his arms remained with her eyes tightly shut.
Her breathing was shallow and rhythmic, as if she were trapped in a long, unwanted dream.
The morning breeze carried the arid scent characteristic of the desert's edge, ruffling the stray violet locks on her forehead.
Saiki looked down at her.
Konan's skin was incredibly pale—the kind of pallor that comes from a lifetime spent away from the sun.
Her brow was slightly furrowed, and her eyelashes cast delicate shadows in the morning light. Her lips were cracked from dehydration.
The black cloak with red clouds swathed her thin frame, the collar blown slightly open by the wind, revealing her slender collarbone and a glimpse of a hidden curve.
"You really are... stubbornly unconscious, aren't you?"
Saiki muttered to himself.
His right arm stayed locked around her waist, but he raised his left hand, his palm glowing with a warm, white radiance.
Sage Power flowed like a gentle stream from his palm into Konan's body.
It meticulously nourished her overdrawn meridians and exhausted organs.
This level of energy was far superior to standard chakra, and its regenerative effects on the physical body were foundational.
Almost the instant the energy was injected, a flush of color returned to Konan's ashen cheeks, and her breathing grew steady and powerful.
Of course, during the treatment process, Saiki's hand took the opportunity to map her anatomical structure.
She was slender, but possessed the clean, fluid muscle lines of a veteran athlete.
Her chest wasn't exaggeratedly developed, but the shape was exquisite—a perfect handful.
Her waist was so thin it felt as if it might snap, yet her buttocks were unexpectedly pert, and her legs were long and straight...
"Dimensions mastered," Saiki whispered, withdrawing his hand.
His expression remained unchanged, as if that "exploration" had been nothing more than a routine medical check-up.
After flying for another half-hour, the sun fully crested the horizon, bathing the desolate plains and dunes below in gold.
Konan's eyelashes gave a small flutter.
Slowly, she opened her eyes.
Those amber irises were initially clouded with mist, her focus scattered.
But quickly, she processed the man holding her and the desert landscape blurring beneath them.
"You..." her voice was a raspy, dry scrape, sounding as if she hadn't spoken in years. "Are you that person...?"
"Awake?" Saiki looked down at her, his tone flat. "How do you feel?"
Konan didn't answer the question.
She struggled to turn her neck, looking back toward the Land of Rain that had long since vanished. Her lips trembled. "Nagato? And... what of Madara Uchiha?"
"Both dead," Saiki replied with a brevity that bordered on cruel.
The air went still for several seconds.
The shock, grief, or rage Saiki expected never appeared on Konan's face.
Instead... she seemed to have the last spark of strength siphoned from her soul.
She went completely limp, allowing Saiki to hold her weight as she stared vacantly at the sky.
It was a silence that smelled of the grave.
Yahiko was dead.
Nagato was dead.
She and Nagato had been manipulated and used by Madara. Now Madara was dead, and Nagato was gone too.
The Akatsuki was a ghost. Their dream of "changing the world" was a joke. Her comrades had all departed...
She suddenly felt that there was no longer any meaning in living.
"Hungry?" Saiki's voice broke her spiral.
No reaction.
"Water?"
Still silence.
Saiki frowned. He pulled a water skin from his gear and pressed it to her lips.
Konan opened her mouth mechanically, allowing the water to pour in, but even the act of swallowing looked numb.
Most of the fluid spilled from the corner of her mouth, soaking the front of her cloak.
"Tch." Saiki stowed the water skin, looking at the "doll" in his arms.
I saved a corpse? he thought, a flicker of impatience rising in his gut.
No, she's worse than a corpse. A corpse doesn't waste my water or my time.
Fortunately, holding a beauty wasn't a chore. He stopped talking and wove a sign to accelerate the Auspicious Cloud.
The target: Sunagakure.
At high noon, the desert sun was oppressive.
The iconic rock-hewn walls of the Hidden Sand appeared on the horizon.
The village looked like a sanctuary in the desert, standing defiant against the scorching winds and grit.
Saiki hovered a thousand meters above the village, his Divine Sense spreading downward like an invisible tide.
In a heartbeat, the layout, buildings, shinobi positions, and chakra fluctuations were mapped in his mind.
He locked onto his target instantly.
On the western side of the village, beneath a dungeon shielded by multiple barriers.
There, a gargantuan, berserk chakra signature carrying the scent of sand and wind was being barely suppressed by sealing arts.
The One-Tail, Shukaku.
And... a withered, elderly Jinchuriki whose life-force was a flickering candle.
Saiki "saw" the old monk named Bunpuku sitting in the center of the cell.
His eyes were closed, and his bony hands were pressed together in prayer, using his immense will to maintain the seal.
Several Sand Anbu stood guard around him. They were vigilant, yet their eyes held a trace of... waiting.
Waiting for Bunpuku to die.
Waiting for Shukaku to rampage.
Waiting for Rasa, the Fourth Kazekage, to suppress the beast and transfer it to the new vessel—the red-haired child, Gaara.
"Politics..." Saiki sneered softly.
At this time, Rasa—paranoid of Pakura's heroic reputation and fearing she might challenge his seat—had already sent her to the Mist as a "diplomat," effectively a death sentence. He had no idea Saiki was above his head.
Saiki pulled the still-dazed Konan tighter against his side and descended slowly. He hovered a hundred meters above the dungeon.
The Sand ninjas below noticed nothing.
Saiki raised his right hand, fingers splayed toward the prison.
No hand signs. No chakra pulse.
Just a rain of phantom white feathers drifting down, following the path of his Divine Sense.
"Genjutsu: Temple of Nirvana Jutsu."
The principle was simple—sleep induction through visual suggestion.
Normally, this C-rank Genjutsu would have limited effect on seasoned shinobi.
But in Saiki's hands, backed by the "Dao" and his Divine Sense, it achieved an effect beyond any S-rank forbidden art.
His power level simply stood above the entire Ninjutsu system.
Instantly—
Inside the dungeon, the Sand Anbu went rigid, their eyes glazing over before they collapsed like dolls.
The patrolling guards, the hidden sentries, even the sensory team members in the distance...
Everyone within Saiki's range lost consciousness in the same microsecond, falling into a leaden, bottomless sleep.
No screams. No alarms. No resistance.
The world had been put on pause.
Saiki landed at the dungeon entrance with Konan.
The reinforced iron doors were sealed with multiple talons of paper. Saiki didn't even look at them. He gave the door a casual, light kick.
BOOM!
The iron door and the frame were launched into the interior, slamming against the stone wall in a cloud of dust.
In the depths of the cell, Bunpuku's frame gave a violent jolt. He snapped his eyes open!
Though he was old and frail, as a high-priest who had co-existed with Shukaku for decades, his willpower was monumental.
Saiki's mass Genjutsu hadn't knocked him out, but it left him dazed and sluggish.
"Who...?!" Bunpuku rasped, his clouded eyes struggling to focus on the entrance.
Saiki walked in, still carrying Konan.
His footsteps were light, yet in the absolute silence, they sounded like a countdown to the old man.
"Sorry," Saiki stopped three meters from the monk. He sounded like he was asking for directions. "I need the thing inside you."
Bunpuku's pupils contracted. His hands moved instinctively to reinforce the seal—
But Saiki was faster.
His free hand pulled the palm-sized miniature Gedo Mazo from his pocket.
He pointed it at Bunpuku's stomach. The statue's surface ignited with ominous purple runes.
A phantom chain of purple chakra shot from the statue's "mouth," piercing Bunpuku's abdomen like a striking viper.
"AAAGH—!!!"
Bunpuku let out a strangled groan, his body seizing!
He could feel the chain piercing his flesh and bypassing his seals, "biting" directly into the raging entity within.
"SHUKAKU—!!!"
Bunpuku roared, but it wasn't a roar of anger; it was a plea of concern.
In the next heartbeat, the chain retracted with violent force!
A mass of dark-red chakra shaped like a miniature sandstorm was dragged bodily out of the monk!
The energy took the vague shape of a tanuki, clawing at the air and letting out a silent, psychic shriek of rage!
The primordial chakra of the One-Tail.
Shukaku's "consciousness" struggled frantically, but under the binding of the Mazo's chains, it was as helpless as a child.
The chain dragged it inch by inch back into the miniature statue.
The entire process lasted less than ten seconds.
When the chain fully retracted and the purple runes faded... Shukaku was gone.
Bunpuku collapsed into the dirt, gasping for air, his forehead drenched in cold sweat.
He had no physical wound, but the echoing void in his stomach told him the truth—decades of companionship and struggle were over.
The beast had left.
And he was finally... free.
Bunpuku closed his eyes, a look of serene, tragic mercy on his lips as his pulse faded into nothing.
Saiki didn't spare the dying monk a glance. He checked the mini-statue.
The One-Tail's slot was now active, humming in subtle resonance with the Nine-Tails and the other fragments Madara had collected.
The statue felt slightly heavier, its texture more like warm jade.
"Number two."
Saiki stowed the statue and turned to leave.
Throughout the entire event, Konan had kept her eyes closed, offering zero reaction.
She was a beautiful, hollow doll.
Saiki scooped her up and ascended into the clouds, leaving Sunagakure behind.
Below, the silence remained.
No one knew that one of the Sand's ultimate deterrents had been stolen in broad daylight.
At twilight, Saiki arrived at a small town on the border of the Land of Earth.
Border towns were often more bustling than the interiors. With the war in a temporary lull, merchants and travelers filled the streets. The lanterns of hot spring inns flickered to life in the gathering dusk.
Saiki carried the unresponsive girl into an inn that looked reasonably clean.
The owner, a plump middle-aged woman, gave them a subtle look but asked no questions. In the ninja world, it was better for civilians to keep their eyes down.
"One room. With a private bath," Saiki said, tossing a bag of coins.
"Right away, sir! This way!" the woman beamed, leading them to a secluded wing.
The room was classic Washitsu—tatami mats, a low table, and a sliding door leading to a steaming open-air hot spring.
The dusk light filtered through the blinds, creating a peaceful atmosphere.
Saiki laid Konan on the mats and sat at the table.
The owner soon brought dinner—simple set meals of sashimi, rice, and miso soup.
Saiki ate slowly.
Konan lay where he had placed her, unmoving. Her breathing was so light it was almost non-existent.
If not for the microscopic rise and fall of her chest, she was a corpse.
When he finished his meal, it was fully dark outside.
Saiki wiped his mouth and looked at her.
She was in the same pose, the same expression. Time had stopped for her.
A wave of annoyance hit him.
He hadn't saved her to keep a "living dead" person.
He needed someone who could talk, move, and respond—not a breathing shell.
"Tch."
Saiki stood up, walked to her, and scooped her up in his arms.
She was light and soft, yet still offered zero reaction.
He carried her out the sliding door to the edge of the hot spring.
The water was crystalline, the steam rising into the silver moonlight.
Saiki looked down at Konan—at her vacant eyes, her cracked lips, and her "longing for death" expression.
Suddenly, he let go.
SPLASH!
Konan was dropped directly into the hot spring!
The warm water instantly flooded her nose and mouth. She reflexively struggled for a second, but then stopped, allowing her body to sink.
She seemed prepared to drown in less than a meter of water.
Saiki stood on the edge, watching with cold eyes.
Fifteen seconds later, he jumped in and hauled her up by the hair.
"Cough... cough-hack...!" Konan coughed violently, water geysering from her lungs. Her pale cheeks turned a sickly red from the suffocation.
But she still wouldn't open her eyes. She remained in a state of total, passive surrender.
Saiki's patience reached its terminal point.
He said nothing. He reached out and pressed his hand to her shoulder.
SHRED—!
The black cloak, her undergarments, every scrap of clothing was incinerated by a burst of Sage Power. The fabric turned to dust and vanished into the water.
Konan's naked body was exposed to the moonlight.
She finally reacted—her body gave a small shiver, and her arms tried to cover herself, but the movement was sluggish and weak.
Saiki ignored the resistance. He manipulated the water to wash her clean, the warm current stripping away the grime of the journey to reveal her white, flawless skin.
Then, he hauled her out of the tub and threw her onto the tatami inside.
She lay on her side, her wet purple hair plastered to her cheeks and shoulders. She was shivering, whether from the cold or the shock.
Her eyes were still shut, but her lashes were vibrating with terror.
Saiki stood over her and stripped.
Outer gear, inner shirt, and finally, he stood entirely bare.
The moonlight through the blinds cast hard shadows across his lean, muscular frame. He radiated an aura of explosive power.
Konan seemed to sense the change. She curled tighter, her fingers clawing at the mats.
Saiki leaned down and pinned her.
"Mngh..."
Konan finally let out a tiny, tearful whimper.
She began to struggle, but her weak flailing was a joke to Saiki.
He pinned her wrists over her head with one hand and pried her legs apart with his knees. He fixed her in place, ensuring there was no escape.
"Open your eyes," Saiki commanded, his voice a low, heavy decree.
Konan bit her lip, refusing.
Saiki was finished with talking.
He captured her mouth in a kiss—but it wasn't tender. It was a biting, possessive claim of territory.
Simultaneously, his free hand roamed over her body—from her slender neck to her firm, wet breasts, over her flat stomach, and down to her sparse, damp valley.
Konan began to shake violently.
It wasn't just resistance anymore; it was a forced biological awakening.
She was weak and sensitive from her long fast.
Under Saiki's brutal touch, an alien, shameful pleasure began to arc through her system like electricity.
"No... please..." she finally spoke, her voice broken and wet with tears.
Saiki didn't stop.
He moved from her lips to her neck and collarbone, before settling on her breasts.
He bit her nipples with just enough force to make her arch her back and let out a strangled moan.
"Open your eyes and look at me," Saiki commanded again.
She still refused.
Saiki lingered at the entrance of her moist garden for a moment. His gaze turned freezing. He drove his hips home.
"AAAAAAAGH—!!!"
Konan let out a short, sharp shriek. Her body buckled, and tears finally burst from her closed eyelids.
Pain.
But it wasn't just pain.
It was a feeling of being forcibly filled and occupied. It was a terminal sense of fulfillment that shattered her psyche.
Saiki began to move.
He started slow and heavy, every impact feeling as if it were meant to crush her soul.
But gradually, his movements found a rhythm, and he began to utilize his "techniques."
After the initial horror, Konan's body began to commit a horrific betrayal of her mind. It started to respond.
The biological reflex of being alive, the sheer intensity of the stimulation... it acted like a poison on her logic.
She hated her reaction. She hated the betrayal of her flesh. She hated the man who was currently violating her.
But she could not stop it.
The pleasure came in waves, each higher than the last, drowning her fractured nerves.
By the time the storm ended, it was late into the night.
Konan lay limp on the mats, her body slick with sweat. Her interior throbbed with a burning ache, and her frame was still twitching with minor aftershocks.
Tears wouldn't stop flowing, soaking her purple hair as it lay scattered on the pillow.
Finally, she opened her eyes.
Those amber irises were no longer hollow. No longer dead.
They were filled with a concentrated mixture of humiliation, rage, and sorrow... and a tiny, flickering spark of post-trauma relief that she was too ashamed to admit.
Saiki sat beside her, dressing himself with methodical ease.
Under the moonlight, his profile was cold and hard. He looked as if he had just finished a mundane task.
Once dressed, he looked down at the weeping girl and smirked.
"There. Don't you feel more like living now?"
Konan's sobbing stopped instantly.
She whipped her head around, glaring at Saiki with a hatred so intense it was physical.
Saiki laughed.
It was a triumphant, arrogant sound. Playing the "silent doll" with him was just an invitation for a pounding!