A crimson maple leaf drifted to the ground, filling the last cracks of the earth and painting the landscape in vivid autumn red. The fiery hue extended beyond the valley floor, spreading to the mountain slopes on either side, heralding the arrival of fall. This was a secluded path on the outskirts of the Fire Country, located dozens of kilometers away from the nearest village. Framed by towering peaks resembling a canyon, the area remained undisturbed due to its remote location, preserving its breathtaking scenery.
Measured footsteps echoed through the valley, their rhythm amplified by the natural acoustics. A figure clad in a black windbreaker strode purposefully along the mountain trail. Kakuzu's gaze appeared fixed ahead, but his sharp peripheral vision took in every hidden corner. Even the faint sound of an insect flipping over did not escape his attention. To see in all directions and hear every sound—this was the essence of a shinobi's training.
"This is a beautiful place," Kakuzu murmured, his gravelly voice resonating through the crisp air.
"Fitting for either burying a body or being buried yourself."
Evidence of a recent campsite was strewn across the ground: a smoldering fire, the charred remains of a meal, and other traces of human activity. These clues led to the mouth of a narrow gorge, where crimson leaves painted the surrounding mountains. Kakuzu halted, his piercing gaze scanning the cliffs above. After a moment, a flicker of emotion crossed his otherwise impassive face.
Hunting a living target in this world was far more challenging than he had anticipated. Prey could flee, and more cunning ones left false trails to mislead their pursuers. Fortunately, Kakuzu's finely honed skills ensured he had followed the correct path without falling for such tricks.
But, as he saw it, there was one more critical factor behind his success.
"My unerring sense for money," he muttered, a faint smirk forming beneath his mask.
After a relentless pursuit lasting half a month, he had finally cornered his target.
From a cave halfway up the mountainside, a man emerged. He wore no headband, but the dark red vest of Iwagakure's shinobi marked his allegiance. His wild, curly hair gave him an unruly appearance, and he clutched a roasted chicken in his hands, tearing off a chunk and chewing carelessly as he sized up Kakuzu.
"Well, this is unexpected," the man said with a crooked grin, his voice laced with amusement. "Even after hiding here, someone managed to find me. So, tell me—are you here to die, or to bring me a payday?"
Kakuzu's eyes glinted with cold determination as he replied, his tone calm and steady.
"A bounty of fifteen million ryō. I trust you'll be worth the effort."
The man, Ganraku, laughed dismissively. "If it's a fight you want, I won't stop you. But I have one request—let me finish my meal first."
Kakuzu tilted his head slightly, as if considering the proposition. Then, with a faint smirk, he nodded.
"Take your time. A few minutes won't make a difference."
"Much appreciated," Ganraku said, taking another bite. But the moment he lowered his gaze to his food, the faintest whisper of movement reached his ears.
By the time he looked up, Kakuzu had vanished from sight. Only the rush of wind betrayed his position.
In an instant, Kakuzu scaled the rocky wall, leaping toward Ganraku with startling speed. The distance between them shrank to mere meters. Ganraku's expression twisted in surprise as if accusing Kakuzu of breaking some unspoken code of honor.
But Kakuzu's cold smile conveyed his thoughts clearly: There's no honor in a shinobi's battle—only survival. Victory justifies all means.
"If you want honor," Kakuzu thought, pulling out several kunai mid-air, "go sign up for a tournament. Being a shinobi probably isn't for you."
He flung the kunai with lethal precision. The weapons sliced through the air, their speed rendering them nearly invisible to the naked eye.
Despite his earlier shock, Ganraku's instincts kicked in. He didn't rely on his eyes but on the reflexes ingrained by years of training in Iwagakure. With a subtle bend of his knees, he dodged effortlessly.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
The kunai embedded themselves harmlessly into the rocky wall behind him. Ganraku straightened, his confidence returning.
"You're right—life's been tough recently. But whether or not I continue living is my decision to make." He smirked wickedly. "Besides, I've wondered—does the Black Market have a bounty on you? Imagine how much I could earn!"
Ganraku's laughter echoed through the valley, his eyes glinting with a feral hunger for bloodshed. In the world of shinobi, the roles of hunter and prey could shift in an instant. Kakuzu remained silent, his expression unreadable.
A breeze stirred the fallen leaves, and Ganraku raised his meal for one final bite before the battle began. Yet, as the wind passed, his eyes flickered with sudden realization—a fleeting warning carried by the shifting air.
The fight was far from over.
Ganraku didn't look back—he knew it was too late. Three kunai were lodged in the rock wall behind him, and the one in the middle had a neatly folded explosive tag attached to its tip. The subtlety of the shuriken technique, the way the explosive tag was folded to avoid detection… Ganraku's mind felt like it was unraveling. His grin froze on his face. He finally realized he was up against a battle-hardened, high-ranking shinobi.
Kakuzu, standing motionless in place, silently counted down in his mind.
3... 2... 1...
'With less than a meter between him and the explosive tag, even if he started running the instant he heard the explosion, it wouldn't make a difference. Unless, of course, he has a body of steel... or something equally absurd,' Kakuzu mused.
His gaze was calm, as though everything had been calculated the moment Ganraku took his first step down the mountain. And now, everything seemed to be proceeding as planned.
Boom!
The explosive tag detonated.
The kunai embedded in the wall shattered into fragments. The force of the explosion caused the rocky cliff face to collapse, sending debris tumbling down. The blast's shockwave engulfed a radius of three meters, obliterating everything in its path. Any carbon-based life forms within that radius would have been instantly reduced to dust in the ensuing cloud of smoke and ash.
The red maple leaves scattered across the ground were torn apart, their tiny fragments hurled into the sky by the explosion.
Step... step, step...
Seconds passed. The shockwave dissipated, and the smoke began to clear, revealing the shattered debris on the ground and the slowly descending fragments of torn maple leaves. These fragments started to settle back into the deep crater left by the blast, once again covering the ground in a thin, fragile layer.
Kakuzu stood with his hands in his pockets, his expression as calm as still water. Yet, deep inside, there was a faint sigh.
'The law of "smoke without harm" applies no matter what world you're in, doesn't it?'
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Pls Drop some Power Stones
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