Akira had come to a realization—his future was bound to be filled with scientific experiments. He would eventually push the boundaries of ninjutsu and puppet technology, perhaps even genetic modifications and kekkei genkai studies. But all of that needed one critical thing: money.
And lots of it.
His meager salary as a Chūnin wouldn't even begin to scratch the surface. The funds required for large-scale research dwarfed even the budgets of many high-level missions. He had seen it through Sasori's memories. Despite being a genius of unparalleled skill, Sasori had lived frugally, scraping together funds from every possible angle just to continue his work. Even the Five Great Shinobi Villages, who took on massive volumes of missions and raked in vast sums, still required financial allocations from their respective nations. Why? Because the cost of progress—true, cutting-edge advancement—was astronomical.
The ninja world was in the middle of an arms race. But this arms race wasn't about tanks or missiles. It was about jutsu. About ninja tools. About who could create the most devastating techniques or the most efficient shinobi squads. And all of it took money, time, and human resources.
Akira had seen firsthand how far things had come. He once compared an explosive tag he picked up at a weapons shop to one his father had used more than a decade ago. The difference in craftsmanship and power was astounding. This evolution wasn't by chance. It was born of competition, and funded by enormous investments.
The Second Hokage, a legend in his own right, was only able to develop so many powerful and diverse techniques thanks to an army of researchers and the bottomless purse of the Fire Daimyo. The major villages weren't just ninja training grounds; they were military-industrial complexes in disguise.
Sasori's own funding came from embedded agents—spies planted in the financial departments of major villages. They funneled money quietly into his operation, careful never to draw suspicion. But even then, the flow of funds had to be small and steady. One false move, and everything would be exposed. Every scroll in Sasori's vault, every rare material he owned, had been stockpiled painstakingly over years.
Akira understood now that he was burning through those resources too quickly. Making a hundred regeneration cores at a time? That was only possible because he hadn't earned those materials himself. When the time came to begin his own research, there would be no such luxury.
He needed a plan.
He considered several options. Some predecessors in his situation had become bounty hunters, tracking high-level missing-nin and collecting the generous rewards placed on their heads. But that route was time-consuming and dangerous. High bounties meant high risk. Those shinobi were powerful, cunning, and rarely stayed in one place for long. Tracking and eliminating them would take more time than it was worth.
Besides, even if he managed to take down a few, the accumulated wealth would still fall short of funding a full-fledged research institute.
Another idea floated into his mind: controlling a small nation from the shadows. Becoming a power behind the throne, manipulating economics and military movements to suit his goals. But if it were that easy, the Great Nations would have done it long ago. In reality, not even the Five Great Shinobi Villages had such influence over their own lands. The Daimyo still held political power.
And economic development? That was a colossal task. The world's technological progress had already peaked for this era. There were no quick-fix inventions on the horizon. No secret technologies he could introduce to bring about instant prosperity.
So, Akira discarded those paths.
No. The most profitable and stable institution in the ninja world remained the same: a shinobi village.
With his power, Akira believed he could rival the legends of the past—even the likes of Madara Uchiha and Hashirama Senju. He had reached a point where establishing his own hidden village wasn't a fantasy. It was a viable strategy.
The ongoing war had left cracks in the system. The Land of Lightning's aggression toward the Land of Rice Fields had drawn away countless shinobi from both sides. Akira saw it clearly: the world's current manpower shortage meant fewer and fewer ninjas were available for basic missions. That massive commission market—once monopolized by the Five Great Villages—was up for grabs.
If he acted quickly, he could carve out a share of it.
But establishing a ninja village was no easy task. First, he needed a country that hadn't yet been pulled into the war—neutral ground where he could start fresh. Second, he needed the support of a Daimyo. Without that, his village would be labeled an underground mercenary group, outlawed and hunted.
Third, and most importantly, he needed people.
There were missing-nin and rogue shinobi scattered throughout the world—especially in nations without strong ninja leadership. Many of them hid not because they were evil, but because they had no place to go. No one to protect them.
Akira could offer them that.
With his training, his knowledge, and the skills inherited from both Sasori and Uchiha Kawa, he could take average wandering shinobi and turn them into a formidable force. It wouldn't be easy, and it wouldn't happen overnight, but with dedication and structured guidance, he could forge an army.
What he lacked now was an identity.
He couldn't use the names Uchiha Kawa or Akasuna no Sasori. Both were infamous missing-nin. The moment anyone traced the village back to either of those personas, it would be marked for destruction. Just like what happened to Orochimaru's Otogakure.
No, Akira needed a new face. A clean, mysterious identity. One that would evoke power and respect without being tied to any village.
Thankfully, he had the means. With his puppet techniques, transformation jutsu, and forbidden arts, he could mask himself completely. The world would see a nameless titan, a shinobi from nowhere who wielded impossible power.
But reputation alone wasn't enough. He needed to demonstrate his strength. To show the world he wasn't just a pretender with big dreams.
And the perfect opportunity had presented itself.
The Land of Lightning was marching on the Land of Rice Fields, and Konoha had dispatched a defensive force to the northern border. Akira, newly returned from a mission, had been called up again alongside Might Guy and several others.
According to Kosuke's analysis, they were currently in a holding pattern—waiting for intelligence reports to confirm Kumo's numbers and movements. Only then would they be given orders to engage or pull back.
But one thing was certain: the Land of Rice Fields would become a battlefield.
Their Daimyo must be filled with dread, watching foreign armies trample his lands while relying entirely on foreign powers for protection. What if, in his moment of desperation, someone stepped forward? Someone not from Konoha or Kumo. Someone who promised a third way.
What if a mysterious, overwhelmingly powerful ninja appeared and told the Daimyo:
"I can save your country. I can drive them out. But I need your support to create a new shinobi village. A village that will stand with you, not over you."
Wouldn't the Daimyo, grasping for any hope, agree?
Akira's heart beat faster as the idea solidified.
He would save the Land of Rice Fields.
He would become the guardian they never had.
And from the ashes of war, a new village would rise.
Not long after the Konoha ninjas set out, the shinobi forces of Kumogakure had already passed through the Land of Hot Water, drawing dangerously close to the border of the Land of Rice Fields. Their swift movement far exceeded what the Konoha leadership had anticipated. While the Konoha higher-ups were still mustering forces, the Cloud ninja had already moved into position, their blades nearly at the throat of their next target.
Yet, curiously, the Cloud forces did not press forward into the Land of Rice Fields. Instead, they halted, forming a wide encampment on the edge of the borderlands. This sudden pause confused even the most embedded Konoha spies among them. It wasn't time for a midday rest, and the discipline of the Cloud shinobi was such that they would not delay without cause.
To the Cloud ninjas, the morning had already stretched on for hours. The Land of Lightning was far to the east, and its daylight hours began early. Though the Land of Rice Fields shared the Fire Country's time zone, the Cloud shinobi still operated on their homeland's internal clock. Thus, the pause made sense—at least, internally.
But as the main force rested, a smaller squad broke off from the formation and quietly crossed the border into the Land of Rice Fields. Their intent was unknown, but their movement was swift and deliberate. The leader of the force had expected a rendezvous with their advanced scout, Aruyi, but he had failed to return on schedule. Sensing something amiss, he dispatched the unit to investigate.
The Konoha spy embedded among them seized the opportunity. He used a secret signaling technique to relay the sudden change in Cloud movement to his comrades stationed nearby, who would then report back to Konoha.
Meanwhile, Akira, far from concerned, was deep in contemplation. He didn't fear the approach of the Cloud forces. No, he welcomed it. It was the perfect storm, an ideal opportunity to unveil his strength to the world—and more importantly, to construct a new identity.
He didn't yet know what name he would adopt, but this coming battle would forge his legend.
According to Akira's estimation, the incoming Cloud ninja force would be no more than two thousand strong. Though formidable, it was not insurmountable. Each of the Five Great Shinobi Nations had around ten thousand shinobi with combat capabilities. With the main Cloud forces still stationed in the Land of Hot Water, only a fraction could be mobilized here.
He recalled the tale of the Third Raikage, a man who once stood against ten thousand enemies for three days before finally succumbing to his wounds. That feat had become legend—but Akira's chakra reserves dwarfed that of the Third Raikage, and his regenerative capabilities were enhanced many times over.
If the Raikage could hold off ten thousand, then Akira was confident he could annihilate two thousand.
And when he did, his new identity—shrouded in mystery and unparalleled power—would ripple through the shinobi world like a thunderclap. A lone warrior founding a new village in the war-torn Land of Rice Fields. A beacon of hope to some, a harbinger of upheaval to others. He wouldn't need to advertise. The world would come to him.
Clients forsaken by the Five Great Nations would line up at his door. His village would not lack missions or funding. Even if his shinobi were still being trained, the brand alone would draw demand.
Not long after, the Konoha forces were ready. Once again, their commander was Orochimaru.
Akira couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "Snake-Uncle again? Is there anything this man isn't involved in?"
He knew the reason, of course. The aging Third Hokage had begun to feel the weight of his years and saw Orochimaru—his prized pupil—as a worthy successor. That meant placing him at the center of key missions to build merit.
Yet Orochimaru no longer sought the Hokage title. His ambition had twisted long ago into a pursuit of immortality. These assignments were merely detours from his greater quest.
Akira turned his mind to strategy. With multiple enemies incoming, he needed a technique that could cover a wide area, something no one had seen before.
His first thought was poison—cheap, effective, far-reaching. But practical execution was flawed. Poison needles could be blocked, and poison gas dispersed. More importantly, it wasn't dramatic enough.
He needed to terrify.
Magnet Release and Susanoo were powerful options, but too recognizable. If he used either, it might hint at his true identities—Sasori or Uchiha Kagami. That was unacceptable.
Then a spark lit in his mind: Sound Release.
It was a new ability he'd recently gained through Sasori's puppet, enhanced by the Gelel Stone. Sound Release had enormous potential—ultrasound for sharp, targeted destruction, and infrasound for wide, crushing waves.
He had already begun testing it, using animals to determine ideal frequencies. With chakra amplification, he could increase both range and lethality.
More importantly, it was invisible. No hand signs. No glowing auras. Just silent devastation.
No one in the ninja world knew how to counter it.
And he had time—days, at least. Days to refine this new jutsu. He'd draw from every sound-based fighter in the fictional worlds of his past life: the seismic might of Whitebeard, the focused impact of Quake, the martial rhythm of Lee Sin.
Raising his hand, Akira summoned chakra to his palm and let it pulse. It began to vibrate, humming with a subtle, eerie frequency. A whisper of power.
Then he cut the flow.
Yes. He could use Sound Release with his own chakra now. Just like Magnet Release, once his puppet clone had used it enough, the technique became embedded in Akira's memory—his very soul.
And once his true body could use Sound Release, shadow clones could as well. He could now create dozens—hundreds—of clones to accelerate the development of new techniques.
He wouldn't even need to remain with the Konoha forces.
Just yesterday, he had unlocked another tool. A human puppet crafted from a captured Hozuki ninja. Water Release techniques, chakra-absorbing water bodies, and the signature Hydrification Technique.
But the real surprise came after the puppet was embedded with the Gelel Stone. It developed a shapeshifting technique—a perfect transformation that could replicate chakra signatures, just like White Zetsu.
Akira had seized the opportunity. He slipped away under the pretense of a bathroom break, returned to the Gelel ruins, and allowed the puppet to absorb his chakra.
The puppet transformed into his perfect double.
Then he sent the clone back to rejoin the Konoha unit. Orochimaru and the rest would be none the wiser.
As for Akira, he remained behind.
In the shadows of the Land of Rice Fields, he would forge new jutsu.