"Master Masanari," Hanzo's voice rang out over the rain, firm and cold, "this is the last time I will call you master. Hand Amegakure over to me, and I will lead it to true victory."
Masanari's expression darkened. He shook his head. "Never. I will never hand this village to you."
"Master Masanari!" Hanzo's tone sharpened, anger bleeding through. "So it's true—you're old! Do you value your position, your power, your wealth so much you'd chain this country to weakness?"
"There's no point in talking," Masanari snapped back. "You'll only drag the Land of Rain into the abyss. If you want this seat, then take it—from my corpse!"
"Why can't you understand me?!" Hanzo's golden eyes blazed. "Can't you feel it—the people's resentment, their anger?"
Masanari glanced at the faces of the shinobi gathered opposite. Their fury was real, undeniable. But fury burned hot and quick—too quick. To indulge it was to court ruin. The Land of Rain could not afford to be consumed by reckless passion.
Yet… he, too, was angry. He, too, was tired.
"Fine," he said at last, his voice rough. "Hanzo! Take it, if you can. Lead this country wherever you like. I won't live to see that day."
With that, Masanari turned his back.
Hanzo's face twisted with rage. "Masanari! You forced us into this!!"
His men drew steel in perfect unison. Across from them, Masanari's followers lifted their weapons in response.
A single spark, and war would begin.
"Stop!" Masanari's roar cut through the rain. His shinobi froze, then—still loyal to his fading authority—sheath their blades.
He fixed Hanzo with a cold stare. "You wouldn't slaughter unarmed countrymen here and now, would you? Let us go. The village will decide their fate later."
Hanzo's hand rose, halting his own men. "Master Masanari," he said, his voice strangely soft, "you have always been a hero in my heart. Do not tarnish that image in your last days."
Masanari laughed bitterly. "A hero? No. I only ran. That's how we survived between the great nations—by fleeing. Hanzo, if you think yourself stronger, then lead them. Be the hero you imagine. But I will never recognize you."
The confrontation ended without blood, but no peace. One leader withdrew with his weary guards. The other, flanked by elites, watched with blazing ambition.
Time was running out. The storm would break soon.
"That Hanzo…" the old man beside Maki muttered. "Boring. Too serious."
"Keep dancing?" Maki asked flatly.
The old man laughed, slapping her shoulder hard enough to stagger her. "At last, Konoha has sent me an interesting one."
"You're not afraid of death," Maki murmured, her eyes narrowing. "Touch me again, and you'll earn it."
"Hah! You've much to learn," the man chuckled. "A shinobi's strength lies in capacity."
"How big is yours, then?"
"To bring peace to the world—an end to war." His smile was crooked, almost mocking.
"What's the difference between you and Hanzo, then?" she pressed.
"He can't do it." The old man jabbed a thumb at his chest. "I can."
"Boring," Maki replied.
He peered at her. "And your capacity?"
Maki raised a finger to the sky. "Shoulder to shoulder with the sun."
The old man laughed again, loud and unrestrained. "You're interesting, girl. Perhaps I'll help you reach it."
"You can't." Maki's eyes were steady. "You don't understand."
The man folded his arms, smirking. "Nor do you understand me. The world waits for me to change it."
"Next time, then," Maki said coolly.
"Next time," he agreed. "I'll be looking forward to it, Bug Princess."
And with a blur of movement—no hand seals, no sound—he was gone.
White Fang scratched his head. "…That was the Body Flicker, right?"
Naori shook her head. "No. Faster. Something else."
Hitomi shivered. "Whatever it was, that face on his chest was… wrong. Like a disease."
"He won't live long anyway," Maki said. "As long as he doesn't interfere with the mission, ignore him."
Still, White Fang felt uneasy.
Maki's voice cut through the rain. "The hunt begins. If Hanzo lives, Konoha will be dragged into his war."
"Do you know where he is?" White Fang asked.
"Not yet," Maki replied. "But he'll go for Masanari. And Masanari will be in the brightest, most obvious place in the village."
Naori whispered, "He's been running all his life. Will he run again?"
"No," Hitomi said. "He's ready to die."
White Fang sighed. "Old and frail against young ambition… he doesn't stand a chance."
"The youth who slays the dragon…" Maki murmured, "…becomes the dragon."
Her words hung in the rain, heavy and strange.
That night, Hanzo gave her no peace.
The Land of Rain erupted.
Since the rally, Ame-nin had moved like restless shadows. By evening, the streets emptied; doors bolted, windows shuttered. The silence was suffocating.
Then—midnight.
A thunderous explosion ripped through the city. Fire clawed into the storming sky.
Battle cries and screams tangled with the roar of rain as shinobi clashed in the streets, on rooftops, in alleys.
Steel cut flesh. Bodies fell, splashing into water that ran red, washing blood into the black sewers below.
At their window, Maki looked out. Flames flickered like false dawn.
"The opportunity has come."
The others nodded.
"Action begins."
Together, they leapt into the rain, sprinting along the drenched pipes as the Land of Rain burned.
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