The rain carved its presence into everything. It traced cold lines down the steel and stone of Amegakure, whispered against the tower walls, and filled the silence between breaths. Inside the chamber, the sound dulled—but never disappeared. It lingered, like a reminder that nothing here was ever truly still.
Seiken stood among them, posture relaxed, mind anything but. Pain had called a meeting. That alone meant something significant. The Akatsuki gathered in a loose circle—predators at rest, but never at ease.
Kisame leaned lazily with that shark-like grin. Deidara's impatience flickered in his fingers. Kakuzu's gaze measured worth in silence. Hidan muttered under his breath. Konan remained a quiet shadow beside Pain.
Seiken's eyes shifted once, then again. 'Something's coming.'
Pain spoke in a low voice. "Two new members will be joining us." Footsteps followed, calm and unhurried, and the moment they stepped into the dim light—Seiken almost lost his composure. His mask was the only thing that saved him.
'What the hell are they doing here…'
Uchiha. Both of them.
Itachi—composed, distant, unreadable as ever. And beside him—Shisui.
Seiken's brows knit slightly, the only crack in his otherwise controlled demeanor. 'No… this doesn't line up.' His gaze shifted to Itachi. 'Why is he here?' Then to Shisui. 'And why is he with him?'
Pain's voice cut cleanly through his thoughts. "Uchiha Itachi. Uchiha Shisui. From this point onward, you are members of the Akatsuki." No reaction. No hesitation. As if this was expected. As if this was chosen.
Seiken's confusion sharpened—not chaotic, but precise. 'There's no reason for this outcome.' 'Not without something going wrong.'
Pain continued. "The teams will be reorganized." Kisame chuckled under his breath. "Here we go." "Kisame. You will partner with Itachi." Kisame's grin widened. "Heh. I like that already."
Seiken barely registered it. "Seiken." Pain's gaze shifted toward him. "You will partner with Shisui."
Of course. 'That's not random.'
Seiken's gaze settled on Shisui. "Didn't expect to see names like yours here."
Shisui tilted his head slightly. "That's one way to greet a partner."
Seiken shrugged faintly. "Akatsuki's full of surprises." A brief pause followed. His eyes flicked once toward Itachi, then back. "Thought the Uchiha situation was already… resolved."
Kisame's voice cut in, amused. "You two already having problems? That's fast." Neither of them acknowledged him.
Seiken stepped slightly closer—not aggressive, just enough to lower his voice. "Didn't think anyone walked out of that clean."
Not a question. A probe.
Shisui watched him for a moment, carefully. For the first time, there was the slightest shift in his expression—not visible to most, but Seiken caught it. 'He's measuring me.' Good.
Shisui finally spoke, calm as ever. "Things don't always end the way people expect."
Seiken held his gaze for a moment longer, then gave a small, indifferent shrug. "Yeah. Guess not." But his thoughts didn't ease.
'If Shisui lived… the clan should've stabilized.' 'So what went wrong?'
Itachi remained silent, but his presence pressed into the moment like a shadow—watching, always watching.
Before anything else could be said, Pain raised his hand. The conversation ended instantly. "Your past is irrelevant. Your roles are clear. Your purpose remains unchanged."
Silence reclaimed the room. Seiken stepped back slightly, but his thoughts didn't settle—they sharpened.
'Shisui couldn't fix it.' 'Even alive.' 'Even with everything aligned.' 'That means it was never just one man.'
Not Danzō. Not anyone. Something bigger. Messier. Inevitable.
Seiken exhaled slowly. His gaze flicked once more between Itachi and Shisui. It still led them here.
Kisame laughed, clearly satisfied. "Alright then, partner," he said to Itachi. "Let's see what you've got." Itachi gave a slight nod.
Shisui turned back to Seiken. "Well," he said lightly, though his eyes weren't careless, "looks like we'll be working together."
Seiken held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded once. "Yeah." But there was no ease in it, only a quiet, persistent question that refused to leave—'What kind of failure brings both of you… here?'
Pain dismissed them soon after, and Seiken left the tower with Shisui.
The rain greeted them again as they descended, louder now, sharper against stone and steel. By the time they reached the lower levels, it pressed in from all sides—constant, unrelenting.
Neither of them spoke as they moved down. Seiken walked ahead without hesitation, cloak shifting lightly with each step. Shisui followed half a pace behind, not out of deference—but observation. 'He moves like he already knows where he's going.'
The final steps gave way to open ground, the tower's shadow stretching behind them as their feet met the rain-soaked stone. Water rippled outward beneath their weight, the sound blending seamlessly with the storm. For a moment, there was nothing but rain.
And then—paper.
It slipped into the space before them without warning, thin sheets cutting cleanly through the downpour. One became many, spiraling outward, folding, gathering with unnatural precision. The motion was controlled, deliberate.
Seiken didn't flinch.
Shisui's gaze sharpened slightly as the papers converged and formed shape. Konan stood before them, still and composed, as though she had always been there. The rain did not seem to touch her.
"Seiken. Shisui." Her voice carried through the storm, quiet but absolute. Seiken's gaze met hers, unreadable. "God has new instructions for you."
No preamble. No explanation.
A single sheet formed from the drifting paper and settled into her outstretched hand. Seiken took it without hesitation, without a word. The exchange was clean, efficient—practiced.
Shisui watched closely. 'Straight to the objective… no wasted motion.'
Konan said nothing more. Behind her, new sheets of paper formed, assembling outward into structured wings. For a brief moment, she remained suspended in place before the wings lifted, carrying her upward through the rain until she disappeared into the gray sky.
Seiken unfolded the paper as he walked, eyes scanning it once. The details settled immediately, clean and complete. 'A bounty.' Not unusual. But not random either.
He folded it again and held it out slightly without slowing.
Shisui took it.
A brief pause followed as he read, eyes moving once across the page. 'He already memorized it.'
Shisui handed the paper back without a word. Seiken took it just as quietly, his pace never slowing. For a moment, the sheet remained between his fingers as the rain soaked through it completely, the ink bleeding, the structure already collapsing.
He didn't rush it.
The paper sagged in his grip, losing form as the fibers softened into pulp. It clung slightly to his fingers, edges folding inward without resistance.
Then his thumb pressed in.
Not tearing—crushing.
The sheet collapsed under minimal pressure, breaking apart into uneven, wet fragments. Some stuck briefly to his skin before the rain washed them loose.
He rubbed his fingers together once, letting the remaining pulp smear and dissolve under the downpour. What remained lost all structure, reduced to nothing distinguishable.
By the time he lowered his hand, there was nothing left.
Only rain.
Seiken continued forward. "We move now."