Knocking on Konan's door, it was already the next evening. Surprisingly, it wasn't Konan who opened it—it was Pain himself, or rather, the man known as Nagato. Half-long red hair, pale skin, slender frame, twenty-something years old but looking no older than fifteen or sixteen.
"Ah, is there something you need?" Nagato spoke gently. The sternness and cold authority he carried as Akatsuki's leader were completely absent.
"Is Konan here?"
"Come in and speak." Nagato stepped aside, but she immediately spoke, "No need, Pain." She didn't step forward, and Konan soon appeared, walking slowly. Her pale, cold face bore none of the smile or liveliness she once had. Other than her loose hair, she looked much the same as before. There were no signs of crying, no expression of pain, nothing—like frost, keeping anyone a thousand miles away. It reminded him of the days when Kita had been imprisoned in Konoha; back then, losing Kita's whereabouts, Konan had looked exactly like this.
"What's wrong?"
Cold, clear, without fluctuation.
Nagato withdrew a snow-white letter from his sleeve and handed it to Konan.
"About a year ago, she asked me to give this to you."
"What is this?" Konan asked, emotionless.
"I don't know. She said some words could only be spoken to you after her death."
A will… Konan murmured, taking the letter. The snow-white paper rested delicately between her fingers. Leaning against the doorframe, she watched it. The last rays of sunlight brushed both the letter and her hands with a soft golden hue. It should have been a beautiful scene—the thick paper inside the white envelope carrying the entirety of a person's heart, all their feelings and love.
What could have been said that Kita would only dare reveal after death? What kind of feelings can be entrusted to a single sheet of paper?
"Shhh-ck."
The snow-white letter tore in two.
Konan's slender fingers moved again, and under the sunlight, the fragments of paper drifted down like snowflakes.
Nagato sighed, saying nothing.
"Thank you," Konan said calmly. "I've received it. Is that all?"
He shook his head, and the door closed behind him.
He didn't know if Kita had imagined this scene when she wrote the letter—being refused at the door, her words and emotions shattered into fragments. He didn't know if this was normal for other couples, but he vaguely felt that something as sacred as a last message shouldn't be torn so casually by the one left behind.
Konan and Kita—he had always observed them closely. Perhaps much of his attention was because he had first encountered this organization thanks to Konan's actions. At first, Kita hadn't even been a non-official member; initially, the two hadn't been so inseparable.
Their first encounter wasn't much different from others—unexpected missions, powerful reinforcements, moments when death seemed certain, only to find a slim chance of survival. Debts of gratitude were formed in this way. Many in the organization had failed missions or benefited from Kita's support. Rescue between comrades rarely stirred emotions. Recognition came only through brutal battles, mutual destruction, the first time she was half-converted into a puppet and immobilized in combat while her opponent suffered similarly from poison. No one won; only mutual suffering. Repeated encounters forged familiarity—a friendship in its own right.
He then saw one person pursuing another, each yielding and evading, between two women. He realized it wasn't a trivial romantic game for Konan; every action was filled with care and regard. Caring for a 'lowly being,' treasuring a 'non-human'—incredible, yet when imagining Kita as this 'non-human,' it seemed less unbelievable. Befriending someone of low status? Never expected, yet a true, intimate friendship existed. Their refined manners and elegant speech often masked her true identity. In truth, human or non-human mattered little—same blood, same structure, same birth, same death. Yet arrogant humans always had to assert superiority.
From that perspective, it wasn't impossible. At least some of their shared moments could be mistaken for happiness—a rare bright spot amid so much darkness.
But Kita was dead…
Someone as formidable as Kita, gone… consumed by a consciousness…
He didn't know how to comprehend it. Truly, he wished he could respond like Kakuzu: "I don't know anyone who dies in such places."
But the fact remained, just like his parents leaving home never to return.
He felt a deep sense of loss. Those tiny moments of happiness might never come again. With that thought, he began picking up the scattered white paper fragments, each carrying a friend's heart. What words dared only be spoken after death? What emotions are only revealed across life and death? He didn't want to know. He shouldn't have agreed to deliver that letter in the first place. Yet, quietly, he gathered each piece, placing them back into his pocket. He left silently, just as he had arrived.
Later, when warm tea was offered, the TV played a trivial melodrama. Konan sat on the sofa, staring blankly—not really focusing, yet her gaze seemed to pierce through the screen elsewhere.
Nagato sighed and sat beside his lifelong friend, patting her back.
"Why go through such trouble?"
Tearing apart Kita's letter, a message that should have been a final testament, perhaps no one at this moment was more resolute than Konan. Nagato didn't know how others would react, but he would never have discarded it so casually.
After a long silence, Konan toyed with the jade ring on her hand. A pure white piece, engraved with the character 'white' in black ink. No tears remained—perhaps she had already cried them dry when facing Obito that day. Her eyes bore no redness, no grief. Her frosty expression didn't signal lost love. The attempt at a self-deprecating smile failed, leaving her face expressionless. She lowered her gaze to the Akatsuki ring, turning it absentmindedly.
"Six years, seven months, thirteen days… we were together that long."
The days together had slipped away like sand through fingers, unnoticed until now.
"All that time, she never said what she should have. Leaving a letter… what's the point?" It was ironic, a critique of Kita's actions. Nagato truly felt that Konan might be cruel, both to Kita and to herself.
"Kita had her reasons, I suppose."
Perhaps she did, as Kita, as a 'non-human.'
"Do reasons matter?" Konan asked, a hint of mockery in her eyes as she looked at Nagato. Without waiting for him to answer, her icy resolve emerged.
"Whatever the reason, dead is dead. Unspeakable is unspeakable. Yahiko, Kita—they're the same. I thought Kita would be different, and would consider my feelings. But no. She died on her own terms, leaving me behind. I will not forgive them. Never."
Nagato sighed silently.
━━━━ ❖ ━━━
If you're enjoying the journey so far and want to read ahead, you can check out 50+ advance chapters on Patreon: Patreon.com/Crimson_Lore
Every 100 Power Stones = 1 Extra Chapter
Add to Library!