Carried by the hound like baggage—and feeling very much like discarded baggage—Asuma still stubbornly twisted his neck, enduring the pain in his chest and abdomen just to keep the battlefield within his sight.
Though he was the Third Hokage's son, he had to admit it plainly:
Hagoromo, his peer, truly deserved the fearsome reputation he had earned in Sunagakure. In terms of raw combat ability, Hagoromo was clearly a level above him.
And then—
Asuma's pupils reflected the scene of Hagoromo's shadow clones striking Pakura from both sides.
From Asuma's angle, he couldn't see Pakura's expression, yet he could almost feel the panic of that famed kunoichi. Faced with an unexpected, sudden killing blow—one that promised death in the next instant—who could truly remain calm?
The Sand Village's hero, slain by Konoha's White Lightning…
Would that be good news for Konoha?
Bad news for Sunagakure?
In truth, even if such news spread, it would lead to no real consequences.
Just as Pakura herself had said earlier—
Would two great villages that had only just achieved peace truly reopen a war over the death of a single shinobi?
They would not.
No matter who killed whom, it would amount to nothing more than the loss of one ninja—insignificant in the grand balance of peace.
So Hagoromo could kill without restraint.
Perhaps he had understood this from the very beginning.
Or perhaps he hadn't thought about it at all.
Either way, once the battle began, Hagoromo fought with everything he had.
Yet battlefields were always full of variables—
Unexpected disruptions that could shatter a future just moments away from becoming reality.
If the one-on-one fight had continued, Hagoromo's two clones might have severed the Sand hero's head in the next instant.
Or perhaps Pakura had already prepared a counter, ready to annihilate the clones instead.
But neither outcome occurred.
Pakura did not die by Hagoromo's hand.
Because an intruder arrived.
Shuriken filled the sky.
First came their hazy silhouettes—
Then the sharp whoosh of cutting air.
It was a wide-area saturation attack, as though someone had unleashed multiple waves of Shuriken Shadow Clone jutsu.
Paper-thin blades embedded themselves into the ground with dull thuds, or rang sharply as they pierced tree trunks.
Hagoromo's main body reacted instantly.
He kicked off diagonally upward, like a fish leaping from water—his back nearly parallel to the ground—then planted both hands, bent his arms, flexed his muscles, and vaulted effortlessly onto a branch several meters above.
His shadow clones, however, were forced to abandon their killing strike on Pakura due to the sudden barrage—
Even though her exposed neck had been right before them.
Opportunities like that vanished in an instant.
The chance was gone.
Hagoromo's two clones, Pakura, and the Ame shinobi all withdrew in different directions.
The Rain ninja also halted their assault.
A third force had entered the battlefield.
Silence fell once more.
Half-kneeling on the branch, Hagoromo dismissed his shadow clones at once.
Recovering chakra—even a portion of it—was crucial. Every fraction increased his odds in whatever unknown conflict came next.
Only then did he brace himself against the trunk and look down.
His vantage point gave him a clear view of the newcomers.
Fifty shinobi.
All wore Amegakure forehead protectors, yet their attire was nothing like standard Rain ninja uniforms.
At the front stood three figures—
…Not the "big brother, second brother, and seventh brother."
No.
Orange hair.
Purple hair.
And hair as red as Kushina's.
After a century of shinobi evolution—conditioning, genetics, and sheer chaos—the ninja world had produced a dazzling array of hair colors, many of which had become identifying traits.
For example, red hair like Kushina's often indicated only one lineage:
The Uzumaki clan, long since scattered after the fall of their homeland.
The earlier "shuriken" barrage hadn't been metal at all.
They were paper.
The sheer number and speed came from a combination jutsu:
Paper Shuriken jutsu
Wind Release: Gale Palm
Notably, the attack hadn't been meant to kill.
Its purpose was clear—
To forcibly separate Hagoromo and Pakura.
After pushing both sides back, the newcomers made no follow-up attacks.
Given their location, formation, and the distinct features of the three leaders, their identity was unmistakable.
Akatsuki.
And at their head—
Yahiko.
Konan.
And… Nagato.
Hagoromo was certain.
Yahiko and Nagato's facial features had changed enough over time to make immediate identification difficult—but Konan was unmistakable. Her paper-based jutsus alone were enough to confirm it.
Once Konan was identified, the others followed naturally.
So this was it—
His first encounter with the so-called Child of Prophecy.
And those legendary eyes, said to belong to the Sage of Six Paths.
The Akatsuki were still young.
Their ideals still naïve.
Their leaders still dreamers.
Could they be eliminated here?
The thought crossed Hagoromo's mind—
And was immediately suppressed.
That would be madness.
He didn't yet know how far the Rinnegan had been developed.
He didn't know that even gentle-seeming Konan would one day bury six hundred billion explosive tags, enough to kill him fifty times over without effort.
Even comparing the present—
Hagoromo was still fumbling through half-finished Water Release training.
Meanwhile, Nagato, simply by virtue of those eyes, had already mastered all five chakra natures.
After brief consideration, Hagoromo wisely chose not to act.
Just the red hair alone—
No, the concentric-ring eyes beneath it—were reason enough not to move recklessly.
Under Hagoromo's control, the Three-Headed Hound began to merge its split bodies back into one. It made no further attacks, instead carrying the three Konoha shinobi as it slowly retreated.
Step by step, they withdrew from the firelight—
And into the darkness of the forest.
Hagoromo didn't yet know Akatsuki's purpose here.
But his guard was fully raised.
Of course, only Hagoromo possessed this foreknowledge.
Pakura did not.
Seeing the newcomers' Rain forehead protectors, she naturally assumed they were Amegakure reinforcements.
Grinding her teeth, she spat out four words:
"Persistent parasites."
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