The Konoha shinobi before him had already shattered far too many of Sasori's long-held understanding of how the ninja world worked. Coupled with the man's unwavering confidence—even knowing Sasori had effortlessly killed eight Konoha shinobi, he still dared to threaten his life outright—it created a pressure that even someone like Sasori, who thrived in the shadows, could not ignore.
That kind of dominance…
It made him hesitate.
After all, he had intended to continue lurking in the dark, quietly planting more spies.
Several breaths passed in silence before Sasori finally spoke in a low voice. "I can tell you how to use the 'Memory-Concealing Manipulative Sand Technique.'"
"But how do I know you won't expose Yura… or come after me afterward?"
Shimizu Uzuki smiled faintly, his tone calm and almost conversational. "And what benefit would I gain from exposing Yura… or attacking you?"
He tilted his head slightly, as if the answer were obvious.
"Besides, Sunagakure is my enemy. And since you're planting spies here, it's clear you're targeting them as well. The enemy of my enemy is my friend… isn't that right?"
He paused, then added with a hint of sincerity, "Who knows? We might even cooperate again someday."
Sasori's gaze flickered, uncertainty passing through his eyes.
"…You make a fair point."
"So, about that 'Memory-Concealing Manipulative Sand Technique'?" Shimizu gestured lightly with his fingers, urging him to hurry.
"You seem to be in a rush."
"And you want to stand here wasting time?" Shimizu countered. "With all this idle chatter… wouldn't you rather be controlling a few more spies?"
That struck directly at Sasori's intentions.
Without another word, he slowly reached into his cloak, pulled out a small notebook, and tore out two pages, handing them over.
Shimizu took the papers, glancing at them with a half-smile. "You wouldn't be giving me a fake, would you?"
"I don't stoop to such petty tricks."
Oh? Shimizu couldn't help but chuckle inwardly.
Breaking into another village, brainwashing their shinobi, and planting spies—and that didn't count as petty?
Still, he said nothing more.
Lowering his gaze, he skimmed through the two pages. The handwriting was somewhat rough, clearly written by Sasori himself, and included detailed notes on the execution of the technique.
The "Memory-Concealing Manipulative Sand Technique"…
It was genuine.
A ripple of excitement stirred within him.
In the ninja world, it was common knowledge—
Strength alone was never enough to ensure survival.
Even someone like Uchiha Madara, revived at the height of his power, had ultimately been undone through manipulation, completely unaware of the elaborate schemes laid out by Black Zetsu.
Sometimes, intelligence and information were far more decisive than raw power.
And now—
With this technique in hand, he could plant spies across nations, within hidden villages, and even infiltrate powerful organizations like Root… or the Akatsuki.
Of course, judging by the notes, the technique wasn't easy to master. Sasori himself had failed multiple times before succeeding.
With a casual flip of the pages, Shimizu counted at least four recorded failures—each meticulously documented with causes and outcomes.
"Is this technique difficult to learn?" he asked casually.
"Not particularly," Sasori replied. "It just requires a certain level of chakra control."
Shimizu clicked his tongue slightly.
Coming from a puppet master—especially a genius capable of controlling hundreds of puppets—that statement was hardly reassuring. Sasori's level of chakra control likely surpassed his by several leagues.
"So… is the deal done?" Shimizu asked.
"I hope our next meeting will be just as… pleasant," he added lightly, before turning away, no longer paying Sasori any attention.
From his cloak, he pulled out a sealing scroll and began performing a sealing technique over the fallen Konoha shinobi nearby.
So he's collecting his comrades' bodies…
Having watched Shimizu's every movement until now, Sasori finally relaxed—just slightly.
Then I should take this chance to capture a few more Sunagakure shinobi…
But—
The instant he turned around—
A violent surge of danger exploded through his senses.
His pupils contracted sharply.
Too late!
The tail spike of his puppet, Hiruko, shot out from his back, the silver metal extending in an instant to intercept the unseen threat.
At the same time, the mechanism in his left arm activated—
"Hiruko: Thousand Needles!"
A concealed launcher burst open, firing a cylindrical device packed with over a dozen poisoned needles.
In the blink of an eye, the cylinders scattered in all directions, detonating mid-air as countless poisoned needles sprayed outward like a deadly storm, blanketing every possible escape route.
Unlike his earlier Needle Barrage—which focused dense firepower in a forward direction—this mechanism dispersed the needles like shrapnel, ensuring that the target would have nowhere to run.
A perfect, inescapable kill zone.
This was Sasori's counterattack—executed seamlessly in the midst of defense. Only a puppet master could orchestrate such a precise and layered combination in a single instant.
But—
His opponent was "Shunshin Shimizu."
At that moment, Shimizu Uzuki stood enveloped within a sphere of swirling blue water, every single poisoned needle stopped cold at its surface, unable to penetrate even an inch further.
And within that protective veil—
A blade formed from wind chakra pierced cleanly through Sasori's back, striking straight toward his heart with unerring precision.
"You…" Sasori's voice carried a trace of confusion. "…Why?"
Shimizu's gaze remained icy, devoid of emotion. "I have no intention of telling you," he replied coldly. "Take your ignorance with you to hell."
"…So you already knew this body wasn't my true form."
Shimizu said nothing. Instead, he increased the output of his wind chakra, attempting to drive the blade completely through.
But—
Something stopped it.
A solid resistance, like striking hardened metal, halted the blade's advance. Even the razor-sharp wind chakra could go no further.
Had he… really pierced the heart?
Doubt flickered across Shimizu's mind.
"Heh… hehehe…" Sasori's laughter was low and chilling. "Konoha's Uzuki Shimizu… very well. I'll remember you."
He's still not dead?
If piercing wouldn't work—
Then he would cut.
With a sharp tearing sound, Sasori's body was cleaved cleanly in two.
For all appearances, he was dead beyond doubt.
And yet—
Shimizu knew better.
The middle-aged man before him was nothing more than one of Sasori's shells—a puppet body he controlled at will.
Even his original body had long since been turned into a puppet.
A complete madman…
Sasori's true core lay only in that single "heart."
And just now—
It seemed Shimizu hadn't fully broken through its defenses.
What was that? What kind of material could withstand even wind chakra?
As long as that core remained intact—
Sasori was still alive.
Shimizu did not lower his guard. The water barrier remained in place, rotating steadily around him as he heightened his vigilance.
Suddenly—
A rapid series of sharp impacts struck from behind—dozens in quick succession—sending ripples racing across the surface of the water sphere.
A high-intensity attack.
As expected—
A red-haired youth appeared behind him, his short crimson hair catching the dim light. Multiple blades extended from both his arms, gleaming with a cold, deadly edge.
Clearly, the earlier barrage had come from those weapons.
"What exactly is protecting your heart?" Shimizu asked, curiosity flickering in his tone.
"…So you even knew to target my heart," Sasori replied.
"Care to tell me why?"
Then, with a faint sneer, he added, "The secret technique I gave you… was incomplete."
Shimizu's pupils shrank sharply.
I was played?
"You think you're the only one capable of clever tricks?" Sasori's voice was calm, almost mocking. "Without me, you'll never truly master that technique."
Shimizu stood there in silence for a long moment before letting out a quiet sigh.
"…What a failure."
Extorting secrets from an enemy and then killing them to tie up loose ends—
It was a tactic used time and time again, almost second nature to most.
So why was it that, when it came to him—
Things never seemed to go quite as planned?