The next morning, the Akatsuki base felt far warmer than the cold, gray world outside.
Rain still poured across the Land of Rain, tapping endlessly against the reinforced windows and broken stone walls around the hidden base. But inside the kitchen, the air was thick with the rich smell of hot milk, melted sugar, and freshly cooked egg rolls. The sweet scent drifted through the room, softening the harsh mood that usually clung to the country like a second skin.
At the long dining table, Uchiha Tsukiko sat cross-legged in an oversized frog-patterned onesie that looked far too childish for someone with such dangerous eyes. She held a silver fork in one hand and wore the satisfied expression of someone enjoying life exactly the way she wanted.
A thick slice of sweet egg roll rested on the fork. It was still steaming lightly, the outer layer golden and slightly charred, while the inside remained soft and trembling from the fresh egg.
Tsukiko lifted it toward Konan's lips.
"Open."
Konan, who was seated beside her with a cup of warm milk in hand, hesitated for only a moment before opening her mouth without thinking. The egg roll slid in smoothly. A heavy layer of syrup soaked the surface, and the sweetness spread across her tongue at once.
Her cheeks puffed slightly as she chewed.
A bit of syrup clung to the corner of her lips.
Tsukiko watched her with obvious delight, resting her chin in one hand. "Good?"
Konan lowered her eyes. "...It's good."
Without even pretending to be polite, Tsukiko reached over and wiped the syrup from the corner of Konan's mouth with her fingertip. Then, with complete shamelessness, she brought that finger to her own lips.
Konan's hand trembled.
The milk in her cup rippled.
Her face turned faintly red, and she quickly lowered her head and drank a large mouthful of milk, refusing to look at Tsukiko.
Tsukiko looked very pleased with herself.
Across the table, Nagato quietly ate a sandwich while Yahiko had not yet come down. The room was peaceful, comfortable, and so ordinary that it almost didn't feel like the headquarters of a rebel organization standing against a war-torn nation.
Then the heavy blast-proof door at the entrance gave a dull metallic click.
A moment later, Yahiko burst into the room with a rush of cold air and rainwater.
He was still wearing his outdoor sandals, and muddy footprints spread across the expensive carpet as he hurried inside. In one hand he held a waterproof lacquered letter tube, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles had gone pale.
"It came!" he shouted.
He hurried straight to the table and slammed the tube down so hard that the knives and forks rattled against the plates.
"It finally came!"
Yahiko's face was full of excitement. There was no trace of caution or suspicion on him at all. His eyes were bright, his voice almost shaking with hope.
"It's a personal reply from Lord Hanzō!" he said. "He agreed to meet us. Tomorrow afternoon!"
Nagato slowly set down his sandwich.
His Rinnegan, partly hidden behind his red hair, shifted toward the tube on the table.
Konan also straightened a little, though she said nothing.
Only Tsukiko seemed almost completely calm.
She cut another small piece of bacon from her plate and popped it into her mouth before lazily glancing at the tube. "Where?"
"In the valley north of the Hidden Rain Village," Yahiko said quickly. "The area is open. It's a good place for talks. He said he has heard of our ideals and is willing to discuss the future of the Land of Rain with us."
His voice grew warmer with every word.
"This is our chance. If Lord Hanzō truly accepts us, then Akatsuki can finally stand openly. We can work with the village instead of being treated like outsiders. We can really start changing things."
Tsukiko chewed slowly.
Then she swallowed and said, "Or we can officially become a thorn in his side."
The room went quiet.
Yahiko's hand stopped halfway to the water pitcher.
Nagato's expression sharpened just a little.
Konan turned toward Tsukiko.
Yahiko laughed awkwardly. "Tsukiko, this isn't the time for jokes."
Tsukiko leaned back in her chair, swinging one foot under the table. "Who said I was joking?"
Yahiko froze.
For a moment, only the sound of rain filled the silence.
Then Tsukiko smiled, suddenly sweet and harmless again, as though she had never said anything strange in the first place. "Relax. I'm only saying we should think carefully."
She picked up the letter tube with two fingers and turned it slowly in the light.
Hanzō.
The so-called Demigod of the Shinobi World.
The ruler of Amegakure.
The man whose pride was almost as large as his fear.
Tsukiko narrowed her eyes slightly while looking at the tube.
In truth, killing him would be the simplest answer.
If Hanzō planned to move against Akatsuki, then cutting him down before he acted would solve everything. With the power hidden in her eyes, ending his life was not impossible. She could strike fast, leave no chance for a counterattack, and remove the danger at its root.
But a dead Hanzō would create a different disaster.
The Land of Rain was weak, broken, and surrounded by larger powers waiting for any chance to interfere. If Hanzō suddenly died, the great villages would smell blood immediately. Iwagakure, Sunagakure, and even Konoha might start moving pieces across the board. Amegakure would fall into chaos, and Akatsuki—still too young, too small, too unstable—would be dragged into endless conflict before they were ready.
That would be troublesome.
Very troublesome.
And Tsukiko hated trouble unless she was the one causing it.
She tossed the letter tube lightly into the air and caught it again.
Keeping Hanzō alive would be much more useful.
A living symbol was worth more than a corpse.
Especially if that symbol could be made to obey.
Konan had been watching her quietly. Now she set down her milk and lightly touched Tsukiko's arm. "What are you thinking?"
Tsukiko turned her head and smiled up at her. "I'm thinking about what to wear tomorrow."
Konan blinked. "What?"
"For an important meeting," Tsukiko said with complete seriousness, "should I wear something cute? Or something practical? Pink kimono? Combat clothes? Something that says charming but dangerous?"
Yahiko stared at her in disbelief.
Nagato sighed softly and rubbed his forehead.
Konan looked at Tsukiko for several seconds, then gave a small helpless shake of her head. "You're impossible."
Tsukiko grinned and slipped off the chair.
Her soft slippers tapped against the floor as she crossed the room and pressed a switch beside the window. The dark glass became transparent at once, revealing the rainy skyline beyond the base.
The world outside was gray, wet, and bleak.
Rain crawled down the glass in endless streams.
Tsukiko stood there with one hand against the window, her expression turning quieter.
"Reply to him," she said at last.
Yahiko straightened. "So we're going?"
"Of course we're going," Tsukiko said. "Tell him we'll arrive on time."
Then, after a short pause, she added, "And tell him we'll bring all our sincerity."
The way she said it made Nagato glance toward her again.
But Yahiko, still full of hope, nodded without question. "Good. I'll send the answer immediately."
Rainwater ran down the glass in long crooked lines.
Tsukiko watched her own reflection staring back.
In that reflection, she saw not just herself, but a dozen possible futures.
A dead Hanzō.
A broken Amegakure.
A bloody valley.
Konan crying.
Yahiko charging forward too fast.
Nagato drowning in rage.
No.
That future would not happen.
Not while she was here.
A new thought formed in her mind, sharp and clean.
If others could turn powerful men into puppets, why couldn't she?
Why waste effort destroying Hanzō when she could make him useful?
Why not leave him sitting on his throne, still feared by the outside world, while in truth he served Akatsuki from the shadows?
An obedient Hanzō would be far more valuable than a dead one.
He could hold back foreign powers. He could maintain order in the village. He could even become the perfect knife against people like Danzō later.
At the thought, the corner of Tsukiko's mouth lifted.
Konan noticed at once. "That smile," she said softly. "You're planning something again."
Tsukiko turned around at once, innocence written all over her face. "No way. I'm just thinking about Akatsuki's bright future."
She skipped back to Konan's side and gently fixed a fold in Konan's collar, her fingers brushing against the pale skin near her collarbone. "By the way, I'm going out today."
Konan frowned slightly. "Alone?"
Tsukiko nodded.
"It's raining hard," Konan said. "And the rogue ninja around the outskirts have been active lately."
"I'll be fine."
Tsukiko walked to the coat rack, pulled down a red rain cloak, and fastened it around her shoulders. "I'm just going to buy a few... souvenirs for tomorrow."
Yahiko, already rolling up the written reply, laughed. "Anyone who tries to trouble Tsukiko is the one I feel sorry for."
Nagato stood and began clearing the plates. "Come back before evening."
"I will."
Tsukiko opened the heavy door.
Cold air and mist rushed into the room. The warm smell of breakfast faded at once beneath the scent of rain and wet stone.
She looked back once.
Konan's eyes were still on her.
Tsukiko gave her a bright, easy smile, then stepped outside.
The rain struck the ground in dense silver lines. Muddy water splashed beneath her slippers. She opened a lace-trimmed umbrella, let the red cloak settle around her small frame, and walked a few steps into the storm.
Then, with a light push off the ground, she vanished.
A ripple spread through a puddle where she had stood.
Nothing else remained.
The northern valley beyond Amegakure was exactly what she expected.
It was wide enough for negotiations, but enclosed enough for slaughter. Jagged rock walls rose on both sides, worn slick by years of rain. The ground below was muddy and open, with almost no natural cover in the center. Only the edges held useful blind spots, and both exits could be sealed quickly if someone wanted to trap people inside.
Tsukiko stood on a high rock ledge beneath her umbrella and looked down at the valley floor.
"The perfect place for a betrayal," she murmured.
Rain dripped from the umbrella's edge.
Her eyes moved slowly across the terrain.
A hidden force could wait in the rock recesses. Another could block retreat. If Akatsuki came in trusting words of peace, they would walk directly into a cage.
Danzō and Hanzō really had chosen well.
Tsukiko closed the umbrella.
Rain soaked her dark hair at once.
She did not mind.
Storm water ran down her cheeks and cloak as she thought through her options.
Going in directly and killing Hanzō was easy, but not ideal.
A loud attack could stir the whole village.
And if she caused too much chaos, Konan would worry.
No, something quieter was better.
Something cleaner.
A disguise.
A whisper in the dark.
A hand on the mind instead of a blade at the throat.
Tsukiko pressed two fingers together and formed a seal.
With a soft burst of smoke, her small body vanished.
In its place stood a Root operative.
Black uniform. Pale mask. Cold posture.
An emotionless shadow shaped in Danzō's style.
She looked herself over and clicked her tongue. "Ugly. But useful."
Then she moved.
Her body flashed across the rain like a dark bird, racing back toward the center of Amegakure.
Hanzō's tower stood like a steel beast in the middle of the village, surrounded by patrols, barriers, hidden watchers, and enough traps to make most shinobi hesitate.
Tsukiko did not hesitate.
With the Sharingan behind the mask, every movement around her became clear. Patrol routes, glances, habits, timing—everything broke apart into patterns.
A guard near the outer wall began to turn his head.
Tsukiko's eyes sharpened.
A brief glimpse of the near future appeared in her mind.
Three seconds.
That was enough.
She moved in the opening between breaths, slipping past the patrol just before his gaze reached her. To him, nothing happened. He only blinked once and frowned, as though a strange feeling had touched the back of his neck.
Tsukiko was already gone.
She passed the first line, then the second.
Past the pipes.
Across a narrow service ledge.
Through the blind spot between two rotating patrols.
Into the core of the tower.
Hanzō's private floor smelled of cold metal, old incense, disinfectant, and still water. It was a miserable place, heavy with the kind of loneliness that only powerful, suspicious men seemed to enjoy.
At the end of the corridor stood a thick metal door.
No guards.
That alone said enough.
Hanzō trusted no one near his personal chambers. His own strength was his final defense.
Tsukiko adjusted the mask, lowered her voice, and knocked.
A pause followed.
Then Hanzō's rough voice came through the door. "Who is it?"
"Root," Tsukiko answered in a flat, respectful tone. "A secret message from Lord Danzō regarding changes to tomorrow's operation."
Silence.
Then the click of a lock.
"Enter."
The door opened.
The study inside was dim, cold, and severe.
Hanzō sat behind a desk, masked as always, his gaze sharp enough to cut. One hand rested near his weapon. He had not yet moved, but his body was ready.
"What does Danzō want now?" he asked. "The meeting is tomorrow."
Tsukiko walked forward with measured steps.
"The plan has changed."
Hanzō's eyes narrowed. "Changed how?"
Tsukiko stopped.
Then slowly lifted her head.
A light laugh slipped from behind the white mask.
"It means," she said, "today is a better day."
Hanzō's hand tightened.
"For what?"
Tsukiko's voice turned bright and cruel.
"For deciding whether you die... or become useful."
Hanzō moved instantly.
His weapon flashed toward her throat with the speed of a veteran killer.
But Tsukiko's eyes beneath the mask opened wide.
The crimson pattern within them spun.
The world tilted.
His attack lost its meaning.
One heartbeat later, Hanzō found himself staring directly into a pair of burning red eyes at close range.
His body locked.
The study vanished.
In its place came illusion.
Blood-red moonlight.
Shadows twisting like snakes.
Endless pressure crashing down on his mind.
"The Sharingan—?!" Hanzō's thoughts shook.
Impossible.
He tried to resist.
He tried to break free.
But Tsukiko was already in front of him, one hand pressing firmly against his mask, the other touching his forehead.
Her voice lost all pretense and returned to its natural tone—young, clear, and utterly confident.
"Stop fighting, old man."
"You should be honored."
"When you wake up, you'll be the most loyal watchdog Akatsuki has ever had."
Her chakra poured into him.
Not to destroy.
To rewrite.
To bend.
To seal obedience deep inside the cracks of his consciousness.
Hanzō's struggle weakened.
His sharp eyes lost focus.
The weapon slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a hard metallic clang.
For several long seconds, the only sound in the room was the rain beating against the tower.
Then Tsukiko stepped back.
She pulled off the pale mask, wiped the sweat from her forehead, and looked at the now-empty-eyed ruler of Amegakure.
A slow smile spread across her face.
Hanzō the Salamander had fallen without a single cry leaving his lips.
The trap meant for Akatsuki had just become Akatsuki's greatest advantage.
Tsukiko placed both hands on her hips and admired her work.
"Perfect," she said cheerfully.
Then she tilted her head and looked at Hanzō as though inspecting a tool she had just repaired.
"Now then, Lord Hanzō... let's see how many useful things you can do for us."
Outside, the rain still fell over the Land of Rain.
But from that moment on, the balance of power had already begun to change.
The enemy thought they were preparing to hunt Akatsuki.
They had no idea that Tsukiko had already reached the hunter first.
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