BOOM!!
Rain poured relentlessly as thunder split the sky.
One…
Two…
Three…
Four…
Six or seven hunched figures slowly shuffled toward them.
Like soaked vultures drawn to carrion, every pair of eyes was fixed upon the bundles carried by Unkawa and the two children.
“They must still have food…” “Look at that little boy…
He’s so healthy…” “My daughter is dying…
Please…
just give me something to eat…” They muttered their desires beneath the cover of the rain.
The whispers sounded like leaves rustling in a cold wind.
To Yahiko and Konan, however…
They sounded like devils whispering through clenched teeth.
“Damn it!” Yahiko gripped an old, rusted kunai whose tip had been painstakingly sharpened.
Veins bulged across the backs of his hands as he shouted, “What are you trying to do?!” “This food…” “We risked our lives to get it!” “I…
I can’t give it to you!” His face burned with anger and grief.
Yet his violently trembling hands and ragged breathing betrayed the despair consuming him.
Just as Unkawa had said…
This was reality.
A world trapped in endless war.
A nation beyond saving.
Yahiko had believed the Daimyo and the leader of Amegakure would protect their people.
Now he understood.
There was no place in this country for people like them.
Even if he managed to protect this food today…
Would he spend the rest of his life surviving like a rat?
Like a stray dog?
That chilling despair seeped into his bones.
His grip on the kunai weakened.
At that moment— Someone in the crowd could no longer restrain themselves.
“Give it to me!!” Yahiko’s pupils widened.
A man lunged toward him.
It was the same man who had moments ago begged for food, claiming his daughter was starving.
For an instant…
Yahiko froze.
The desperate roar seemed to stretch into eternity.
“How tragic…” “The unfortunate so often create people even more unfortunate than themselves.” A hand entered Yahiko’s vision.
Long fingers.
Strong joints.
They rested gently upon the man’s face.
“No!” Yahiko shouted instinctively.
Too late.
Or rather…
Unkawa simply didn’t care.
Who do you think you are?
And who do you think I am?
CRACK…
CRACK…
CRACK!!
The sound of bones splintering echoed through the rain.
The man never even managed to scream.
His skull slowly caved inward beneath Unkawa’s grip.
Then— It burst apart.
Blood and brain matter splashed across Yahiko’s stunned face.
In a single exchange…
The man became a corpse.
Everyone surrounding them froze.
The horrifying sound of a skull being crushed…
The sheer brutality of what they had witnessed…
Sent chills racing through every survivor present.
But…
It was only the beginning.
Slash!
Before anyone could react, Unkawa smoothly reversed his grip on the short sword.
The blade swept outward.
Several heads flew into the air.
Greed still lingered upon their faces.
Only after a heartbeat of silence did the bodies collapse like stalks of wheat cut at harvest.
Blood erupted skyward like crimson fountains.
When the rain settled…
Only one refugee remained standing.
A frail, emaciated figure trembling uncontrollably in terror.
“…Why?” Yahiko’s pale face flushed with an unhealthy redness.
He slowly turned toward Unkawa.
His voice was dry.
“They…” “They only wanted to live.” “How could you…” Unkawa lowered his gaze.
For the first time…
Disappointment appeared in his eyes.
So this is the original founder of the Akatsuki…
What an immature child.
In a place like this…
Had Yahiko never met Nagato, he would have died sooner or later.
If not at Hanzo’s hands…
Then because of his own innocence.
Because this was the shinobi world.
A living hell.
That was the conclusion Unkawa had reached after witnessing it with his own eyes.
The true foundation of the shinobi world was not bonds.
It was war.
It was hatred, endlessly perpetuating itself.
Here…
Killing was routine.
Missing-nin.
Bandits.
Human experimentation.
Political purges.
The destruction of entire nations.
The extermination of entire clans.
Peace?
That was a luxury only the great nations could afford.
They occupied the richest lands in the world.
Even the poorest of the Five Great Shinobi Villages—Sunagakure—possessed resources, ninjutsu, secret techniques, and generations of accumulated strength that small countries could never hope to match.
Bonds?
That was a privilege reserved for the story’s heroes.
They grew up protected by powerful barrier techniques.
Among countless ninjutsu and secret arts, there would always be one suited to them.
Even when leaving their villages on missions, they traveled under the protection of their teachers.
The great nations never fought wars on their own soil.
Instead…
They turned smaller countries into chessboards.
They shifted the cost of war onto others.
Even so…
Tsunade, the greatest medical ninja of her era, still lost Dan to the battlefield.
Even with Orochimaru nearby…
Nawaki still wandered into an explosive trap and died.
Those were elite shinobi from powerful nations.
They still suffered endless tragedies.
How much less hope did ordinary civilians from small countries have?
Before war…
Common people were simply too fragile.
When starvation and death cornered people…
Robbing others of food first required that there be food to steal.
But if there was no food…
What then?
Thud.
“N-No!” “Please don’t kill me!” “I didn’t eat any!” “I didn’t eat the meat!” “They’re the ones who did!” “I swear!” “Please don’t kill me!” The last refugee collapsed to his knees, trembling as he screamed.
His words struck Yahiko like lightning.
The little color that had returned to his face vanished.
He stared blankly at Unkawa.
The starving father.
The dying daughter.
Those lifeless eyes.
Those hollow expressions.
…So you had already noticed?
Unkawa narrowed his eyes.
A cold smile crossed his face.
“You’re a selfish, childish brat.” “You pray the world will unfold exactly as you wish.” “And then you shamelessly call that innocence.” “Perhaps you believe that after the rain…” “…everything becomes clean again.” “That good and evil alike can simply begin anew.” He looked at Yahiko.
“But let me tell you something.” “No matter how long this rain falls…” “…it is still only rain.” “When tomorrow comes…” “The world will be filthy all over again.” Konan stood silently behind them.
Watching the living hell spread before her eyes…
She felt something she had always believed in quietly shatter.
Flowers of hope could never bloom…
Not in a place watered by so much blood.
As that thought crossed her mind…
She looked toward the young man standing before her.
What kind of place…
…had he come from?