Konoha.
Hokage Office.
Orochimaru sat in the corner of the office, his golden eyes fixed on the television screen as the broadcast played. His snake-like tongue flickered briefly across his lips, betraying his restlessness. The words of Namikaze Mirai reverberated in the room, drowning out even the faint hum of the equipment.
He swallowed slowly, then muttered, "Mirai-kun, it's quite a cruel move, isn't it?"
Mirai's statement was not just a rebuttal — it was a complete dismantling of Tendō Pain's declaration. Every line cut sharper than a blade, tearing apart the image of the so-called "god". The content of Mirai's words completely crushed Pain's.
The damage was irreversible. Even if Pain leapt into a sacred river, he would never wash away the stain of being branded a rice thief.
What stunned Orochimaru even further was the strategic brilliance behind Mirai's maneuver. Not only had Mirai crushed Pain's words with rhetoric, but he had also sealed off the rice market in the Land of Rain.
The Land of Fire's food market was the largest in the entire shinobi world. Recently, with the introduction of hybrid rice and the establishment of agricultural cooperatives, the supply had skyrocketed. Grain merchants from across the nations had flocked to the Fire Country, eager to seize their share.
Now, Konoha effectively controlled the grain trade in most of the ninja world. And with a single declaration, Namikaze Mirai had closed the doors on the Land of Rain's access to it.
It was a combination strike — first rhetorical, then economic. The result? Pain had been cornered without a single kunai drawn.
Orochimaru leaned back in his chair, his thin lips curving into something between a smile and a grimace. "I'm afraid Pain is about to feel pain, hehehe."
The image of that aloof leader with the godlike eyes being repeatedly dismantled by Mirai was, to Orochimaru, equal parts amusing and unsettling.
In truth, he found it incredible. Namikaze Mirai seemed born to restrain Pain.
Yet Mirai himself remained calm. Standing near the window, arms folded, he did not share Orochimaru's amusement. His voice was steady, almost cold.
"Orochimaru, don't forget. Our target is the Rinnegan."
The ambition behind those words was unwavering. Mirai never lost sight of his true objective. He wanted to bring back Minato and Kushina, and for that he needed the eyes that governed life and death.
The Rinnegan, the pinnacle of ocular power, was his key.
Orochimaru's golden eyes narrowed. For the first time in years, he felt an odd twinge of sympathy. If Tendō Pain knew that Namikaze Mirai targeted him not because of ideology or personal hatred, but simply because of the eyes he carried… wouldn't that drive him to spit out blood?
The Rinnegan — an artifact countless shinobi would kill for, a symbol of godhood — had become the very source of disaster for Pain.
And indeed, in a distant hidden place, Nagato himself was staring blankly at the frozen television broadcast.
After Namikaze Mirai's announcement, he had tried to release a counterstatement, desperate to recover his image. But no matter how many times he attempted, it was useless. The broadcast had been locked in place.
Mirai's call for the shinobi world to boycott "Pain, the Rice Thief" played on loop endlessly.
Nagato's fists trembled, but there was no fixing it. He did not understand the science, but the reality was simple — television signals were merely electromagnetic waves across a frequency band. Under Mirai's control of electromagnetism, no transmission could override his broadcast.
It was ironclad.
Nagato clenched his teeth. After a long, suffocating silence, he finally muttered to himself, "Then… we must adapt."
He reconvened the Akatsuki meeting.
…
The cave of the Gedo Statue was as cold and heavy as always, but the atmosphere among the members was heavier still.
The silhouettes standing on the fingers of the statue exchanged uneasy glances. No one wanted to speak first. The leader's authority had taken a blow, and though none dared mock him, all could feel the weight of Mirai's declaration pressing down on the organization.
The statement Pain had made not only failed, it had been crushed and overwritten. And now, the televisions across the shinobi world played nothing but Mirai's declaration, twenty-four hours a day, hammering the rice thief stigma deeper into their leader's name.
Finally, Tendō Pain spoke. His voice was low, resonant, and carried no room for debate.
"Akatsuki must recruit new members."
The others blinked. Kakuzu's brow furrowed.
Recruit? At this time?
Pain continued, his tone unshaken. "Our situation is unfavorable. If we wish to reverse it, we must expand our strength."
Konan stepped forward, her paper wings spreading wide. From her arms she released several documents, carried carefully to each of the members. The papers fluttered like origami birds before landing in the hands of each shinobi.
Kakuzu flipped through his copy, his eyes narrowing. It listed the potential recruits — names, backgrounds, abilities. His gaze stopped at the first photograph, and his frown deepened.
A boy. Barely past adolescence. Wet behind the ears.
'Can someone like this really join Akatsuki?' Kakuzu thought grimly. But the leader had spoken, and to refute him openly was to invite disaster.
One by one, the others scanned their targets. Konan returned to Pain's side, her expression unreadable.
"If there are no objections, then begin." Pain commanded.
…
As the meeting dissolved, Obito emerged elsewhere. A swirling vortex opened atop a tree, depositing him in the shadows. From the trunk below, White Zetsu sprouted, his casual grin contrasting with the tension in the air.
"Obito." came the dark, rumbling voice of Black Zetsu, "Nagato has been acting strange lately."
White Zetsu chuckled. "He's sulking. Must be hard losing so badly to Namikaze Mirai."
Obito's scarlet Sharingan glowed through the slit of his mask. His gaze was sharp, heavy with unspoken weight.
Nagato had always called himself a god. He believed only he could save the shinobi world, and the Rinnegan was his proof. But Mirai's existence had shattered that illusion piece by piece.
And Obito knew better than anyone what it meant to stand against Mirai. He remembered all too well the battle where his Kamui, the power he had always considered invincible, was countered and destroyed by Mirai's overwhelming large-scale electromagnetic attacks.
For thirty minutes he had been suppressed, unable to retaliate. Had it not been for the fallback of his three-tomoe Sharingan, ready to invoke Izanagi, he would have died.
Even recalling it now made his chest tighten. The fear Namikaze Mirai inspired in him was suffocating.
Others might not know, but Obito did. He was Minato's disciple. He was the man who caused the Nine-Tails' attack, who killed Minato and Kushina. If Mirai ever discovered that truth…
The thought of being targeted by him made Obito feel as though a sword hung perpetually above his neck — sharp, merciless, ready to fall.
White Zetsu tilted his head. "Obito, you okay? You look pale."
Obito exhaled, steadying himself. "It's fine. Let's move."
Their destination was the Land of Water. There was someone there Obito had been watching, someone who could tip the scales if brought into Akatsuki's ranks.
…
Meanwhile, in another corner of the world, Kakuzu and his partner moved toward the Land of Hot Springs.
The journey was long, but at last they arrived. The Land of Hot Springs, known for its peace, was a remote nation where news traveled slowly. Few here cared for the politics of larger nations.
Yet even here, Pain's reputation preceded him.
Descending with Konan, Tendō Pain spotted the target. A young man, whistling casually, carrying a massive triple-bladed scythe across his shoulders. Hidan — his eyes wild, his expression unrestrained.
"The target is in sight." Pain declared, landing before him. His voice was calm, commanding. "I am Pain, leader of Akatsuki. I am here to recruit—"
But before he could finish, Hidan pointed directly at him, his grin feral.
"I know you!" he shouted. "You're the rice thief, Pain!"
Pain froze mid-sentence. Konan's expression faltered, her paper wings stiffening in shock.
Even here? Even in the far-off Land of Hot Springs, the cursed title had reached?
The stain of "rice thief" had spread farther than they imagined.
*****
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