"Tch! If you're gonna keep secrets, screw it! It's not like I actually wanted to know, you bastards!"
Hidan kicked a loose stone, sending it skittering into the darkness. He threw his scythe over his shoulder, the metal clanking loudly against his back.
"Instead of wasting my time listening to some civilian nerd lecture us, I might as well go offer a few prayers to Lord Jashin. Someone has to keep the faith around here."
Hidan stomped out of the cave entrance while grumbling. He didn't stop until he found a nice, flat rock protected from the rain by an overhang.
He sat down aggressively, clutched his bloody amulet, and began his ritualistic chanting, completely tuning out the world.
Inside the limestone cavern, the atmosphere shifted instantly.
Kakuzu watched his partner leave, his green eyes narrowing until Hidan was just a speck in the distance. He waited a full minute, listening to the rhythmic, psychotic mumbling echoing from outside.
"He's praying," Kakuzu grunted, turning back to the group. "Once he starts that nonsense, a mountain could collapse next to him and he wouldn't flinch. He definitely won't be eavesdropping."
Kakuzu walked toward Makoto, his heavy footsteps crunching on the gravel. He crossed his massive arms, radiating an aura of menacing pressure.
"Speak," Kakuzu commanded, his voice low and dangerous. "And this better be good. If I smell even a hint of bullshit in this 'perfect plan' of yours, I'll rip your heart out and sell it before you hit the floor."
Makoto didn't flinch.
He adjusted his collar, looking every bit the corporate strategist amidst a den of monsters.
"No problem. But before I begin, I need to baseline our intel. Everyone here is fully aware of how Hidan's ability works, correct?"
Makoto dragged a rickety wooden frame to the center of the cave.
Pain, silent and imposing as a statue, stepped aside to yield the floor. Makoto pulled out a sheaf of papers—crude drawings and handwritten notes—and tacked the first one onto the frame.
It was a low-budget, analog version of a PowerPoint presentation.
"We know," Kakuzu answered flatly, sounding bored.
"Yeah, un, obviously," Deidara scoffed from his perch on a rock, looking like a rebellious teenager.
"That zealot has absolutely no concept of stealth. He screams about his curse to every enemy he meets. Does he not understand that secrecy is the ninja way? It's embarrassing, hm!"
"You're one to talk, bomber," Sasori's raspy voice scraped out from inside the hunched Hiruko puppet. "Your art is literally a giant 'look at me' sign."
"Shut up, danna! Art is an explosion!"
"Focus," Pain's voice cut through the bickering like a blade.
Hidan's Curse Technique was a broken ability. As long as he ingested an enemy's blood and stood in his little circle, he became a human voodoo doll.
Any damage he took was reflected on the victim.
The catch? He needed the blood.
"Hidan is immortal. He won't die from fatal wounds," Makoto said, tapping the paper with a stick.
"But his technique has a bottleneck: obtaining the sample. In a high-speed fight against S-rank opponents, scratching them isn't guaranteed."
Makoto flipped to the next page. It showed a crude drawing of a mosquito.
"My initial draft," Makoto explained, "was to steal the Aburame Clan's secret insect techniques. We'd force Hidan to sign a contract with a summoning beast—specifically, mosquitoes."
"Eugh," Deidara grimaced, swatting at the air around his face as if he could already hear the mosquito buzzing.
"That is disgusting. Bugs are gross, yeah? That's so... unartistic.."
"Agreed," Makoto nodded solemnly. "And it's flawed. If we steal the Aburame secrets, the Leaf goes on high alert. They specialize in anti-insect barriers. Plus, mosquitoes are loud. Too few of them, and you don't get enough blood for the ritual. Too many, and the target notices a black cloud of death approaching. It fails the stealth check."
He paused, looking at the drawing.
"There's also the personality issue. Hidan thinks his body is a temple for Jashin. Asking him to let bugs crawl under his skin? He'd try to sacrifice us for suggesting it. So, Plan A is in the trash."
Makoto ripped the paper off the frame and crumpled it up, tossing it aside.
"I considered other options. Disguising ourselves as a neutral medical charity to host blood donation. But that takes too long and leaves a paper trail."
Despite the absurdity of the situation—a civilian giving a lecture to the world's most dangerous criminals using drawings on a blackboard—the Akatsuki were captivated.
Makoto spoke with a strange rhythm, a mix of logic and madness that fit right in.
"Finally," Makoto said, pinning up a new sheet of paper.
This one had a large question mark on it.
"I settled on the perfect plan. It is efficient, undetectable, and creates a global hostage situation overnight. The only flaw? Hidan must never, ever know where the blood comes from."
He turned and pointed a finger directly at the strange, plant-like creature protruding from the ground.
"Zetsu."
"Hm?"
The two halves of Zetsu spoke in unison. Black Zetsu narrowed his singular yellow eye, while White Zetsu looked curiously.
"You are the organization's intelligence network," Makoto stated. "You can merge with the earth and travel instantly. Your infiltration and stealth capabilities are unrivaled in the world. Correct?"
Makoto was stroking the ego of the spy.
He knew Zetsu's true nature, but the others didn't. They needed to understand that Zetsu could go where no one else could.
"I can," White Zetsu chirped happily. "I can go anywhere! Walls, barriers, bathrooms—no problem!"
"Exactly," Makoto smiled. "The Five Great Villages rely on sensory barriers. But you can bypass them by copying the chakra signature of a ninja returning from a mission. Or just slipping in during maintenance."
"Sure, sure," White Zetsu nodded. "But what do you want me to do inside the villages? Kill the Kage?"
"No," Makoto said, his face dead serious. "I want you to visit the public restrooms. Specifically, the women's restrooms used by high-ranking kunoichi."
The cave suddenly went silent.
"Eh?" White Zetsu tilted his head, his expression a mix of confusion and genuine shyness.
"Restrooms? You... you aren't going to make me collect poop, are you? Tobi might like that kind of joke, but I have standards!"
"Uh, no."
The corner of Makoto's mouth twitched violently.
'Jesus, these guys are freaks.'
"I need blood, Zetsu. And as we all know, biology dictates that women... shed blood. Every month. Like clockwork."
Konan, who had been listening intently with her arms crossed, suddenly stiffened.
Her amber eyes widened.
"Don't look at me," she hissed.
Makoto wisely snapped his head away, focusing back on his "audience" of men.
It couldn't be helped.
The Akatsuki was a sausage fest.
He tapped the board again, speaking rapidly to bypass the awkwardness.
"Think about it! Zetsu infiltrates the waste disposal systems. He collects the used sanitary products—pads, tampons, whatever they use. He labels them, seals them, and brings them back."
He spread his arms wide, like a prophet revealing a miracle.
"Combined with Hidan's curse, we don't need to fight. We hold the lifeline of every major kunoichi in the world. The Mizukage? The Hokage's assistant? We have their blood. If they refuse our demands, Hidan stabs himself in the ass, and the Mizukage drops dead in her office. It is the ultimate assassination tool!"
Silence.
Absolute, deafening silence!
Even the dripping of water from the stalactites seemed to stop.
Konan looked like she wanted to vomit.
In that instant, she made a solemn vow to herself: from this day forward, she would incinerate every piece of trash she produced with explosive tags.
No exceptions.
The man was a lunatic
A practical lunatic, but a lunatic nonetheless.
"Hey, Konan," Makoto said, noticing Konan's murderous glare. "What's with that look? It's a strategic proposal! Does anyone see a tactical flaw here?"
"There is a problem, you pervert," Konan said, taking a deep breath to stop herself from turning him into confetti. "What about the men? This plan only targets the female population. The most powerful shinobi are often male."
Makoto smirked. He had been waiting for this!
"Ah, excellent question. But fear not. Anatomy is on our side."
He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Statistics show that nine out of ten men over the age of fifty suffer from... hemorrhoids."
"Hah?" Kisame would have laughed if he were there.
"Take the Third Tsuchikage, Onoki," Makoto continued, gesturing wildly. "The man is ancient. His back gives out when he picks up a rock. Do you honestly think his digestive system is in prime condition? It's a battlefield down there! When he wipes his ass, he bleeds. Zetsu just needs to collect the... evidence."
"Oh my god," Deidara's eyes lit up like Christmas lights.
He started vibrating with excitement. "You're right! That old geezer definitely has hemorrhoids! I bet he cries on the toilet! Hah! That is art!"
Deidara looked ready to fly to the Stone Village and collect the sample himself just to spite his former master.
"So perverted..." Konan face-palmed, massaging her temples.
She was surrounded by idiots!
"As for the Raikage," Makoto shrugged. "He's built like a tank, so he might have an iron ass. We might miss a few targets. But generally speaking? We can collect samples from almost anyone. A bloody nose, a shaving accident, a scraped knee. Zetsu is the ultimate garbage man here."
Kakuzu was staring at the board, doing mental math. He didn't care about the gross factor. He cared about the bottom line.
"This is why Hidan cannot know," Kakuzu said, his voice rumbling with approval. "If that religious nutjob found out he was channeling his 'Holy Curse' using... menstrual waste and hemorrhoid blood... he would lose his mind."
"Exactly," Makoto nodded. "He would view it as the ultimate blasphemy. He'd probably try to kill us all."
"But if he doesn't know..." Kakuzu's eyes glinted with greed. "It's free. No risk. High reward. We tell him it's the blood of a virgin sacrifice or something. He's stupid enough to believe it."
Sasori let out a low, mechanical chuckle.
"For the first time in my life," Sasori rasped, "I am truly grateful that I turned myself into a puppet. I have no blood for you to collect, and I certainly don't have hemorrhoids."