"I want you to head to Sunagakure immediately. Deliver this letter to the Third Kazekage himself and await his answer," Mizuki Ryosuke said solemnly, handing the sealed scroll to Momochi Zabuza.
"Understood."
Zabuza took the scroll without hesitation and immediately departed, leaping into the rain-soaked distance toward the Land of Wind.
After he left, Ryosuke and Hoshigaki Kisame's attention turned to the shivering red-haired boy beside them.
"It's him."
A grotesque white figure emerged quietly from beneath the soil. It was a spore clone of White Zetsu, the eerie being who had been observing the small family from underground. His voice, casual yet chilling, cut through the silence like a kunai.
Ryosuke nodded slightly, his eyes narrowing behind the reflective surface of his Ice Mirror Technique, which had been recording the entire event from above. He had witnessed everything without a flicker of emotion.
Earlier that day, on the outskirts of a forgotten Rain Country village, a red-haired couple worked their modest farm. The man was former Uzushiogakure shinobi, having once served during the Warring States Period. Though now out of practice, the way he subtly gripped a kunai tucked behind his back showed he still retained the instincts of a ninja. The woman, too, had chakra in her blood, but both had chosen a quiet life for the sake of their son.
The child bright red hair, curious violet eyes played in the mud nearby. Uzumaki Nagato.
"Mom, Dad! Ninjas!" he cried suddenly, sensing two dark silhouettes approaching along the narrow trail.
The two Konoha shinobi under false identities landed silently before the family, forehead protectors gleaming under the drizzle. The man stepped in front of his wife and son protectively, his free hand tensing around the kunai.
"What business do shinobi of Konoha have here?" he asked warily.
"We're not here for you," one of the masked men replied coldly. "Hand over the child."
The mother screamed and formed a seal, but before she could activate a jutsu, the second shinobi flashed forward and delivered a swift strike to her neck, knocking her out instantly.
The man lunged with his kunai, only to be kicked away effortlessly. Blood spattered across the wet soil as he collapsed, unconscious.
"You bastards!!!" Nagato screamed.
"Sleep."
The shinobi placed his palm on the boy's forehead, using a simple genjutsu to force him into unconsciousness.
As they turned to leave, White Zetsu appeared again, chuckling. "Sure enough, it's him the one with the Rinnegan. I'll inform the main body."
Ryosuke, high above, watched impassively through the mirror. He made no move to intervene. He had not ordered the deaths of the parents he had left them alive, barely but he also knew their fate was sealed in this merciless world. In the next instant, Zetsu's arm morphed into a blade and pierced both unconscious parents' hearts.
"This is a cruel world," Ryosuke muttered. "And yet, there can only be one 'true heart.'"
Moments later, Ryosuke descended quietly into the now-silent field. He examined the bodies with fleeting pity. The parents had long abandoned the battlefield but the battlefield had not forgotten them.
Deep underground, White Zetsu's main body grinned. "The kid's been secured. Nagato is on the move."
Meanwhile, Hoshigaki Kisame and Kaguya Yuta, still stationed in Amegakure, exchanged glances as the news reached them. They both recalled Zabuza's earlier assignment and the nature of that mission had just taken on a darker tone.
"Looks like he's not just running errands," Kisame muttered.
"Hmmph. We'll see who gets the next 'S-rank' assignment," Yuta growled.
In the Land of Rain's Hanzō Mansion, Ryosuke stood with his arms folded as a courier ninja approached with urgent news.
"My lord! The boy with ripple-patterned eyes he's been taken!"
"I know," Ryosuke replied calmly. "And now… the world will start to change."
The Second Great Ninja War was on the horizon. But before that, debts from the past needed to be paid and tools for the future needed to be secured.
This boy, this Nagato, would be one of those tools. A spark ignited in the shadows of a cruel world.
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