Chapter 10 — Bunpuku and Shukaku
The Kazekage's chamber was vast and austere, its walls carved from sandstone that glowed faintly under filtered desert light. Heavy curtains stirred lazily in the dry wind that slipped through narrow slits high above. At the head of the room sat Rasa, newly crowned, the Fourth Kazekage.
He wore the Kazekage's hat with deliberate precision, its white cloth falling neatly over his shoulders. His posture was perfectly upright, hands resting calmly on the armrests of his chair. Authority radiated from him—not loudly, but with the weight of someone who believed he alone carried the fate of the Sand Village.
His sharp eyes fixed on the boy standing below.
"Sarutobi Seiki," Rasa said coldly. "Is this Konoha's true intention?"
The accusation was direct, devoid of pleasantries.
Seiki merely smiled, shrugging lightly as though the atmosphere weren't suffocating.
"I helped Grandma Chiyo eliminate a major threat to the Sand Village. And this is how the Kazekage responds? Suspicion instead of gratitude?" He tilted his head slightly. "That's… disappointing."
A faint twitch crossed Rasa's brow.
"Do not assume that being the grandson of the Third Hokage grants you immunity in my village."
Before the final word left his lips, his hands flashed through a series of seals.
Golden sand shimmered into existence, gathering in the air like liquid sunlight. In the next instant, it condensed into a massive arm—dense, gleaming, and deadly. It shot forward with explosive speed and wrapped around Seiki's throat.
The grip was crushing.
Sand tightened like iron, lifting Seiki slightly off the ground. The pressure around his neck restricted airflow, compressing his windpipe. To any ordinary shinobi, it would have been agony.
Rasa was holding back. He could not risk killing the Third Hokage's grandson outright. Provoking a war with Konoha on his first day as Kazekage would be political suicide.
Still, Rasa's thoughts were calculating.
If Sasori is lost… controlling the Third Hokage's grandson may yet shift the balance.
He was unaware that Seiki had willingly transformed himself into a living puppet earlier to assist Chiyo in defeating Sasori's Third Kazekage puppet. In Rasa's eyes, Seiki was merely a talented boy with an influential surname.
"Will Jiraiya return with Sasori in three days?" Rasa demanded.
Even with his throat constricted, Seiki forced out a half-laugh.
"Should be fine… as long as no meddling idiots interfere."
The faint mockery in his tone ignited Rasa's temper.
The golden sand tightened.
A surge of crushing force bore down on Seiki's neck and chest. With a choked gasp, he spat out a mouthful of blood that splattered across the polished floor.
Feigning strained admiration, Seiki rasped,
"Impressive… so this is the strength capable of suppressing a Tailed Beast."
Rasa raised an eyebrow, clearly not understanding the hidden meaning in his words.
I see… so the One-Tail, Shukaku, is still inside Bunpuku.
Seiki had intentionally injured himself to draw the information from Rasa.
By the time Gaara was born in two years, three previous jinchūriki had failed. Shukaku was likely close to going berserk…
Seiki, familiar with Rasa's temper, had already concealed a blood pouch in his mouth.
In the past, with insufficient strength and a habit of peeping in the women's bath, he often had to feign injury or even death to survive. Those were tearful days.
Now, though, his physical durability had reached an absurd level. The pressure from Rasa's golden sand only felt uncomfortable.
Still, he played his role convincingly.
After a long moment, Rasa withdrew the golden arm. The sand dissipated into glittering dust that fell to the ground.
"Sarutobi Seiki," he said icily, "I will not kill you—for now. But if Jiraiya fails to return within three days… my patience may expire."
He attempted to look dignified and imposing.
Unfortunately, the bloodstained floor and the sight of a "barely breathing" child somewhat diminished the effect.
Seiki staggered backward, leaning against the wall as if barely able to stand. He wiped blood from his lips, eyes flashing with a convincing mixture of indignation and suppressed fear.
"Baki," Rasa ordered without looking away from Seiki, "take him to the detention facility."
Baki stepped forward immediately. His expression remained neutral, though his gaze lingered on Seiki with quiet curiosity.
"Come," he said cautiously.
---
The Sand Village's secret detention facility lay deep beneath layers of stone and reinforced barriers. The air grew cooler and heavier as they descended, the scent of dust mixing with iron.
Yura was assigned guard duty that day.
When he saw Seiki approaching in chains, a slow, malicious grin crept across his face. But with Baki present, he forced himself to appear professional.
"Baki, leave him to me," Yura said smoothly. "I'll ensure he's watched properly."
"Don't cause trouble," Baki warned flatly. "If anything happens, you won't be able to shoulder the consequences."
Clearly eager to rid himself of the responsibility, Baki did not linger.
The moment Yura placed a hand on Seiki's shoulder, he squeezed—hard.
His fingers dug in, chakra subtly reinforcing his grip. He increased the pressure gradually, hoping to see pain twist the boy's expression.
He squeezed.
And squeezed.
Nothing.
Seiki's face remained as calm as if he feels nothing.
Sweat formed along Yura's temple. His forearm began to tremble from exertion.
"Baki… are you feeling unwell?" Baki asked casually, noticing Yura's strained posture.
"Huh? N-no," Yura stammered, quickly releasing his grip. He shoved Seiki forward into a cell with unnecessary force.
---
"I don't like disturbances," Seiki said lightly. "Arrange a single room."
He spoke as though checking into an inn rather than a prison.
Yura's lips curled into a thin smile. "Of course."
Instead of granting the request, he led Seiki to a large shared chamber and shoved him inside.
"Sorry," Yura said mockingly. "Rooms are tight. You'll be sharing with… it."
The heavy door clanged shut.
Seiki turned.
In the center of the dimly lit room sat an elderly monk, cross-legged, motionless as a statue. His brows were long and white, drooping nearly to his cheeks. His robes were simple, worn thin by time. Despite the prison walls, he radiated an aura of tranquil acceptance.
Jackpot.
Feigning displeasure, Seiki wrinkled his nose.
"Brother, could I switch rooms? I despise two types of people—old men and monks."
Outside, Yura burst into laughter.
"Serves you right! Enjoy your stay with it! I've got things to do—don't die on me!"
He paused before leaving and added with relish,
"Kid, best not sleep tonight. You might not wake up. Consider that friendly advice from Yura! Hahaha!"
His footsteps faded.
Seiki smirked inwardly. No wonder this idiot ends up dying under someone else's control.
Inside the cell, the old monk slowly opened his eyes.
"Child," he said gently, voice calm as flowing water, "do not be afraid. I will not harm anyone."
Seiki tilted his head.
"Then why did he call you a monster?"
He sat cross-legged in the corner, mirroring the monk's posture.
The old man observed him quietly.
"You… do not know that I am the One-Tail's jinchūriki?"
"Honestly," Seiki replied candidly, "I'm not from the Sand Village."
The monk fell silent.
There was no fear or hatred in the boy's gaze—only curiosity.
Within the old man, a deep, gravelly voice scoffed.
This one… his heart resembles that of the Sage of Six Paths, Shukaku mused grudgingly. And yet he stands outside the cage while you rot within it, Bunpuku. How ironic.
Bunpuku's breathing remained steady—not labored, not weak.
Complicated, Seiki thought. Shukaku won't go berserk for at least a year. Am I supposed to stay imprisoned that long?
Night descended quickly in the desert. Moonlight filtered faintly through a narrow slit high in the wall.
Seiki placed the prison meal in front of Bunpuku.
The monk did not touch it.
He seemed intent on fasting, continuing his quiet cultivation despite iron bars and stone walls.
"Old monk," Seiki said softly, breaking the silence. "What's your name?"
Bunpuku's eyes opened again.
"You wish to know my name?"
"Of course. Meeting someone is fate. I'm Sarutobi Seiki—from Konoha."
"Fate…" Bunpuku murmured.
A faint laugh escaped him. It had been so long since anyone cared to ask his name that the question felt foreign.
"What… was my name again…"
Inside him, Shukaku let out a sharp, mocking cackle.
"Hah! You've even forgotten your own name, Bunpuku. Pathetic."
A flicker of recognition crossed the monk's face.
"Yes… Bunpuku. That is my name."
Though he spoke aloud, his gratitude was directed inward.
Old friend… thank you for remembering it for me.
For a fleeting moment, Shukaku's ferocious expression softened. He turned away within the sealed space, refusing to look at the frail human who had shared his prison for so many years.
"Shukaku… what is wrong?" Bunpuku asked quietly within his mind.
"Bunpuku-sama… are you alright?" Seiki asked aloud, noticing the monk's distant gaze.
"I am fine," Bunpuku replied gently. "Probably…"
He offered a faint smile.
But somewhere deep within his aged eyes lay a quiet understanding.
His time was nearing its end.
And the only thing he worried about… was what would become of Shukaku after he was gone.
*****
TL note: In case u guys didn't know like me—Bunpuku was an elderly, kind-hearted priest of Sunagakure and the first known jinchūriki of the One-Tailed Shukaku. As a pacifist, he treated the feared beast with respect and kindness, forming a friendly bond with it—reminding Shukaku of the Sage of Six Paths—and never succumbing to mental degradation. However, he's the first jinchūriki, not the second nameless jinchūriki before Gara. The Timeline is slightly off, but I don't think it'll affect the story much.