Chapter 116: The Ironclad Black Zetsu, the Ever-Changing Number One
In the Land of Wind, the harsh desert sun beat down mercilessly on the Hidden Sand Village. Ever since the failed ambush orchestrated by Shamon, the political landscape of Sunagakure had been violently upended. Kazushi had not only slaughtered Shamon, the Second Kazekage, but had also ruthlessly purged every single noble family that dared to support his regime.
As a result, the entire Hidden Sand Village now rested firmly in the palm of her hand.
Under Kazushi's vigorous, almost tyrannical push for infrastructure development, Sunagakure underwent earth-shaking transformations. Scaffolding climbed the sandstone cliffs, and new trade routes were carved through the dunes. Interestingly, despite the fact that Chiyo and Ebizo had actively contributed to the recent assassination attempt against her, Kazushi did not hold them accountable.
After all, human nature was predictable. Forced to choose between a lifelong teacher who shared their ideals and a companion who had merely appeared halfway through their journey, anyone would focus on their mentor.
Of course, that was just the poetic excuse. The real reason Kazushi spared them was purely pragmatic: Chiyo and Ebizo were highly valuable, named characters who were destined to live all the way into the Shippuden era. To a shameless manipulator, they were premium, high-yield NPCs perfectly suited for farming emotional mood values.
Shamon? He was just a background stepping stone. Killing him to establish absolute authority was a necessary evil, but offing two major plot pillars was simply bad business.
Therefore, Kazushi graciously subjected the siblings to another round of intensive brainwashing. She adopted a deeply forgiving, melancholic tone, feeding them the narrative of: "Even though you betrayed our shared ideals, I know you were forced into it against your will."
With Shamon dead and buried beneath the sands, the guilt-ridden siblings naturally fell in line, becoming Kazushi's most loyal subordinates.
Later that week, after a productive trip to the Research Institute to inspect the latest advancements in puppet design, Kazushi received a highly classified intelligence scroll. It was routed through a deep-cover spy stationed in the Land of Fire—not one of Stelle's personal plants, but an operative from the Hidden Sand's own native espionage network.
She unrolled the parchment. The ink read: Fourth Hokage Ida Stelle is suspected of using a highly dangerous Forbidden Technique, resulting in severe physical backlash. Symptoms include rapid cellular aging, hair turning stark white, and a progressive loss of bodily motor control. Specific details are currently under active investigation.
Kazushi stared at the scroll for three seconds. Then, she slammed her hand onto the wooden desk and burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.
How could any ordinary spy possibly obtain such intimately guarded medical information? It was painfully obvious. That absolute idiot, Black Zetsu, had been thoroughly played by Stelle once again.
He truly was the most pitiful "Number Two Big Brother" in the shinobi world. Black Zetsu's output was always remarkably steady, and his temperament remained stubbornly stable no matter how much he suffered. Because of this, he had gradually cemented his role as the permanent, reliable Number Two in the grand hierarchy of manipulation.
As for the "Number One Big Brother"? That position changed on a weekly basis, entirely dependent on whoever Stelle decided to target and torment next.
Thus, the current dynamic of the ninja world had settled into a hilarious rhythm: the ironclad Black Zetsu, and the ever-changing Number One.
Still, since Black Zetsu had leaked the news to her Sand operatives, the other Great Nations were undoubtedly receiving the exact same fabricated intel. Kazushi pulled out a blank scroll, carefully transcribed the intelligence, and tossed it into her dimensional system space for future use.
By the office window, Uncle Kakuzu was diligently wiping the glass with a rag, his eyes gleaming with the quiet, desperate hope of earning a massive year-end bonus.
Meanwhile, in Konohagakure, the controversy surrounding Jia's supposed slaughter of innocent civilians continued to fester and escalate.
Uchiha Kagami had acted swiftly, pinning the officially investigated truth on the village's central bulletin board for all to see. The evidence cleared Jia completely.
Yet, human psychology remained a deeply flawed, stubborn thing. First impressions struck like lightning, burning themselves into the mind. Subjectively, people found it far easier to blindly trust the horrific scene they had witnessed at first glance rather than a sterile piece of paper telling them they were wrong.
This was especially true for the self-righteous and the arrogant. Even when presented with obvious facts that contradicted their dramatic imaginations, they would nod, claim they understood, and then secretly cling to their original prejudices.
Naturally, basic social restraint kept most of the villagers from physically harming anyone. Their venomous remarks and inappropriate accusations were swallowed down, locked away in their stomachs as private, ugly thoughts.
But that simply wouldn't do. The hidden instigator—Stelle's behind-the-scenes troll persona—and Jia herself actively wanted to stir the pot.
Thus, whenever Jia's cloaked figure appeared on the bustling commercial streets, a few exceptionally eloquent "civilians" hidden within the dense crowds would proactively mutter ambiguous, leading statements. They expertly stoked the glowing embers of fear and loathing, ensuring the village's collective anxiety toward the one-armed girl never truly faded.
When the observant Anbu finally delivered their detailed surveillance reports to the Hokage's office, Stelle leaned back in her chair, reviewing the data. The situation had been fermenting beautifully for several days.
"Issue a strict gag order," Stelle commanded, her voice carrying the absolute authority of the Fourth Hokage. "Tell the populace they are forbidden from discussing this matter any further. Violators will be detained."
As the Anbu flickered away to execute her will, a sly smirk touched Stelle's lips. Pointing fingers and whispering behind someone's back? How could that ever compare to the suffocating, terrifying weight of absolute cold violence? She leaned her chin on her hands, genuinely marveling at her own twisted creativity. She was getting entirely too good at orchestrating these psychological torture chambers.
Was she becoming a bit twisted? Perhaps. But the mood values were simply too delicious to pass up.
Ten days later, the Sannin trio—Jiraiya, Tsunade, and Orochimaru—finally returned to the village gates after completing the lengthy mission Stelle had conveniently sent them on.
As they marched toward the Hokage Building to submit their official report, they noticed a distinct lack of whispers. No one was gossiping about Jia. Assuming the ugly rumors had simply blown over with time, the three teenagers breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Eager to lift their friend's spirits, they agreed to visit Jia's house immediately after, their bags stuffed with exotic snacks and sweets purchased from the Capital.
"By the way, Jia," Tsunade said brightly as they walked, "I have a little brother at home now. He's already two years old! I'm going to take him out to play later, so I'll introduce him to you. He's really super cute; you'll definitely like him."
A younger brother? Jia blinked beneath her hood. Right. Tsunade had a little brother who famously died to a random Explosive Tag the moment he became relevant to the plot. She definitely needed to meet this doomed child.
Jia offered a soft, timid nod. "Sure. Let's go get ready then. Since it's my first time meeting your brother, I need to prepare a very good gift for him."
"Let's all go together!" Tsunade clapped her hands, organizing yet another team gathering. "Since we're going out to play, let's have a picnic by the lake while we're at it. We can buy lots of delicious food on the way!"
The group detoured toward the bustling snack street, purchasing an array of fresh fruits and roasted treats.
But as they walked deeper into the commercial district, Jiraiya's grin faded. Orochimaru's golden eyes narrowed. Something was terribly wrong.
The villagers were indeed no longer pointing fingers at Jia. No one whispered behind her back. It was as if the bloody incident had never occurred.
However, they were doing something infinitely more terrifying than gossiping.
They stared.
Every time Jia passed a storefront or a food stall, the ambient chatter would die. The villagers looked at her with expressions of pure, unadulterated disgust. The raw fear and loathing in their eyes were clear, heavy, and completely undisguised.
Konoha boasted a massive population of ninjas, and since Jia hadn't grown up in the village, very few people actually knew her face. But her silhouette was far too distinctive. Because she was missing her right arm, she perpetually wore an oversized cloak to hide the stump.
The moment a civilian spotted that specific outfit and noticed the flat, empty space where a right arm should be, recognition flashed in their eyes, instantly followed by revulsion.
Whenever Jia approached a crowd, the sea of people would subtly part, treating her like a walking plague. Their silent, glaring expressions screamed: How is this monster still allowed to be a Ninja? Someone who butchers innocent civilians should be rotting in the deepest cell of the Anbu prison.
Stelle's gag order had worked flawlessly, triggering a massive, rebellious psychological backlash among the populace. Initially, only a small, vocal minority actually enjoyed gossiping. But once the Hokage officially forbade the discussion, the paranoid villagers immediately assumed the worst. They concluded that Jia must have slaughtered those people; otherwise, why would the Hokage issue a gag order? It was an obvious government cover-up.
This silent confirmation deepened their prejudice into absolute hatred.
Jiraiya and Tsunade felt their skin crawl from the sheer weight of those venomous stares. If it felt this suffocating for them, they couldn't even begin to imagine the crushing agony Jia must be feeling as the actual target.
Sensing their rising unease, Jia turned to them, offering a painfully gentle, forgiving smile that only made them feel worse.
"Everything is bought. Let's go," she said softly, her voice devoid of any resentment. "I'm fine, really. Everyone just doesn't want to talk to me anymore. It'll get better over time."
With heavy, aching hearts, the three prodigies followed Jia away from the bustling streets, deliberately switching to the quiet, shaded alleys.
Ten days had passed, Tsunade thought, her fists clenching in frustration. Hokage-sama personally suppressed the matter. So why has the hatred actually become so much more severe?
Having agreed on the picnic location, the group temporarily dispersed to their respective homes to gather supplies.
Jia packed a woven basket with a few simple necessities. By the time she arrived at the sunlit clearing near the lake, Tsunade had already spread out a large, checkered picnic blanket and was busy arranging the mountain of food she had brought.
A tiny, energetic two-year-old boy was currently running laps around the blanket, his chubby hands desperately reaching for a plate of sweet treats. But every time he got within striking distance, Tsunade would ruthlessly grab him by the back of his collar and drag him away.
He would huff, puff out his cheeks, and try again, only to be yanked backward once more. The repetitive struggle was incredibly amusing to watch.
Pulled back for the fifth time, Tsunade sighed helplessly. "Nawaki, you already ate a massive bowl of rice before coming here. If you stuff your face with sweets now, your stomach won't be able to handle it."
"I'm clearly still very hungry, you stinky sister!"
The little boy crossed his arms, puffing out his cheeks in supreme indignation. The moment Tsunade turned her head to unpack a thermos, he lunged forward, trying to swipe a pastry.
Jia stepped onto the blanket, leaned down, and scooped Nawaki up into her single arm. The little fellow, suddenly finding his feet dangling in the air, wasn't shy in the slightest. He didn't even struggle.
He looked over his shoulder, realized he was being held by a pretty older sister, and instantly puffed out his chest, speaking with an incredibly smug tone. "Attracted by my overwhelmingly cute appearance, aren't you? Fine. Since you know my sister, I'll reluctantly allow you to hold me. But the toll is that you have to grab that Daifuku for me to eat."
He really was exactly as cute as Tsunade had bragged.
Jia couldn't help herself. She held the warm, squirming child close and nuzzled her cheek vigorously against his until Nawaki's smug facade broke, his lips pouting as if he were about to cry from the overwhelming affection. Only then did she mercifully loosen her grip.
She reached into her cloak with her remaining hand, pulling out a small glass bottle. "I don't have Daifuku, but I do have candy. Do you want some?"
"Yes! Thank you, Big Sister!" Nawaki instantly cheered up, his previous grievances completely forgotten. He eagerly took the piece of candy she offered. Spotting the entire bottle still resting in her palm, the toddler leaned forward and planted a loud, wet peck right on Jia's cheek.
"I want more!"
Jia's heart genuinely melted. No wonder people always claimed children were the ultimate healing items in this brutal world. She tapped her other cheek, demanding one more kiss before happily surrendering the entire bottle of candy to the victorious toddler.
A few moments later, Jiraiya and Orochimaru emerged from the tree line. To be completely honest, Jia felt a little bad dragging Orochimaru out to these social gatherings.
He was a pure, unadulterated academic. Instead of basking in the warm sunlight and listening to birds chirp, he would undoubtedly prefer to be locked in a damp, poorly lit laboratory dissecting something. True to his nature, the absolute second he sat down on the blanket, he pulled a thick, leather-bound medical text from his robes and began reading, completely ignoring the scenic view.
Just as Jia assumed their party was complete, the brush rustled, and Dan Kato unexpectedly stepped into the clearing.
Tsunade looked up, a faint blush dusting her cheeks as she smiled at Jia. "You don't mind an extra person, do you?"
Jia waved her hand dismissively. "The more, the merrier."
Dan Kato truly lived up to his legendary reputation as Konoha's ultimate smooth operator. In the original canon, the man had barely managed a few minutes of screen time, yet he had instantly secured his highlight moment, kissed Tsunade, and made countless readers furiously envious before dying.
He approached the blanket, casually pulling a beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers from his jacket. He placed them into a small glass vase Tsunade had brought, setting it perfectly in the center of the picnic spread.
"How can a beautiful picnic be complete without fresh flowers?" Dan asked, his voice warm and melodic.
Then, as if performing a practiced magic trick, he produced two carefully woven wreaths made from vibrant wildflowers and knelt, offering them forward. "I saw these wildflowers blooming by the road. They were so beautiful that I couldn't help but stop and weave two wreaths. Tsunade, Jia... you won't mind, right?"
"Thank you!" Tsunade accepted hers, her eyes sparkling.
The wreaths were clearly woven with careful care and an eye for aesthetics. Jia took the second one, resting it on her lap and toying with the soft petals. She was definitely reaping the passive benefits of hanging around Tsunade.
This man was dangerously good at manipulating the atmosphere. Arranging flowers, weaving wreaths, speaking with a gentle, respectful grace—he hit every single note that naturally made people feel well-disposed toward him.
Since he had arrived, Tsunade had already smiled several times, and it was that rare, reserved, genuinely bashful smile she almost never showed.
Jia shifted her gaze toward Jiraiya. The white-haired boy simply couldn't sit still. Feeling threatened by Dan's smooth entrance, Jiraiya had loudly declared that he was going to catch fresh fish for them to grill. He currently stood knee-deep in the muddy shallows of the lake, his sleeves rolled up to his shoulders.
He managed to spear two fish with a kunai, turning back toward the picnic blanket to flash Tsunade a massive, foolish grin of triumph.
But as he proudly marched back toward the shore, his foot caught on a slick, mossy rock. His arms flailed wildly in the air for a split second before he pitched backward, crashing into the lake with a spectacular, muddy splash. He surfaced a moment later, coughing up pond water and looking as pathetic as humanly possible.
Jia watched the dripping, miserable boy trudge out of the water. Poor Jiraiya. At this rate, she seriously doubted he would ever manage to win Tsunade over in this lifetime.
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