Since the last interrogation, Nawaki had been a little out of his mind, constantly muttering strange things like the Ten Cruel Tortures of Konoha.
It was clear he had suffered quite a bit.
Three days later, Yura approached them again.
"Come with me. Your mission is here."
With those simple words, she turned and walked ahead.
"Based on the information we obtained from that Iwa ninja, we successfully tracked down the Sand Ninja stronghold that attacked us," Yura explained as they followed her. "But by the time we got there, they had already withdrawn."
"In that case, the trail should have gone cold, right?" Tatsumi asked.
Yura sneered. "You underestimate us too much. Even if they tried to erase their tracks, traces always remain. Our captain is an expert at tracking."
Tatsumi nodded, saying nothing. He knew this squad had been searching for the Iwa ninjas for a while now.
Four companions lost in a single ambush—one of them Yura's own brother. That kind of hatred wasn't something that could simply fade with time.
From what Tatsumi had gathered over the past few days, the conflicts between these two groups weren't isolated incidents. Ever since Konoha and Iwagakure began clashing in the Land of Rain, battles between them had become frequent.
Tatsumi had never personally experienced that kind of hatred, but he could understand it.
"Did you catch up with them?" he asked.
"Almost. We only managed to capture one straggler who was scouting at the rear," Yura shook her head.
"So this time, we need your Sharingan," she said, looking at Tatsumi. "We need to extract information quickly."
Tatsumi nodded. The Sharingan was indeed much more efficient than torture.
Descending the familiar spiral staircase, they entered the underground prison once again. The stale air carried the same suffocating scent of dried blood and damp stone.
The previous Iwa captives were gone. It seemed they had been squeezed dry of information—and then disposed of.
On a metal rack in the center of the room, a single ninja was tied up.
He wore an Iwa forehead protector. His face was pale, his tall frame slumped slightly, and streaks of white ran through his hair. He was clearly not young anymore.
Yet, there was no fear in his eyes. No trace of panic.
Instead, an unsettling expression of satisfaction crossed his face, as if he had already won.
Tatsumi frowned. Given Yura's hatred for these Iwa ninjas, there was no way she would show them mercy. So why was this one so calm?
Something was wrong.
Tatsumi stepped forward, preparing to cast a genjutsu with his Sharingan.
Then—
"This is—?!" Tatsumi's eyes widened.
"Everyone, retreat! Now!" he shouted.
Mikoto and Nawaki reacted immediately, leaping backward.
But Yura hesitated for a moment, confused.
Without thinking, Tatsumi grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back.
At the same time, his other hand flicked out several shurikens.
The spinning blades embedded themselves in the Iwa ninja's abdomen and neck.
The man let out a strained laugh, his body swaying.
But he was already beyond saving.
As blood gushed from his wounds, his dimming eyes surveyed the underground chamber.
Blood—so much blood. The walls, the floor, the racks—stained with the lives of his comrades.
Juniors. Friends. Even his own son.
This was where his son had died.
Konoha had been hunting them. But hadn't they been hunting Konoha, too?
How could this cycle of hatred ever be broken?
His eyes burned with rage. Ever since his son was captured, he had longed for revenge.
And now, it was finally here.
His lips curled into a final, triumphant grin.
"Konoha ninjas, this is my gift to you!"
My gift is explosion.
My gift is death.
My gift is hell.
A blinding light flared from his abdomen.
"BOOM!"
A deafening explosion shattered the silence of the night.
---
In a hidden village, a group of Iwa ninjas anxiously waited in the darkness.
Their expressions were tense, their bodies rigid.
Among them, one figure sat at the center, surrounded by the others.
A boy—no older than fourteen or fifteen.
He had a square face, spiky brownish-yellow hair, and rare green eyes that gleamed under the dim light.
Despite his age, he was their captain.
Compared to Konoha and Kirigakure, Iwagakure had far fewer Kekkei Genkai clans.
So when it was discovered that he possessed Explosion Release, he was immediately hailed as a genius.
The Third Tsuchikage had even considered taking him as a disciple.
But his reckless nature, frequent outbursts, and habit of accidentally causing explosions in Iwagakure led to his exile—sent to the Land of Rain to "gain experience."
Originally, he had no reason to fight Konoha.
But he had always wanted to test his strength against the "strongest ninja village."
For such a simple reason, he had provoked them.
And hatred had taken root.
"Captain, Yamamoto was our comrade! You just let him be bait like that?!" one of his men demanded angrily.
The boy's gaze turned cold.
"Are you questioning my decision?" he asked.
The ninja hesitated, but the anger in his eyes did not fade.
"Besides," the boy continued, his voice emotionless, "Yamamoto volunteered. His son was killed. He wanted revenge. That's all."
The ninja fell silent.
At that moment—
A bright light flashed in the distance.
The boy's lips curled into a sharp grin.
He leapt to his feet.
"Success! Hahaha! Konoha's shinobi will die tonight!"
With that, he and his squad disappeared into the darkness, racing toward the explosion.
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