Volume One, Chapter 12: Infiltration

“Bang!”

A thunderous explosion abruptly echoed through the tranquil night, like a distant rumble of thunder in the sky, heralding the onset of a storm.

“It seems Scorpion’s side has already eagerly stirred up the tempest. How are things on your end, Shisui...”

From the shadows, a deep and powerful voice quietly emerged, tinged with urgency and anticipation.

Beneath the moonlight, the figure’s outline flickered faintly, as if blending seamlessly with the darkness.

“Soon...”

Shisui’s silhouette stretched long under the dim streetlamp, resembling a sharp sword poised to be drawn.

With one hand, he lifted a ninja from the Hidden Sand Village. The ninja’s face was pale, eyes tightly shut, as if trapped in an endless dream.

Shisui’s eyes—the legendary Mangekyo Sharingan—slowly ceased their spinning, like whirlpools in an abyss calming to stillness. This was the mark of the genjutsu he had cast on the ninja.

“Have you located the One-Tail?”

“Mm...”

As Shisui spoke, he casually dropped the now unconscious Sand ninja to the side.

The location of the One-Tail, Shukaku, had already been revealed through the genjutsu extracted from this unknown ninja.

“Then let’s begin the operation. That Scorpion won’t hold out much longer; we must act swiftly...”

Futen spoke softly beside him. Though calm, his voice carried an undeniable urgency, as if urging the wheels of fate to turn faster.

Shisui nodded slightly, his gaze sharp as a blade. In a flash, he stood ahead like a streak of lightning slicing through the night.

Under the cover of darkness, the two moved like phantoms weaving through the alleys of the Hidden Sand Village, each step perfectly timed to avoid the patrolling ninjas—silent and unseen.

They stopped before a seemingly warm and inviting house. Just as they prepared to act, an elderly voice suddenly reached their ears.

“Heh heh, young men, have you come to find this old man?”

At those words, the figure of Granny Chiyo slowly appeared. Dressed in simple robes, her white hair framed a face lined with age, yet wisdom and kindness shone brightly in her eyes.

“Shisui, I leave this place to you...”

---

Futen’s expression remained composed upon Granny Chiyo’s unexpected arrival, revealing a confidence as if everything had unfolded exactly as he anticipated.

Hearing this, Shisui gave a slight nod, his eyes sharpening. In an instant, he transformed into a black streak of lightning, drawing the short sword from his back and dashing toward Granny Chiyo with blinding speed.

Though aged, Granny Chiyo narrowed her eyes and moved with surprising agility.

In response to Shisui’s rapid assault, she swiftly summoned several puppets, engaging him in fierce combat.

Drawing from his earlier battle with Scorpion, Shisui identified a fatal weakness in these puppeteers—the chakra threads!

Puppeteers manipulate their puppets through chakra strings, which, while highly resilient, lack sufficient hardness.

After all, to maintain flexible control, the strings cannot be too rigid.

This meant that if Shisui could sever the chakra threads, the puppeteer's strength would be drastically diminished!

With this realization, Shisui’s gaze grew sharper. After several probing exchanges, he mastered Granny Chiyo’s control rhythm.

Seizing the moment, he unleashed a swift strike; the terrifying aura of his blade surged toward the chakra threads controlling the puppets.

Fortunately, at the critical moment, Granny Chiyo adjusted her puppets with an uncanny angle, narrowly evading Shisui’s fierce slash.

“Heh heh, young man, your insight and perception are commendable. You’ve found the puppeteer’s weakness so quickly...”

Her words bore a hint of coldness. Then, her cloudy eyes flicked toward Futen’s original position. In the blink of an eye, cold sweat burst forth from her brow.

“Where did that boy just go? Impossible! How did he evade this old man’s senses?”

Granny Chiyo was visibly shocked, unable to believe that within her range of perception, someone could vanish without a trace, leaving no clue behind.

Though her attention had mostly been drawn to Shisui since the battle began, her vast combat experience forbade such a novice mistake.

Before she could ponder further, Shisui’s relentless attacks came again.

With a gloomy expression, Granny Chiyo resumed controlling her puppets to fight Shisui, but her eyes frequently darted toward the house, worry creeping into her cloudy gaze.

Inside, the dim light flickered, casting mottled shadows. The air was faintly scented with milk and a barely perceptible tension.

“Huff...”

Futen took a deep breath, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His eyes flickered with an unusual light—the residue of using the “Reversal of Cause and Effect.”

“That was close. My eyes are starting to feel uncomfortable. Looks like I should use ‘Reversal of Cause and Effect’ sparingly when possible...”

Having successfully altered causality to enter the house, Futen suppressed his discomfort and slowly approached a particular room.

“Waaahhh...”

At that moment, a sharp, urgent infant’s cry shattered the night’s silence, exploding in Futen’s heart like a thunderclap.

He whipped his head around, his gaze piercing as he fixed on the source of the sound, an indescribable joy unconsciously blooming on his face.

“Seems things are going rather smoothly...”

A faint smile curved Futen’s lips as he followed the sound to a room.

The door opened gently, a soft light spilling inside to illuminate a tender, innocent face—the young Gaara, newly made the Jinchuriki of the One-Tail.

He lay curled on the bed, eyes shut tight, his small mouth opening and closing as he cried.

It was as if he sensed the external disturbance, voicing his discontent in tears.

“Like Naruto, born from the start as a Tailed Beast Jinchuriki, Gaara, your life has been rather tragic...”

Futen murmured softly as he watched the crying child.

“Then, let me end all of this...”

With that, Futen slowly stepped toward Gaara, his eyes a mixture of excitement, tension, and a touch of pity.

Just as he reached out his sinful hand to touch that fragile life, a heavy palm suddenly gripped his arm. A powerful force coursed from the hand, compelling him to halt.

Beside his ear, a deep, oppressive voice sounded, pressing down on his heart like a mountain:

“What do you think you’re doing?”