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[NTU] [ARC-26]Chapter : 333
🕑 Added 2025-06-17 15:15:54 +0000 UTCThe sky above was torn open like a ripped pocket, unleashing a torrential downpour that fell in sheets—endless, heavy, relentless. The rain roared like a river in freefall, drowning the world in gray.
"Give up. You have no chance of getting that intel out!"
The voice was deep, firm—belonging to a broad-shouldered man with red war paint streaked across his jaw. His dark cloak, emblazoned with crimson clouds, clung to his body in the rain. A massive sword rested on his back, and he let the bean-sized raindrops strike his face without flinching.
"Give up?" the wounded ninja laughed bitterly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He licked it away, the metallic tang sharp on his tongue. In that moment, he looked less like a cornered man and more like a cornered beast—baring its fangs in defiance.
"Kisame… I know you. Wielder of Samehada, successor to the Fuguki."
"But my orders are clear: Prevent any leaks—no matter the cost."
Before Kisame could reply, another voice echoed from above.
"Juzo, stop wasting time. This guy knows too much. Kill him."
The man beside Kisame—also in the signature Akatsuki cloak—was Biwa Juzo, a swordsman of the Mist and one of the organization’s original members. In another time, he was Itachi’s first partner, the one who gave his life shielding him from the Fourth Mizukage's Tailed Beast Bomb.
But in this reality, he survived.
The beheading broadsword had never passed to Zabuza. It remained in Juzo’s hands, and his story had taken a different path.
Kisame, meanwhile, had infiltrated the Hidden Rain Village on a mission to gather intelligence on Akatsuki itself. But Juzo—keenly familiar with the tactics of Mist-nin—noticed the signs of betrayal. A deadly pursuit ensued.
"Tch… This never-ending rain is ruining my art. I don't want to be here a second longer!"
Kisame could have handled Juzo alone. But his odds were thrown off by an impatient blond bomber soaring through the sky, tossing explosives like a child playing with firecrackers.
Deidara.
A self-proclaimed artist and master of detonation, Deidara rained down clay bombs with reckless abandon, shouting gleefully:
"Hah! The rain ruins the beauty of my art, but still—Shark-face, enjoy this masterpiece! Drink!"
Kisame barely avoided the cascade of white clay erupting around him. Irritated, he muttered:
"That guy's more trouble than the Juzo…"
Juzo wasn’t thrilled either. The explosions nearly singed his robes, and he cast an annoyed glance at Deidara.
The truth was, ever since his original partner Sasori died, Deidara had been a lone bomb waiting to go off. His new partner had also perished on a mission. With manpower stretched thin, Nagato had reluctantly teamed him up with Juzo—two wildly incompatible personalities.
Boom. Boom.
The battlefield trembled as detonations thundered through the rain-soaked air.
"You’ve got some skill!" Deidara called out, noticing how Kisame danced through the blasts unscathed. His words were almost admiring, though his hands kept crafting more clay with feverish excitement.
"He really is obsessed..." Kisame thought grimly. "Every time he starts talking about ‘art,’ he completely drops his guard."
And just then—through the cacophony—a soft, almost playful female voice pierced the chaos.
"You're still as reckless as ever, Deidara."
His eyes widened.
"That voice… Kurotsuchi?"
Deidara spun toward the familiar sound, but before he could react, a flood of gray, sludge-like cement crashed down from above like a waterfall. It struck hard and fast, catching him mid-air.
Simultaneously, a coordinated squad of shinobi burst onto the battlefield, moving swiftly to shield the injured Kisame.
From the ranks, a familiar figure stepped forward with a sly grin.
"Heh… Never thought I’d run into the infamous traitor Biwa Juzo here."
"That sword you’re holding... it’s a treasure our village lost long ago. What a rare opportunity this is."
Suigetsu, with his striking blue and white hair, grinned wide, his sharp teeth glinting as he stared at the Kubikiriboucho in Juzo’s hands.
"And you are...?"
Kisame, still catching his breath, glanced at the young man before him. The team that had suddenly come to his aid was unexpected. Observing their attire and village symbols, he noticed something odd—a strange blend of shinobi from across the Five Great Nations: Kiri, Iwa, Konoha, even Kumo.
A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes.
"Never thought I’d be the one being protected," he muttered with a dry, self-deprecating smile.
His eyes then settled on a tall, imposing middle-aged man within the group.
"Hah! Don’t think too much of it, Kisame," the man laughed heartily. "We’re allies now. When facing a common enemy, watching each other's backs is only natural."
Since forming the Allied Shinobi Forces, coordination among the Five Great Nations had grown smoother. Drawing from security units that once protected trade routes, they had quickly assembled a reliable strike team.
At the heart of their intelligence efforts was none other than Jiraiya—pushed to the front lines by Toshiro once again.
At first, Jiraiya had been reluctant. He had once taught Nagato, after all, and facing Akatsuki felt deeply personal. But there was another reason, far more grounded:
He had recently become a father.
And while his child didn’t need milk formula exactly, he still had to consider their future. Education wasn’t cheap, and Jiraiya had taken to heart a certain philosophy he’d overheard:
“No child should lose at the starting line.”
Determined to build a solid foundation for his child's life, Jiraiya had reluctantly returned to active duty—jobs, missions, paperwork, and all.
As for savings? That was laughable. Tsunade certainly hadn’t left him any. He was drowning in debt as usual.
The only silver lining? Tsunade, now distracted by motherhood, had curbed her impulsive gambling—at least enough to stop borrowing obscene amounts of money.
Suddenly, Kisame’s voice pulled Jiraiya back to the moment.
"Lord Jiraiya, the intel we gathered this time is critical. Please relay it as soon as possible. If we delay, the consequences could be devastating!"
Even someone as hardened as Kisame shuddered slightly at the memory of what he'd seen—an underground space swarming with unnatural beings. The sheer number and twisted forms made even his skin crawl.
His face was grim, his tone serious. "The scale of this threat… I’ve never seen anything like it."
Jiraiya's smile faded. Kisame wasn’t one to exaggerate, and his strength was formidable. If he looked that shaken, it wasn’t some trivial matter.
"Understood. I’ll get this to the Five Kage immediately."
Until now, the ninja world hadn’t taken the Akatsuki seriously. They saw it as just another rogue organization. What had drawn concern were the myths Toshiro spoke of—and the chilling presence of Nagato’s Rinnegan.
But now?
Now it was clear:
This wasn’t legend anymore.
The nightmare had begun.
