Chapter 25 — Pain, Give Me My Money Back!
After much deliberation, Konan ultimately chose not to strike Oda Nobunaga down.
Instead, after a long, wordless moment, she turned in the air and said calmly, "Follow me."
Thus, for the first time in years, outsiders were permitted to set foot inside the sealed borders of Amegakure, the Village Hidden by Rain.
She led the group through the cold, steel streets glistening with rainwater — a city that seemed more machine than home — and ordered a Rain-nin to prepare quarters for their guests.
Only then, with a trace of hesitation, did she ascend the spiral staircase toward the highest spire — the tower of Pain.
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"...They actually let us in?"
To most, it might have seemed inevitable, a diplomatic courtesy from one leader to another.
But Kakuzu knew better.
He knew just how rare — how impossible — this was.
Amegakure was a closed nation, and Pain's rule was absolute. No one entered, and those who tried never returned.
The fact that Konan herself had escorted them inside… spoke volumes.
The moment she vanished into the storm again, Kakuzu darted to Nobunaga's side like a shadow.
"Tell me something," he said in a low, serious tone. "That offer you made — food in exchange for alliance — was that a spur-of-the-moment bluff, or had you planned this from the start?"
He crossed his arms, studying Nobunaga with eyes that had seen far too much deceit.
Kakuzu hadn't spent long under Pain's command, but long enough to understand the man's habits — cold efficiency, unwavering dogma, and above all, the intolerance for surprises.
For Konan, Pain's right hand, to ignore his standing orders meant only one thing: Nobunaga had hit a nerve.
And judging by the logic of it all, it could only mean one thing —
The Land of Rain really is being kept alive by Akatsuki.
Nobunaga smiled faintly, tracing a finger along the damp table before him as he spoke.
"Observation is the soul of a shinobi, isn't it, Kakuzu-san? Don't tell me you've lost yours."
His tone was teasing, but his eyes were sharp — reflecting both confidence and calculation.
"Since entering the Land of Rain, I've been observing everything," he continued, his voice calm, deliberate.
"According to the records, this nation was devastated after several shinobi wars. Most of its people either fled or perished. I expected to find nothing here but desolation and ruin."
He paused, glancing at the dim light flickering through the rain-streaked window.
"But what I found was… different. The people are poor, yes, but they live. They endure."
"The Land of Rain's climate makes agriculture nearly impossible. And after closing their borders, trade must have collapsed completely. By all logic, the citizens should have starved long ago."
He looked up, the glint of realization in his eyes.
"So I asked myself — how are they still alive?"
Kakuzu let out a dry laugh, his expression darkening.
"Because someone's been feeding them."
"Exactly."
Nobunaga nodded. "And only Amegakure has the infrastructure and the means to sustain an entire nation. The math speaks for itself."
Kakuzu's jaw clenched as understanding — and outrage — hit him.
So that's where all the damn money went.
His teeth ground audibly as memories flooded in — the endless missions, the endless profits turned over to Pain, all under the promise of "funding Akatsuki's vision."
"For the sake of peace," Pain had said.
"To reshape the world."
Now it was all too clear.
That so-called vision had a different price tag — feeding the entire Land of Rain.
No wonder the missions never stopped. No wonder every bounty, every treasure, every assassination came with a quota.
He'd been financing a charity this whole time.
Kakuzu's fists trembled, his voice a low growl.
"Unbelievable… all that talk about 'bringing pain to the world' — turns out the bastard was just paying for groceries."
He bit back a curse, face twitching with barely suppressed fury.
"No wonder he's always saying we need more funding. The great Akatsuki — the scourge of the shinobi world — turns out to be running a food distribution program!"
Grinding his teeth so hard it echoed, Kakuzu muttered under his breath:
"If I'd known my bounties were feeding orphans and farmers, I'd have charged double."
His five hearts throbbed in collective agony. He could almost feel each one breaking, one after another.
All my money… all my beautiful money… gone to soup kitchens!
Nobunaga simply smiled at the sight — the same serene, infuriating smile that always seemed to know more than he said.
"What missions were you talking about again?"
Kakuzu's head snapped up. "Oh, don't you start with me—"
And for the first time, Oda Nobunaga laughed — not mockingly, but with genuine amusement.
Outside, the rain beat harder against the windows.
Somewhere above them, in the steel tower of Amegakure, the so-called god of pain stirred — perhaps sensing the conversation below.
But for now, in that small, damp room, the only thing Kakuzu could feel was a pain far greater than divine justice.
The pain of losing every last ryō he'd ever earned.
...
Nobunaga's smile was as warm as a spring breeze — and just as dangerous.
Watching Kakuzu grind his teeth in barely contained fury, he couldn't resist twisting the knife just a little deeper.
"Kakuzu-san," Nobunaga began pleasantly, "you're one of the most accomplished bounty exchange specialists in the underground world — a man famous for never missing a profitable mission."
He paused, eyes glinting mischievously.
"I imagine Amegakure's recent monopoly on the bounty network must've hurt your business terribly. Since they've lost all official mission channels, they must be flooding the black market to survive, no?"
Kakuzu's eye twitched.
Nobunaga continued, voice dripping with mock sympathy:
"No wonder you're so frustrated. Still, it can't be helped, can it? Feeding an entire nation is no small task — they're bound to take whatever contracts they can."
He placed a hand on his chin, tone turning almost reverent.
"But to think that the great Hanzō of the Salamander would shoulder such a monumental burden… to provide for his people like this… truly, he lives up to his title as the demi-god of the shinobi world. An example worthy of eternal admiration."
The last few words were deliberately loud — just enough for the faint footsteps behind the door to hear.
Had Nobunaga not sensed them, he would've happily stabbed Kakuzu's pride a few more times.
Kakuzu's face turned the color of swamp moss.
Before he could snap back, the door slid open with a soft click.
And in stepped a figure wearing a breathing mask and armor of dark iron.
To anyone else, it would seem the resurrected Hanzō himself had entered the room.
But Kakuzu wasn't fooled.
He could recognize that chakra anywhere.
Pain… or rather, Nagato, using one of his corpses again.
Every instinct told Kakuzu to shut up — yet the sheer absurdity of Nobunaga's flattery and the hypocrisy of Pain's entrance had his blood boiling.
He forced a crooked smile and spoke with all the venom he could lace into his voice.
"Ah yes, Lord Hanzō," he said with mocking reverence, bowing just low enough to avoid execution.
"Our illustrious leader must be very busy these days — after all, feeding the entire Land of Rain is quite the heroic endeavor."
He gestured lazily toward Pain's disguised form.
"I suppose even a man of your… divine stature must spend time away from the village, slaving over bounties and balancing the books, hm?"
The air froze.
Nobunaga barely kept from laughing.
Konan blinked in disbelief.
And Pain — the self-proclaimed god of this world — felt the tips of his ears burn red.
Before entering, he had clearly heard Nobunaga's words — endless praise for "Hanzō," for his compassion and leadership, for his willingness to fight for small nations.
All of it, in truth, was directed at him.
And who wouldn't enjoy being praised by a renowned daimyō, a man known for his moral integrity and charisma?
Even gods liked flattery, after all.
Were it not for Konan standing behind him — and his need to maintain his divine composure — Pain might have stayed outside the door a few minutes longer, just to bask in it.
But now…
Kakuzu's taunting words sliced through the fragile silence.
You dare… mock me? You dare mock a god?
Pain's gaze snapped to him, the Rinnegan's ripples hardening like storm waves.
He didn't speak, but his killing intent was suffocating.
Kakuzu met his stare head-on.
For once, he didn't flinch.
Because this time, he had leverage — real leverage.
If Pain truly killed him here, who would run Akatsuki's financial network?
Who would bring in the money to feed this rain-soaked country?
Go ahead, "God." Kill me. See who feeds your orphans then.
For a brief, absurd moment, the two stared each other down like angry merchants haggling over a debt.
Nobunaga, ever the opportunist, watched with keen interest.
He could see it now — the cracks forming in the divine mask.
Behind all the rhetoric of gods and peace, there was still a man struggling to keep his fragile utopia from collapsing.
And right now, that man owed money to his own subordinate.
The thought amused Nobunaga to no end.
Finally, Pain broke eye contact first, his gaze flickering — a rare moment of retreat.
Inwardly, he cursed.
He couldn't deny it. Kakuzu was right.
Yes, he wanted the world to know pain.
Yes, he wanted peace through understanding suffering.
But peace didn't come free.
It needed resources — grain, weapons, medicine, infrastructure.
A god might not eat, but his people did.
And no matter how much it bruised his pride, Pain needed Kakuzu's bounties to keep his nation alive.
For now, the god of Amegakure swallowed his fury.
He turned away from Kakuzu, facing Nobunaga with measured calm.
"...So," he said finally, voice deep and resonant, "we meet at last, Oda Nobunaga, daimyō of the Land of Fields."
Nobunaga inclined his head with respectful restraint — polite, but not submissive.
"An honor, Lord Hanzō of the Salamander."
For a long, awkward moment, the two leaders — the god and the strategist — stood in silence, studying one another.
Pain searched for words fitting of a divine ruler.
Nobunaga waited, patient as ever, with the faintest smirk curving his lips.
The silence stretched on, heavy enough to drown in.
Neither man moved.
And in the corner, Kakuzu glared at them both, clutching his chest as if feeling every ryō he'd ever lost.
God or not, he thought bitterly, someone's paying me back.