Chapter 79: The Spice of Interrogation
The captured Mist ninja stared up at the sky with dead eyes, his professional stoicism already cracking under the sheer absurdity of his situation. When Ren Arakawa stepped forward, stopping Kakashi's killing stroke with a raised hand, the ninja almost felt relief. Almost.
"Don't waste your time," Kakashi said, his tone carrying the weight of hard experience. "Blood Mist assassins are conditioned for this. The village captured one of their scouts six months ago. Ibiki Morino himself worked on him for twenty-four hours straight. The man died without saying a word. Literally. His last breath was spent cursing Ibiki's ancestors."
Ren's smile didn't waver. It was the same smile he wore when negotiating with dead Hokages—calm, knowing, and slightly unnerving. "Let me try a different approach."
The kunai flashed.
Not to kill, but to sever tendons with surgical precision—two cuts at the wrists, two at the ankles. The Mist ninja gasped, more from shock than pain. The wounds were clean, shallow enough to avoid major bleeding, deep enough to render his limbs useless. It was efficient. Clinical. And utterly terrifying in its casual execution.
Kakashi's visible eye narrowed. Too clean for a ten-year-old, he thought. Even a prodigy. But he said nothing, watching as Ren turned toward Naruto with that same unsettling smile.
"Naruto. Your bag. Give me all the seasonings."
Naruto blinked, then brightened. "Oh! You wanna cook? I've got the good stuff!" He began rummaging through his oversized backpack with the enthusiasm of a chef preparing for a festival. "Chili powder from the Land of Fire's western provinces—super spicy! Black pepper ground fresh! Sea salt from the coast! Oh, and this special soy sauce Granny Teuchi gave me, says it's got, like, fifty ingredients in it! And wait, I've got cumin, paprika, even some dried lemongrass—"
Kakashi's eye twitched. "Naruto. Why is your mission pack seventy percent spices?"
"Uh... emergency ramen seasoning?" Naruto offered weakly, stacking an alarming array of jars and pouches beside Ren.
[Tobirama Senju: Fourth, I am revising my assessment. Your son isn't merely lacking in tactical awareness—he appears to be preparing for a culinary exhibition in the middle of a covert operation.]
[Minato Namikaze: Maybe he... has innovative survival strategies? Spices could be useful for... things!]
[Uchiha Fugaku: That's enough seasoning to preserve a whole boar. Is he planning to cook the prisoner?]
[Yuhi Shinku: As a father, I'm concerned. As a former shinobi, I'm morbidly curious.]
[Uchiha Izuna: Ren, just use genjutsu! This is getting ridiculous!]
Ren ignored the chatter—both living and dead—and began arranging the spices with ceremonial care. "A good interrogation," he said conversationally, "is like good cooking. It's about understanding your ingredients. Their breaking points. Their... flavor profiles."
The Mist ninja watched, confusion warring with dread. "What are you—"
"Now," Ren continued, as if delivering a lecture, "traditional torture relies on pain. But pain is predictable. The body adapts. The mind retreats. What we need is something more... intimate. More psychologically violating."
He reached for the ninja's trousers.
Realization dawned on several faces at once.
"Wait," the ninja said, voice climbing an octave.
Sakura Haruno, who'd been watching with clinical curiosity, suddenly flushed crimson and spun around, facing the trees with such intensity she might have been trying to burn holes in the bark with her embarrassment.
Uchiha Sasuke's stoic mask cracked, revealing a flicker of horrified comprehension. He took a deliberate step back, as if distance might spare him from whatever moral contamination was about to occur.
Kakashi pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ren. You cannot be serious."
"Deadly serious," Ren said, his hands not pausing. "Well, not deadly. That's the point."
Naruto squinted, head cocked. "Kakashi-sensei, what's he doing? Is this some kind of... secret interrogation jutsu?"
"... You could say that," Kakashi muttered, his single eye wide with a mix of professional disapproval and sheer disbelief.
[Hyūga Hizashi: This is barbaric! Dishonorable! A violation of every code—]
[System Notification: User 'Hyūga Hizashi' (VIP1) has been muted by Admin 'Tobirama Senju' for 15 minutes.]
[Tobirama Senju: Quiet. I want to see where this goes.]
With the area exposed to the cool air, Ren produced a small bottle of clear liquid he'd acquired from Tazuna—high-proof distilled spirits, the kind fishermen used to clean wounds or forget cold nights.
"The first step," Ren narrated in a calm, instructional tone that made it all worse, "is preparation of the cooking surface. Hair must be removed to ensure even heating and avoid... unpleasant burnt flavors."
He sprinkled the alcohol.
The Mist ninja began to tremble. Not from pain. From sheer, primal horror. "You... you monster! Just kill me!"
"Killing you is inefficient," Ren said, pulling a flint striker from his own pouch. "A dead prisoner has no intelligence value. A live one who's been... creatively motivated... is a resource. Now, after we singe, we'll need to peel back the outer layer to let the spices penetrate. A kunai should work. We'll make shallow cross-hatch cuts—like scoring a roast—so the chili and cumin get deep into the tissue."
He struck the flint. A spark jumped.
[Uchiha Mikoto: OH MY SWEET ANCESTORS CLOSE YOUR EYES EVERYONE CLOSE YOUR EYES—]
[Kushina Uzumaki: REN ARAKAWA I SWEAR TO THE SAGE WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU—]
[Nohara Rin: I can't watch I can't watch I can't—oh wait I'm still watching.]
[Karura: This is the most creatively evil thing I have ever witnessed. And I married the Kazekage.]
[Pakura: I've seen Suna's interrogation techniques. This is... a new category.]
Ren leaned closer, the unlit flint poised. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, audible only to the prisoner. "The real trick is the timing. You have to cook it slowly. Low heat. Let the anticipation build. The mind races, imagines the sizzle, the smell of your own flesh cooking, the texture... And then, when it's perfectly done, crispy on the outside, tender within... you have to eat it. That's the rule. You made it, you consume it. Waste not, want not."
The Mist ninja's breath came in ragged, hyperventilating gasps. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated with pure animal terror. Every instinct screamed that death was preferable. A clean kunai to the throat was a warrior's end. This... this was a descent into madness.
"STOP!" the ninja shrieked, his voice breaking. "I'LL TALK! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY, I'LL TELL YOU EVERYTHING! JUST PUT THE FLINT AWAY!"
Ren paused. "Everything?"
"EVERYTHING! Gato's finances, Zabuza's patterns, the layout of his safehouses, the code phrases for his mercenaries! JUST DON'T... DON'T COOK IT!"
[Tobirama Senju: ... Efficient. Brutally psychologically efficient. I'm impressed.]
[Uchiha Madara: Hah! No genjutsu needed. Just the threat of culinary horror. The boy understands the true nature of fear—it's not about pain, it's about the violation of the self.]
[Minato Namikaze: I don't know whether to be proud or deeply concerned for his future.]
[Uchiha Fugaku: If Sasuke ever challenges him again, I'm appearing in the living world to stop it myself. The Uchiha line must continue.]
[Hashirama Senju: Madara's right. This is... disturbingly insightful for someone so young.]
Ren didn't smile in triumph. He simply nodded, as if this were the expected outcome. He tucked the flint away and pulled the man's trousers back up with detached professionalism. "Smart choice. Kakashi-sensei? Your witness."
Kakashi stared at Ren for a long moment. The lazy façade was completely gone, replaced by the sharp analytical gaze of the Copy Ninja. He saw no cruelty in Ren's eyes, only calculation. No enjoyment, only results. That, in its own way, was more unsettling than if Ren had been cackling like a villain.
"Start talking," Kakashi said to the prisoner, his voice flat. "Who, what, where, when, why. Leave nothing out."
The words poured out of the Mist ninja in a desperate torrent—locations, names, numbers, tactics. He gave up more in three minutes than Ibiki Morino could extract in three days of conventional work. The threat of the alternative hung in the air, unspoken but profoundly understood.
When the flood of information finally slowed to a trickle, the ninja sagged against his bonds, utterly broken. Not by pain, but by the shadow of an atrocity so bizarre his conditioning had no defense against it.
Kakashi absorbed it all, committing the details to memory. He then glanced at Ren, who was quietly repacking Naruto's spices.
"That was..." Kakashi searched for the word.
"Effective?" Ren suggested.
"Something," Kakashi settled on. "Remind me never to get on your bad side during dinner."
Ren shrugged. "It's all about understanding motivation. He was prepared for pain, for death, for honor. He wasn't prepared for... a recipe."
Sakura finally turned around, her face still flushed. "That was... the most terrifying thing I've ever seen. And I've seen Sasuke-kun try to cook."
Sasuke shot her a glare, but it lacked its usual heat. He was too busy reevaluating the boy he'd considered a rival. This wasn't just strength. This was a different kind of power altogether.
Naruto, meanwhile, looked between Ren and his spices, a dawning, horrifying understanding on his face. "Ren... you weren't really gonna... with my special cumin... were you?"
Ren patted his shoulder. "Of course not, Naruto. That would be wasteful. Your cumin is for ramen, not interrogation."
Naruto looked immensely relieved.
[Kushina Uzumaki: Oh thank the Sage.]
[Uchiha Mikoto: I need to go lie down. My spirit feels violated.]
[Tobirama Senju: Psychological warfare at its finest. The threat was more potent than the action. He never intended to go through with it.]
[Uchiha Izuna: How do you know?]
[Tobirama Senju: Look at his chakra. Not a single spike of malicious intent. Just steady, calculated pressure. It was a performance. A brilliant, terrifying performance.]
The team moved on shortly after, leaving the bound but now compliant prisoner for a Konoha patrol to collect later (a detail Kakashi arranged via a discreet messenger bird). As they walked, the atmosphere was different. The genin looked at Ren with new eyes—a mixture of awe, fear, and profound confusion.
And in the Pure Land, the debate raged on.
[Uchiha Madara: When it comes to ruthless ingenuity, boy, I acknowledge you as superior. Even I never thought to threaten a man's manhood with gourmet spices.]
[Hashirama Senju: Madara! Don't encourage him!]
[Minato Namikaze: I'm just glad Naruto's spices are safe...]
[Fū: I have so many questions, and I'm not sure I want the answers.]
Ren tuned them out, focusing on the road ahead. The mist was thickening again, rolling in from the sea. Somewhere in that grey veil, Zabuza Momochi waited.
And Ren had just demonstrated he was willing to fight dirty in ways the Demon of the Hidden Mist had never even imagined.
The real battle hadn't even begun, and Ren had already won the psychological war.