Timeline: Late Part I (Three days after the recruitment offer)
Location: Amegakure (The Village Hidden in the Rain) – Industrial Sector
The rain in Amegakure was not weather. It was surveillance.
Kurobane Sōma stood on a rusted metal gantry overlooking the sprawling, pipe-choked skyline of the city. The downpour was relentless, a vertical curtain of gray that hammered against the steel roofs with a deafening, rhythmic drone.
He reached out a hand, catching a few drops in his palm. He didn't wipe them away. He rolled the water between his fingers, testing the viscosity, the temperature, and the faint, almost imperceptible trace of foreign chakra suspended within it.
"A city-wide sensory jutsu," Sōma murmured, impressed despite himself. "Maintained constantly. The chakra cost must be astronomical. The caster isn't just paranoid; he's god-complex levels of possessive."
"It keeps the rats out," a voice said from behind him.
Sōma turned slowly.
Standing in the shadow of a ventilation fan was a woman with blue hair and amber eyes. She wore the black cloak with red clouds, and a large paper flower adorned her hair. Her presence was almost weightless, as if she might scatter into the wind if the draft caught her wrong.
Konan. The Angel of Ame.
"And yet," Sōma said, gesturing to Zetsu, who was sinking into the floorboards nearby, "you let the weeds in."
"Zetsu said you were interesting," Konan said, her voice devoid of warmth. "He didn't say you were chatty."
"Dialogue is essential for character development," Sōma replied. He leaned back against the railing, unconcerned by the sheer drop behind him. "So, where is the 'Pain' I was promised? I assume you're the gatekeeper."
"I am the judge," Konan corrected.
Suddenly, the rain around them shifted. The droplets didn't fall; they stopped in mid-air, then sharpened. Thousands of sheets of paper materialized from the moisture, folding themselves into rigid, razor-edged shuriken. They hovered in a sphere around Sōma, cutting off all avenues of escape.
"Give me one reason why we shouldn't kill you and take your bounty," Konan stated. "You have no ideology. You have no loyalty. You are a mercenary who plays games with his targets."
Sōma looked at the paper shuriken. He didn't reach for a weapon. He didn't flare his chakra.
"You're right," Sōma conceded. "I have no loyalty to your 'peace.' But I have a skillset that your zealots lack."
"And what is that?"
"Restraint," Sōma said.
He tapped the metal railing he was leaning on.
[Technique Activation: Loaded Structure - Rust Clause]
Condition: Excessive weight load (leaning).
Effect: Accelerated oxidation.
The metal bolt holding the railing section gave way with a sharp snap.
Sōma fell backward into the void.
Konan's eyes widened slightly. She hadn't expected suicide. She moved instantly, her body dissolving into sheets of paper to chase him down.
Sōma plummeted toward the industrial pipes two hundred feet below. The wind roared in his ears. He wasn't panicking. He was counting.
Three. Two. One.
As Konan's paper form swept down to intercept him—whether to catch him or kill him, he wasn't sure—Sōma twisted in mid-air. He slapped a passing steam pipe as he fell past it.
[Technique Primed: Loaded Vapor]
Condition: Proximity to paper.
Effect: Moisture saturation.
A valve on the pipe blew. A massive jet of scalding steam erupted, engaging Konan directly.
Paper, when wet, loses its structural integrity. It becomes heavy. Sodden.
Konan's paper wings faltered. She solidified instantly, forced to reform her human body to avoid dissolving. She landed gracefully on a lower platform, but she was drenched. Her origami shuriken turned to mush and fell into the abyss.
Sōma landed on the platform opposite her. He used a chakra-cushioned roll to absorb the impact, coming up in a crouch.
He stood up, brushing rust flakes from his cloak.
"Your jutsu is beautiful," Sōma critiqued, shouting over the rain. "But it relies on the environment remaining dry, or you maintaining a chakra coating on every sheet to repel water. In a village that rains 24/7, you're constantly fighting the elements. That's inefficient."
Konan glared at him, water dripping from her hair. "You think a little steam defeats me?"
"No," Sōma said, raising his hands in surrender. "I think it made you pause. And in a fight with a real enemy, a pause is a death sentence."
He took a step forward.
"You have members who are monsters. Hidan. Kisame. Sasori. They destroy everything they touch. But sometimes, you don't need a hammer. Sometimes you need a scalpel. You need someone who can disable a target without leveling a city block or alerting the Five Great Nations."
Konan stared at him. The water on her cloak began to evaporate as she flared her chakra, drying herself in seconds.
"You are arrogant," she decided.
"I am capable," Sōma corrected. "And I am bored. Your organization seems to be the only theater in the world putting on a production big enough to keep my attention."
The air pressure dropped. The rain stopped—not naturally, but as if commanded to halt.
A figure descended from the darkness above, floating on invisible currents. The Rinnegan eyes glowed in the gloom. The orange hair, the piercings—the God of Ame.
Pain.
He landed between Konan and Sōma. He didn't look at Sōma; he looked at the broken railing above.
"He destroyed the infrastructure," Pain noted, his voice a deep, resonant monotone.
"He made a point," Konan said, stepping to Pain's side. "He identified a weakness in my form and exploited it without lethal intent."
Pain turned his gaze to Sōma. The weight of that stare was physical. It felt like gravity had doubled.
"Kurobane Sōma," Pain said. "We seek to bring order to a chaotic world. To do that, we must gather the Tailed Beasts. It is a path of pain. Are you prepared to walk it?"
Sōma looked at the Rinnegan. Legend said these eyes belonged to the Sage of Six Paths. They promised power. They promised divinity.
Sōma felt a thrill of genuine danger.
"I'm not interested in your order, Pain," Sōma said, keeping his voice steady despite the crushing aura. "And I don't care about your pain. But I am interested in the Tailed Beasts. I want to see what happens when the world's greatest deterrents are... redistributed."
"You view war as entertainment," Pain observed. "That is a childish perspective."
"Perhaps," Sōma smiled. "But children are the ones who learn the fastest."
Pain held out a hand. In his palm sat a ring. Slate gray, with the kanji for Void (空). It had belonged to Orochimaru.
"This ring is required for the sealing ritual," Pain stated. "If you wish to see the beasts, you must wear it."
Sōma looked at the ring. He remembered his words to Zetsu: I don't wear the ring.
He stepped forward and took the ring.
He didn't put it on his finger.
He pulled a silver chain from his pocket—the same chain he kept his notebook attached to—and threaded the ring onto it. He clasped the chain around his neck, letting the ring hang against his chest, hidden beneath his mesh shirt.
"I'll carry your burden," Sōma said. "But I won't wear your uniform. My hands need to remain free for my own work."
Konan tensed, expecting Pain to strike him down for the insolence.
Pain stared at Sōma for a long, silent minute.
"Acceptable," Pain decided. "As long as you respond to the summons, how you carry the connection is irrelevant."
Pain turned his back.
"You are on probation, Sōma. You will not be paired with a partner yet. You will operate as a rover. Your first task is in the Land of Hot Water."
"Hidan's homeland?" Sōma asked.
"There is a cult there," Konan explained. "They are interfering with our financial routes. They are loud. Messy."
"Silence them," Pain ordered. "But do not destroy the temple. We require the assets inside."
"Silence without destruction," Sōma mused. "A quiet tragedy. I can do that."
"Do not fail," Pain said. "Or you will know true pain."
The Deva Path floated upward, vanishing into the rain.
Konan lingered for a moment. She looked at Sōma, then at the steam pipe he had ruptured.
"Don't lean on the railings," she warned. "Next time, I won't catch you."
"You didn't catch me this time, Angel," Sōma smirked.
She dissolved into paper and scattered into the wind.
Sōma stood alone on the platform. He touched the ring beneath his shirt. It was cold, pulsing faintly with a connection to the Gedo Statue.
He pulled out his notebook.
Entry 415:
Subject: Pain (Leader).
Assessment: Overwhelming power. Zero flexibility. He believes he is a god, which means he has stopped evolving.
Notes: The Rinnegan perceives chakra flow, but can it perceive dormant clauses? Hypothesis: Unlikely. He relies on raw perception, not deduction.
He looked out at the rainy city.
"Land of Hot Water," Sōma whispered. "Let's see if the Jashinists know how to take a bow."
Timeline: Simultaneous
Location: Konoha Training Ground 3
Shizune struck the wooden post. Thwack.
Her fist glowed with blue chakra. The wood splintered, but didn't break.
"Harder!" Tsunade yelled from the sidelines, a bottle of sake in hand. "You're pulling the punch at the last second! You're worried about the recoil!"
"I'm worried about the chakra efficiency!" Shizune argued, wiping sweat from her forehead. "If I dump it all into one strike, I have nothing left for evasion!"
"If you hit them hard enough, you don't need to evade!" Tsunade countered. "That's the Senju way!"
Shizune gritted her teeth. She centered herself. She molded her chakra, compressing it, sharpening it.
In her pouch, the silver coin vibrated.
Hum.
It was a sharp, nagging buzz against her hip. It broke her concentration for a fraction of a second.
He's watching, the vibration seemed to say. Is that all you have?
Shizune's eyes snapped open. Anger flared—hot and sudden.
"Shut up!" she screamed, not at Tsunade, but at the pouch.
She didn't hold back. She didn't calculate the reserve. She poured everything she had into her right fist, fueled by pure irritation.
She struck the post.
CRACK.
The log didn't just break; it exploded. Splinters turned into shrapnel. The force of the impact created a shockwave that knocked the grass flat for ten feet.
Shizune stood panting, her hand smoking.
Tsunade lowered her sake bottle, eyebrows raised.
"Well," Tsunade smirked. "I guess annoyance is a valid chakra source."
Shizune reached into her pouch and gripped the coin. It was hot now, buzzing furiously from the feedback of her exertion.
"I hate him," Shizune muttered.
"Good," Tsunade said. "Keep hating him. It's working."
Shizune looked at the splintered wood. It was messy. It was brute force. It wasn't her style.
But it was effective.
"Next log," Shizune ordered.
Tsunade laughed. "That's my girl."