The shinobi world was simmering. Not boiling yet—but the lid was rattling.
The Third Kazekage's assassination had flipped the international balance like a drunk gambler overturning a table. And at the epicenter of the chaos? Sunagakure.
Tense. Paranoid. Sand everywhere. Literal and political.
But tonight, something worse than war was slithering through the dunes.
Two shadows moved under cover of night—swift, silent, and cloaked in black.
They didn't leave footprints. They left intent.
One of them moved like a predator. The other, like a puppet on invisible strings.
Zeldris and Sasori.
A devil and a ghost.
They stopped in a deserted alley, where the air hung thick with heat and tension.
"Scorpion," Zeldris said, voice low, smooth, and vaguely amused, "you know where they're keeping the One-Tail's Jinchūriki?"
Sasori didn't answer right away. He was busy glaring at a nearby lizard for breathing too loudly.
Then he sighed. "Back when I lived here, the One-Tail's host was a monk named Fenfu. Old guy. Quiet. They kept him locked up tighter than a Konoha budget scroll."
Zeldris raised a brow. "And now?"
Sasori shrugged. "Last I heard, it's a kid. Runt. Red hair. Weird eyes. Creepy quiet."
Zeldris nodded. "Gaara, then."
"Sounds right."
"Let's find him."
He vanished into the shadows like a punchline in a horror story.
Sasori followed, quieter than a grudge.
A few minutes later, they crouched atop a rooftop, overlooking a compound wrapped in enough chakra seals to give a Byakugan a migraine.
Dozens of elite shinobi patrolled below—tense, sharp-eyed, and clearly overcaffeinated.
Zeldris's lips curled into a grin. "Found him."
Sasori squinted. "They're either guarding the Jinchūriki... or the village's secret stash of cactus juice."
Zeldris's eyes glittered. "Either way, let's take a peek."
Meanwhile, in Sunagakure's main council hall, the desert winds howled outside.
Inside? More politics than a clan dinner.
At the center stood Rasa—the freshly minted Fourth Kazekage.
His red-gold hair was combed. His robes crisp. His mood? One sandstorm short of murder.
He stared down at the tactical map before him, fingers steepled, brow furrowed. Every line on the map pointed to war.
But his thoughts drifted elsewhere.
To Gaara.
The boy wasn't just a child. He was a weapon. A walking time bomb. A political trump card that could either win a war… or implode halfway through a strategy meeting.
Then he felt it.
A shift in the air.
A chakra disturbance—small, sharp, surgical.
Rasa's eyes narrowed. "Chiyo."
The old kunoichi beside him looked up from sipping her tea like nothing had just pinged the barrier.
"I felt it too," she muttered, setting the cup down. "Someone just tripped the alarm."
"Gaara's quarters."
They vanished without another word.
The council sat frozen.
"…Do we evacuate?"
"Or… send snacks?"
Outside Gaara's compound, everything was wrong.
Blood soaked the sand like spilled ink. More than a dozen guards lay crumpled on the ground, their deaths silent and efficient.
Zeldris stepped over a body, unfazed.
"These were supposed to be elite?" he muttered. "I've seen tougher genin at ramen shops."
Sasori glanced at a fallen guard. "I'm 70% sure this one tripped on his own kunai."
Zeldris chuckled, then paused.
A tiny sound. Breathing.
From the shadows of the entryway, a small figure emerged.
Barely five years old. Wide, pale-green eyes. Blood-red hair.
And that kanji on his forehead—愛. Love.
The irony was so thick it could choke a Toad Sage.
Gaara.
He stared at the carnage—not with fear, but with something eerily still. His small body trembled, but he didn't cry. Didn't run. Just… watched.
Sasori blinked. "That's the Jinchūriki?"
Zeldris nodded. "Yep. Package confirmed."
Sasori whistled. "Creepy little guy. I like him."
Zeldris grinned. "Fifty million ryo's worth of creepy. Try not to damage him."
He stepped forward.
But before he could close the distance—
BOOM.
Two chakra signatures slammed into the area like divine judgment.
Dust exploded. Wind howled.
And standing between the assassins and the boy—
Rasa. Face of sand and steel.
And Chiyo. Looking like someone just served her disappointment on a silver tray.
Rasa's voice was ice. "Who are you?"
Zeldris smirked. "Just tourists. Taking in the sights. Nice weather, by the way."
Chiyo narrowed her eyes. Something tugged at her memory.
Then…
That voice. That posture.
The figure beside Zeldris pulled down his hood.
Wooden face. Crimson hair. Cold eyes that once held laughter.
"Sasori…" she breathed.
He smiled faintly. "Long time no see, Granny."
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