Ignoring the potential injuries of his teammates and the frantic, pained roars of The Splitting Hound, Hagoromo's gaze locked onto the figure emerging from the forest shadows.
It wasn't an illusion. Hagoromo realized instantly that he knew exactly who this was.
Why would the Hidden Sand pull an elite Jonin like Pakura off the front lines to infiltrate the Land of Rain during a world war? The reason was to hunt a traitor.
A certain ninja had deserted the Sand for no apparent reason, a move that had baffled the village high command. Upon receiving intel that this rogue was active in the Land of Rain, the Sand sent their "Hero" to bring him back—or eliminate him. To catch a monster, you send a monster.
But could Pakura actually handle him? Hagoromo doubted it. Deeply.
Pakura of the Scorch Style was an elite Jonin, yes, but her title carried a hint of village propaganda. She was powerful, but she wasn't "Kage-level." Her reputation lacked the sheer, terrifying weight of the man she was chasing.
People called him by a title that commanded dread across the five nations.
Sasori of the Red Sand.
Whether before or after his defection, Sasori was a name the Sand spoke with a mix of pride and horror. Perhaps the Fourth Kazekage simply disliked Pakura and sent her on a suicide mission; matching Scorch Style against the world's greatest puppeteer was a nightmare.
In terms of raw fame, Hagoromo hadn't even heard of Pakura until he read the Leaf's internal dossiers recently. But Sasori? Even with his patchy knowledge of the "original" world, he knew this "cute and charming" villain well.
At fifteen, Sasori had assassinated the Third Kazekage—the man hailed as the strongest in the village's history—and vanished without a trace. While the world didn't know the truth behind the Third's disappearance yet, Hagoromo did.
Standing before him wasn't a handsome youth, but a hunched, low-slung creature with a massive, segmented tail like a mechanical reptile.
The Puppet Hiruko. Sasori's iconic exoskeleton.
It didn't have the "Akatsuki" red-cloud cloak yet—it was draped in tattered, nondescript rags—but Hagoromo wasn't about to be fooled by its dismal appearance. This was the man who had triggered the Third Great Ninja War by kidnapping a Kage.
Sasori was a true Kage-level powerhouse.
Hagoromo didn't bother wondering why the puppet had attacked. Shinobi of this caliber often killed passing travelers on a whim just to test a new poison or gather parts. There was no "reason" to negotiate with a sociopath.
The reason Hagoromo hadn't sensed him was simple: his sensory method tracked biological life, not chakra. Sasori was hiding inside a hollow puppet; to Hagoromo's "radar," Hiruko looked like an inanimate object. Even a professional sensory ninja would struggle to detect a master like Sasori when he chose to be still.
Hiruko moved slowly, step by step, stopping ten meters in front of Hagoromo.
Hagoromo stared into the puppet's artificial eyes. Seeing that the enemy had no intention of moving closer, he spoke up: "Let's make a deal. The road is wide. You go your way, we go ours. No interference. What do you say?"
Sasori didn't speak. Instead, a grating, rasping laugh echoed from within Hiruko.
The metallic tail tightened around the Splitting Hound's midsection. The beast roared, but it was pinned in a way that prevented it from using its strength to break free. It was a mechanical bind, cold and absolute.
The laugh made it clear: negotiation was off the table. They had used up all their "good luck" meeting the pacifists earlier. Now, they had encountered a demon.
"Your eyes tell me... you seem to know who I am?" Hiruko tilted its head, the raspy voice finally forming words. If Sasori were in his true "pretty boy" form, the gesture might have been cute. In this hunched shell, it was just grotesque.
Kurenai helped the limping Asuma to Hagoromo's side, while Aoba stayed back to provide support.
"Shall we take him together?" Asuma asked, his fighting spirit still burning despite his broken ribs.
Hagoromo immediately held up a hand. "No. I'll hold him back. You three leave now. We'll regroup at Point B."
"Hold him back? By yourself?" Kurenai looked at the strange, hunched figure. "This ninja... he feels incredibly strong."
"He is," Hagoromo said bluntly, dropping the act. "Very strong. He's right—I do know who he is. If I'm not mistaken, this is Sasori of the Red Sand."
The name hit Asuma like a physical blow. Of the three subordinates, he was the only one who truly understood the weight of that title.
"Which Sasori?" Asuma stammered, disbelieving.
Hagoromo didn't answer. He reached into his vest and pulled out the intelligence map. Holding it between his fingers, he flicked it like a shuriken. It arced through the air and was caught by Aoba.
"Your priority is to get that intel back to the Leaf. That is the mission."
Hagoromo's tone Brooked no argument. If this was Sasori, "teamwork" meant the three of them running while the strongest stayed behind to buy seconds. In the world of shinobi, the mission outweighed the lives of the members.
Hagoromo wove his signs: Shadow Clone Jutsu.
As the clone moved to the rear and the original stepped forward, Hagoromo looked at the iron tail.
"Alright, 'pretty boy.' Let's see if I can drag you out of that shell of yours..."
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