"Are we attacking Sunagakure, Kirigakure, and Takigakure simultaneously?" the masked man asked, his visible eye gleaming with sudden understanding as the full scope of Nagato's plan became clear.
The strategy was elegant in its ruthless simplicity, targeting the fundamental weakness in what had previously been Konoha's greatest strength. All of the hidden village's allies possessed space-time coordinates that had been personally placed by Namikaze Minato himself, markers that allowed the Fourth Hokage to deploy reinforcements anywhere in the ninja world within seconds of receiving a distress signal.
This defensive network had made the allied villages virtually impregnable against conventional attacks, creating a web of mutual protection that had successfully deterred aggressive action for months. But Nagato had identified the critical flaw in such a system—it could only respond to threats, not prevent them from materializing simultaneously across multiple fronts.
"In this way," the masked man continued, his tactical mind working through the implications with growing appreciation, "once these villages come under attack, Konoha's ninja will be forced to send reinforcements immediately. But they can't be everywhere at once."
The beauty of the plan lay in its exploitation of Konoha's greatest strength as its greatest weakness. The village's commitment to protecting its allies would become the mechanism of its own destruction, forcing difficult choices that would ultimately benefit no one.
Nagato nodded slowly, his transformed features showing the satisfaction of someone whose strategic genius was finally being recognized by those around him.
"The other side has no way of knowing how we distribute the strength of our organization members among these three locations," he explained, his voice carrying the authority of absolute certainty.
The information warfare aspect was crucial to the plan's success. Konoha's intelligence network, extensive as it was, could not provide real-time data about enemy force distribution across multiple continents. Any defensive decisions would have to be made based on incomplete information and educated guesswork.
"So they cannot concentrate their forces on a specific target," Nagato continued, his analytical mind clearly working through every permutation and possibility. "The only viable strategy available to them is to distribute their forces evenly among all three locations. Only by maintaining balanced defensive coverage can they ensure that every village maintains adequate protection."
The logic was inescapable from a defensive standpoint, but it played directly into Nagato's hands. By forcing Konoha to spread its strength thin across multiple fronts, he would ensure that no single location could field overwhelming defensive power.
"This approach guarantees that each village will find itself in either an advantageous or disadvantageous position relative to our attacking forces," Nagato explained, "but none of them will be so heavily defended that they become impossible for us to overwhelm."
The mathematical precision of the strategy was impressive in its cold calculation. Rather than attempting to overcome concentrated resistance, they would create multiple scenarios where local superiority could be achieved and exploited.
"The enemy already knows that our primary objective is capturing the remaining Tailed Beasts," Nagato added, his voice taking on a note of dark satisfaction. "So at minimum, they will be forced to dedicate significant resources to protecting the Jinchūriki who remain under their control."
"What if Konoha doesn't respond as you expect them to?" Konan asked, her voice carrying the weight of deep concern as she studied Nagato's transformed features.
Her face was marred by worry that went beyond tactical considerations. She did not agree with this plan, not because of its strategic merits, but because of what it revealed about the man she had once known. The gentle boy who had dreamed of peace had been replaced by someone who calculated human lives with the cold precision of a mathematician.
The long-haired leader smiled with an expression that held no warmth, only the satisfaction of someone who had anticipated every possible objection and prepared responses for each one.
"That would be perfect," he replied, his voice carrying a note of genuine pleasure at the prospect. "Let Deidara and the others successfully capture the remaining Jinchūriki and their Tailed Beasts. Such an outcome would only make me more confident in my ability to defeat Minato Namikaze in direct combat."
The statement revealed the true depth of his transformation. What had once been a mission driven by idealistic goals had become a personal obsession with proving his superiority over the one man who had consistently thwarted his ambitions.
"Although Konoha possesses formidable power now," Nagato continued, his voice taking on the absolute confidence of someone who believed himself to have transcended mortal limitations, "if I choose to withdraw from the battle, even Minato Namikaze lacks the ability to prevent my escape."
The claim was not mere boasting—it was a cold assessment based on his new capabilities. The power of five Tailed Beasts flowed through his system, granting him access to techniques and abilities that put him beyond the reach of conventional ninja, no matter how skilled.
"So the real purpose of your plan is to engineer a one-on-one confrontation with Minato Namikaze?" the masked man asked, his voice carrying a note of understanding mixed with concern.
He stared at Nagato with his visible eye, recognizing that this entire elaborate strategy was ultimately about settling a personal score rather than achieving their organization's stated objectives. The revelation was both impressive and troubling—impressive for its tactical sophistication, troubling for what it suggested about Nagato's mental state.
"You could understand it that way," Nagato replied with characteristic directness. "I fundamentally disagree with our previous approaches, and this is the only method available to us now that has any realistic chance of success."
The honesty was refreshing in its way, even as it revealed the extent to which personal motivation had overtaken ideological commitment. Nagato was no longer fighting for peace through pain—he was fighting to prove that his power exceeded that of the man who had humiliated him.
"Unless, of course, you have a superior alternative to propose?" Nagato asked, his tone making it clear that he considered such a possibility extremely unlikely.
The challenge hung in the air between them, a test of whether the masked man could match Nagato's strategic thinking or would be forced to accept a subordinate role in the coming operation.
"We'll proceed according to your plan," the masked man said finally, though his voice carried undertones of displeasure that he made no attempt to conceal.
Although he was secretly unhappy with being relegated to a supporting role in what had once been his own grand design, he was forced to acknowledge that Nagato's strategy represented the most effective approach currently available to them. The alternative was continued stalemate, and time was not necessarily on their side.
"As for the allocation of organization members among the target locations," Nagato continued, his tone indicating that he considered the matter settled, "I leave those decisions entirely to your discretion."
The delegation of tactical details was both a gesture of respect and a clear indication of priorities. Nagato's focus was entirely on his coming confrontation with the Fourth Hokage—everything else was merely supporting infrastructure for that ultimate encounter.
As he finished speaking, the masked man activated his signature technique once more. Space twisted around his form as he disappeared into the dimensional void that served as both his refuge and his primary method of transportation. Within seconds, he had vanished completely, leaving only the faintest disturbance in the air to mark his passage.
"Nagato," Konan said suddenly, stepping directly into his path and fixing him with an intense stare from her beautiful eyes.
The gesture was unprecedented in its directness, a violation of the respectful distance she had maintained during his transformation into something beyond human understanding. But this moment demanded such directness—it might be their last opportunity for honest communication before everything changed forever.
"Konan, now that things have reached this point," Nagato replied, his voice carrying the weight of absolute finality, "you should understand that I will not change my mind, regardless of any arguments you might present."
The statement was delivered with the calm certainty of someone who had examined every alternative and reached an unshakeable conclusion. There would be no further discussion, no negotiation, no compromise.
Konan nodded slowly, her expression showing acceptance rather than defeat.
"Of course I understand," she said, her voice steady despite the magnitude of what she was acknowledging, "and I have no intention of trying to stop you."
The admission carried its own weight of tragedy—the recognition that love sometimes meant supporting someone even when their choices led toward destruction.
"But when Yahiko was still alive," she continued, her voice taking on the ache of old grief mixed with current determination, "didn't the three of us swear to remain together forever, no matter what challenges we might face?"
The invocation of their fallen friend's memory was both a reminder of what they had lost and a plea for what they might still preserve. Their childhood bond had survived war, betrayal, and the corrupting influence of power—surely it could survive this final test as well.
"So at least let me accompany you to complete all of this," Konan said, her voice growing stronger with each word, "whether you succeed or fail in your ultimate objective."
The offer was made without reservation or condition, a gift of loyalty that transcended strategic calculation or personal safety.
"My life, without you two, has lost all meaning," she concluded, her voice carrying the simple truthof someone who had found her purpose in the bonds she shared with others.
When Konan mentioned Yahiko's name, something fundamental shifted in Nagato's expression. The cold mask of calculated power slipped for just a moment, revealing glimpses of the boy who had once dreamed of changing the world through understanding rather than force.
He met Konan's eyes directly, and in that moment of connection, the full weight of their shared history pressed down upon them both. All the losses they had endured, all the compromises they had made, all the innocence they had sacrificed in pursuit of an ideal that had gradually transformed into something unrecognizable.
Finally, almost reluctantly, he nodded his acceptance.
"Let's go," he said, his voice carrying the finality of someone crossing a line from which there could be no return. "This battle will determine the truth of the prophecy that Jiraiya-sensei spoke of so long ago."
The reference to their former teacher was both homage and challenge—an acknowledgment of the man who had tried to guide them toward a different path, and a declaration that they had chosen to fulfill his most dire predictions rather than his fondest hopes.
As soon as Nagato finished speaking, his body began to rise from the ground without any visible means of propulsion. The power that flowed through him had fundamentally altered his relationship with physical laws, allowing him to float effortlessly through the air like a being that belonged more to the realm of spirits than flesh.
Behind Konan, origami papers began to condense and reshape themselves with the fluid grace that marked all her techniques. The sheets wove together into a pair of enormous wings that extended from her back, each feather perfectly crafted and imbued with the chakra necessary to support her weight during extended flight.
The transformation gave her the appearance of an angel—beautiful, otherworldly, and somehow deeply melancholy. The contrast between her ethereal appearance and the darkness of their mission created a poignant image that spoke to the tragedy of what they had become.
Together, they rose higher than the mountain peaks that had concealed their base, their forms silhouetted against the vast sky as they began their journey toward the Fire Country and the confrontation that would determine the fate of the ninja world.
Not long after their departure, the masked man completed his own preparations for the coming operation. The allocation of Akatsuki members among the three target locations had been a complex exercise in balancing available skills against mission requirements, but he was satisfied with the final arrangements.
Each team had been constructed to maximize their chances of success while maintaining enough flexibility to adapt to changing circumstances. The members of the organization dispersed in different directions, some heading toward the desert strongholds of Sunagakure, others making their way to the mist-shrouded islands of Kirigakure, and the remainder moving toward the waterfall-protected village of Takigakure.
"It seems that I will have to keep a close watch on that individual," the masked man murmured to himself, his voice carrying the calculated concern of someone whose plans depended on variables beyond his direct control.
Behind him, the distinctive form of Zetsu emerged partially from the ground, with only his head and a portion of his plant-like appendages visible above the surface. The bizarre creature's presence was both reassuring and unsettling—a reminder of the supernatural forces that moved behind the scenes of every major conflict.
"If Nagato fails in his mission," the masked man continued, his voice taking on the cold practicality that had always characterized his approach to strategy, "my Rinnegan must not be allowed to fall into the hands of Konoha's ninja."
The statement revealed the true nature of his relationship with Nagato—not partnership, but utilitarian exploitation. The leader of the Akatsuki was merely a chess piece that could be discarded when necessary, but without the legendary eyes that granted him his power, all of the masked man's carefully laid plans would collapse into meaninglessness.
As he spoke, space began to distort around him once more, reality bending to accommodate his dimensional travel technique. Within moments, his figure had disappeared entirely, leaving only Zetsu to observe the empty mountainside.
After the masked man's departure, White Zetsu's voice carried a note of sardonic amusement as he commented on the situation.
"Obito is so naive," he said, his tone mixing mockery with genuine pity. "Does he really believe that the Rinnegan is something that Madara left specifically for him?"
The statement hinted at layers of deception and manipulation that went far deeper than even the masked man suspected. The truth about the legendary eyes and their ultimate purpose remained hidden beneath levels of misdirection that had been constructed over decades.
Black Zetsu remained silent, but his thoughts carried the weight of knowledge that spanned centuries.
"Madara, Obito, and Nagato," he mused internally, "you are all just foolish children who understand nothing about the true nature of this world."
The contempt in his mental voice was absolute, the disdain of an ancient consciousness for the mortals who believed themselves to be masters of their own destiny. They were all pawns in a game whose scope and purpose exceeded their ability to comprehend.
Having delivered his assessment, Black Zetsu began to sink slowly into the ground, his form merging with the earth as he prepared to monitor the unfolding events from the shadows where he had always belonged.
Meanwhile, in the temporarily peaceful environment of Konoha village, life continued with the careful normalcy that marked a community preparing for war. In the backyard of the village hospital, on a simple wooden bench that had witnessed countless conversations between healers seeking respite from their duties, Chiharu sat with her clear, bright eyes turned toward the sky.
"My brother has been gone for more than a month," she said with a sigh that carried all the longing of someone missing a beloved family member. "I don't know how he's doing now, or when he might return home."
The absence of normal village missions had resulted in her assignment to the hospital, where she had been learning medical ninjutsu under Tsunade's direct supervision. The work was challenging and meaningful, but it could not entirely distract her from her concerns about Naruto's extended absence.
Sai had joined one of the investigation teams, his Super Beast Imitation technique proving invaluable for reconnaissance operations that required mobility and stealth. But even knowing that her friend was contributing to the search efforts did little to ease her worry about both her brother and the larger situation facing their village.
"The Akatsuki organization consists of nothing but annoying individuals who attack other people's villages for no good reason," she muttered, her normally sweet expression showing rare irritation.
Her rosy lips curved into a frown as she contemplated the disruption that the criminal organization had brought to their previously peaceful lives. If not for their actions, the village would not have been transformed into the empty, militarized state it currently resembled.
"Looking at your expression, it seems like you're unhappy about something," a familiar voice observed from nearby.
Chiharu turned her head to see Tsunade approaching, carrying a porcelain bottle that emitted a distinctly alcoholic aroma in one hand and a matching cup in the other. The legendary Sannin was looking at her with a smile that mixed maternal concern with the slight looseness that suggested she had already been sampling her beverage.
"Lady Tsunade," Chiharu said respectfully, rising from the wooden bench in acknowledgment of her teacher's presence.
Tsunade waved her hand casually, gesturing for the younger woman to remain seated while she settled onto the bench beside her. The informal gesture was typical of their relationship—while Tsunade demanded respect for her expertise and position, she had little patience for excessive ceremony in personal interactions.
"Would you like a drink?" Tsunade asked, lifting the porcelain bottle and offering to pour some of its contents into the cup she had brought. "No matter what's bothering you, you won't think about it after drinking."
The suggestion was made with the good-natured casualness of someone who had found alcohol to be a reliable solution to many of life's problems, though her smile suggested she didn't entirely expect the offer to be accepted.
Chiharu responded with a bitter smile that reflected both amusement and gentle rejection.
"Master Tsunade, please stop teasing me," she said, her tone carrying the comfortable familiarity of someone who had grown accustomed to her teacher's eccentricities.
Not only did she personally dislike the taste of alcohol, but she was well aware that her mother would never permit her to drink at her current age. Kushina's rules about such matters were both clear and non-negotiable.
"Haha, I forgot," Tsunade laughed, her expression showing genuine amusement at her own oversight. "Kushina does seem to be very strict about such things."
She raised the wine cup to her own lips and drained it in a single gulp, her movements showing the practiced efficiency of someone who had performed this action countless times before.
"Drinking in broad daylight doesn't seem like a particularly good idea," Chiharu observed quietly, her tone carrying gentle criticism rather than harsh judgment.
Her relationship with Tsunade was comfortable enough that she felt free to express such concerns without fear of causing offense. The legendary medic-nin had become something of a mentor and friend, someone who could be approached with honesty rather than mere deference.
"Anyway, there's no one else around here to object," Tsunade replied with characteristic nonchalance, "so it shouldn't cause any problems."
She waved her hand dismissively while pouring herself another cup, her movements showing no sign of self-consciousness about her drinking habits. From her perspective, the current situation provided ample justification for seeking whatever comfort alcohol might provide.
"You must have been worried about Naruto just now, weren't you?" Tsunade asked, her tone shifting to something more serious as she studied Chiharu's expression.
The observation demonstrated the perceptiveness that had made her one of the most respected medical ninja in history. Despite her casual demeanor, she remained keenly aware of the emotional states of those around her.
"You two siblings really do have a wonderful relationship," she added with genuine warmth.
"You had a good relationship with Uncle Nawaki as well," Chiharu replied with a smile that acknowledged their shared understanding of sibling bonds.
"Nawaki used to be exactly like your brother," she said, her voice carrying the weight of old grief mixed with fond remembrance. "Clumsy sometimes, and always full of grand declarations about what he was going to accomplish."
The comparison was both accurate and painful—a reminder of dreams cut short and potential that would never be fully realized.
"My brother may be a little impulsive sometimes," Chiharu replied thoughtfully, "but in my opinion, that quality represents what a ninja should possess most."
Her voice grew stronger as she articulated her beliefs about what made someone truly strong.
"The courage to move forward bravely and do what you say you'll do," she concluded with a gentle chuckle that spoke to her deep affection for Naruto's determined nature.
"Yes," Tsunade agreed leisurely, "although they can be a little irritating at times, both of those guys have grown into truly good men."
The assessment carried the authority of someone who had known both individuals throughout their development, who had watched them struggle and grow and overcome obstacles that would have defeated lesser people.
As they continued their conversation, enjoying the comfortable rhythm of shared memories and mutual understanding, the atmosphere around them began to change in ways that spoke to forces beyond normal weather patterns.
Suddenly, without warning, the originally clear blue sky began to darken as heavy clouds gathered with unnatural speed. The transformation was too rapid and too complete to be natural—this was the result of powerful chakra manipulation on a scale that few ninja could achieve.
The sky gradually became as dark as evening despite the early hour, casting everything in an ominous twilight that made both women look up with growing concern.
Buzz!
A massive barrier that had been hidden but had always covered the entirety of Konoha suddenly became visible to the naked eye. The protective dome materialized like a soap bubble blown to enormous proportions, its surface shimmering with the distinctive patterns that marked advanced defensive jutsu.
Special light patterns embedded within the barrier's structure suddenly began to emit dazzling illumination, casting their radiance down into every corner of the village below. The light was bright enough to be seen clearly by every Konoha ninja, regardless of their current location, serving as both warning and rallying call.