At the top floor of the central tower in Amegakure, rain streamed endlessly down the steel and glass, blurring the outside world into distorted smears of color.
Salamander Hanzō stood by the window, wearing a special breathing mask. His hands were clasped behind his back, knuckles faintly whitening from the pressure.
Scattered across the office desk were more than a dozen reports, each representing a rain ninja who never returned. The latest one was still stained with blood—brought back this morning by a severely wounded shinobi who had fought his way through encirclement at the cost of his life.
So, the shinobi of the great nations not only treated the Land of Rain as a battlefield, but some squads even struck directly at Amegakure's ninja…
In just a few short days, several patrol teams had already met tragic ends.
"These great nations are going too far!" Hanzō's voice rumbled through the mask, low and repressed, but clearly seething with genuine fury.
He turned and picked up the bloodstained report. It described in detail how Sunagakure ninja had ambushed an Ame patrol unit near the border.
In the corner, Amegakure jōnin Aota stood with his head bowed, not daring to breathe too loudly. Having followed Hanzō for years, he knew well the storm of rage hidden beneath his leader's apparent calm.
Hanzō slammed the report heavily onto the desk.
"It's one thing to use the Land of Rain as their battlefield, but now they dare to slaughter our shinobi and civilians at will."
He pointed toward the slums barely visible through the sheets of rain.
"Last week, we lost thirty-seven civilians—more than half of them were children."
One didn't even need to think hard to know it was done by shinobi from the great nations who had slipped into the villages!
Softly, Aota spoke. "Hanzō-sama, shall we organize a retaliation? The poison mist unit we've been training is already…"
"No." Hanzō raised a hand to cut him off, the mask hissing faintly with each breath. "Now is not the time."
He walked to the large map of the shinobi world hanging on the wall, tracing his finger along the Land of Rain, hemmed in on all sides by the great nations.
"Iwagakure, Sunagakure, Konoha—their strength cannot be underestimated. We still need more time to grow."
Rain pattered ceaselessly against the glass, filling the room with heavy silence.
Hanzō stood before the map, his gaze fixed on the small patch representing the Land of Rain, trapped at the junction of great powers.
"Pass down my orders," Hanzō said suddenly. "Recall all Ame ninja from missions outside the country. Reduce our patrol range."
Aota looked up in shock. "Wouldn't that be showing weakness to the great nations?"
A cold chuckle echoed from beneath the mask.
"A temporary retreat is not surrender." He strode over to the aquarium in the corner, where several highly poisonous salamanders swam lazily. "Notify the research department. Tell them to accelerate development of the new poison gas."
His own body had been implanted with a salamander's poison sac, mutating him and granting him the ability to exude deadly toxins—his very breath laced with poison.
Now Hanzō intended for the village's research division to create even stronger poisons, so that Amegakure ninja would one day be able to stand against the great nations' shinobi on the battlefield.
Aota bowed in acknowledgement, preparing to withdraw.
"Wait!" Hanzō stopped him abruptly. "Triple the compensation for the families of the fallen shinobi. Take it from my personal account."
When the office door finally closed, Hanzō was left alone before the window, staring at his blurred reflection in the rain.
"One day…" he whispered, tracing a misty line across the glass with his finger, "I will make sure the Land of Rain will no longer suffer humiliation from anyone."
A distant bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the unwavering resolve burning in his eyes.
To him, Amegakure was like a wounded beast—lying low for now, but never relinquishing its fangs.
As long as he was given more time to build strength, he would surely change this reality.
"You! Who are you?!"
Aota's sharp cry rang out from the hallway, followed by the sounds of brief scuffling. Then—silence.
Hanzō frowned instinctively, unsure of what had just happened.
Before he could figure it out, the iron door to his office suddenly groaned, twisted, and was violently kicked off its hinges.
The massive metal door whistled past Hanzō's ear, embedding deep into the wall behind him.
"Sorry. I don't have the habit of knocking."
Hanzō: "…"
At the doorway stood a long-haired youth wearing a straw hat, his right leg still extended from the kick. Behind him lay the unconscious forms of Ame guards strewn across the corridor—including jōnin Aota.
Catching Hanzō's gaze, the youth explained casually. "Don't worry. They're only asleep."
Hanzō said nothing, but his eyes scanned quickly over the intruder. No forehead protector of any village. A sword strapped at his waist. Most striking of all was his cold expression—like someone who cared for nothing in the world.
"So, you're Salamander Hanzō?" the youth asked.
Hanzō kept his guard up, his muffled voice steady through the mask.
"Who are you?"
His gaze flicked briefly to the fallen guards in the hall. Each had been taken out in a single strike—precise cuts to the carotid artery, just enough to render unconscious without killing.
This youth's skill was formidable. In mere moments, he had neutralized all the guards. Yet Hanzō was certain he had never crossed paths with such a person.
Wait… why did this face seem vaguely familiar?
Hanzō narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the young man's features, but no memory surfaced.
The youth was none other than Renya, come to challenge Hanzō directly.
Renya clicked his tongue impatiently. "I asked you a question. Are you Salamander Hanzō?"
After all, with all Ame shinobi wearing masks, it was hard to tell who the real Salamander Hanzō was. What if, like with Kabuto, he accidentally ended up fighting Hanzō's right-hand man instead? That would be embarrassing.
Sensing Renya's hostile intent, Hanzō instinctively glanced at the scythe by his desk—a weapon custom-forged for him. If this youth attacked, he would not hesitate to grab it and strike back.
"I am Salamander Hanzō. And you, sir—what business do you have with me?"
Hearing Hanzō confirm his identity, Renya smiled faintly.
"Relax. I only came here to test the poison of the Salamander."
Hanzō stared at him strangely, beginning to suspect this youth wasn't very bright…
Who in the shinobi world didn't know Salamander Hanzō's poison was extremely lethal? Did he not see the mask strapped to his face even now?
At first, Hanzō thought the youth had come to assassinate him. He hadn't expected someone to come knocking just to get poisoned!
Those who inhaled his toxins—almost all met death.
Even though Hanzō himself had crafted antidotes, survival rates were slim.
Because his breath itself carried poison, he had chosen to wear the mask and breathe only through his mouth to avoid harming allies.
And yet here was someone volunteering to experience his poison firsthand.
Renya noticed the doubt flickering in Hanzō's eyes, so he decided to introduce himself.
"Let me introduce myself. My name is Renya."