The next day dawned bright and cold over Sunagakure.
Peter arrived early in the morning at the entrance of the Kazekage Building, the so-called Shaying Tower, standing tall at the heart of the village. His purpose was simple—or so he thought. He wanted to find Kazekage Rasa, sit him down, and have a serious talk with him about the "art" of raising sons.
Peter had many questions. After all, raising children in the ninja world was no easy task, and he was convinced that as a father himself, Rasa would have valuable experience to share.
But to his confusion, no matter how long he waited, there was no sign of Rasa.
Peter squinted at the sky. The blazing sun was already climbing past its peak, and the shadows had shifted to mark that noon was approaching. Still, there was no Kazekage.
"Oh, that's strange," Peter muttered, scratching the back of his head, his brows furrowed. "It's almost midday and I still haven't seen Rasa walk into the building. Where on earth could he be? Doesn't he need to handle official duties like every other Kage?"
He let out a sigh and leaned against one of the stone posts, considering his next move. Sunagakure was enormous. To go searching blindly for Rasa in the maze of streets, markets, and residential districts would be like hunting for a single grain of sand in the desert.
So Peter decided to hold his ground. If Rasa was the Kazekage, surely at some point he would return to his office. That much was inevitable.
But the hours dragged on. The morning faded away completely, and still the entrance to the Kazekage Building remained empty. Not even a secretary or a clerk entered, let alone the Kazekage himself.
Peter rubbed his temples, frustration seeping in. "What the hell is this guy doing? Doesn't he know he's supposed to set an example as Kazekage? No wonder the village has always been poor. Half the problem is the desert, the other half is its incompetent leader."
The criticism rolled naturally off his tongue. Peter had no idea, of course, that if Rasa were standing beside him right now, the Kazekage would be clutching his chest in outrage. For in truth, Rasa was anything but idle.
Behind the scenes, the man was constantly straining himself for the sake of Sunagakure. He poured his energy into reforms, trade deals, and even personal expeditions to find gold deposits in the desert. He believed that with enough determination, he could pull his village out of poverty.
Not long ago, he had even gone out together with none other than Uchiha Obito, the notorious masked thief of the ninja world, to secure resources. The money from those ventures had been deposited directly into Sunagakure's vaults. But none of this effort was visible to Peter, who only saw the empty office door and assumed negligence.
Just as his patience wore thin, movement caught his attention.
From down the street came a group of shinobi, surrounding someone in their midst as they moved quickly toward the Kazekage Building. The dust rising behind them suggested urgency, and the guards' tense posture meant the person they escorted had importance.
Peter straightened instantly. "That must be him. That's gotta be Rasa!"
His heart leapt. Finally, after half a day of waiting, the elusive Kazekage was returning! The flowers of his patience had nearly withered, but at long last, the man he sought was approaching.
Peter could hardly contain his excitement. He was already picturing the conversation they'd have—father to father, man to man.
The group hurried into the Kazekage Building, their footsteps echoing against the stone courtyard.
Peter slipped closer, eager to follow. But as the crowd filed through the entrance and he caught sight of the figure they were escorting, his steps faltered.
At the center of the formation was not Rasa.
It was an old woman.
Her gray hair was bound tightly, her wrinkled face etched with years of hardship, and her eyes glimmered with the sharpness of experience. Peter recognized her instantly from descriptions he had heard: Chiyo of the Sand, the elder puppeteer and war veteran.
His jaw dropped. "Wait—Chiyo? Why her? Where's Rasa?"
Disappointment crashed over him. All that waiting, and instead of finding the Kazekage, he stumbled upon his village's elder.
He clenched his fists. "Forget it. If it's Chiyo, then so be it. I can't wait around any longer!"
Resolute, Peter darted forward, moving in a blur of speed. He slipped past the guards, entered the building, and sprinted up the stairs toward the Kazekage's office. If he couldn't find Rasa directly, he'd corner Chiyo and demand some answers.
No matter what, Rasa would not escape him today.
---
Inside the Kazekage's Office
The air inside the office was heavy with the smell of herbs and medicine. A medical ninja, dressed in a white coat and a protective mask, knelt respectfully before Chiyo.
"Master Chiyo," the medic reported, "the transplanted arm from Sarutobi Hiruzen still shows no signs of rejection. The body is adapting well. But we must continue observing for a while longer."
He kept his gaze fixed on the floor, clearly nervous. To look directly at Chiyo felt like staring at a predator.
Chiyo waved her hand dismissively. "Good. That will do. You may leave."
Relief swept through the room like a gust of wind. The medical team bowed deeply, then hurried out, almost tripping over themselves in their eagerness to escape. Within moments, silence returned.
Chiyo was alone.
Slowly, she extended her hands from within her robe.
They were pale, almost ghostly, like parchment stretched over brittle bones. The veins stood out in sharp relief, and the lifeless color made them seem unnatural. But it was not their sickly hue that was most disturbing.
It was what gleamed upon the backs of those hands.
Three scarlet Sharingan eyes, each with their ominous three tomoe, stared outward. Under the sunlight filtering through the window, they shimmered with a sinister brilliance.
Chiyo's breath caught in her throat. Her gaze locked on the eyes, her lips trembling with both greed and awe. She lifted her trembling fingers and gently caressed the Sharingan as though stroking jewels.
"So this… this is the power they spoke of," she whispered. Her voice rasped, low and reverent. "A power said to grant resurrection itself. How did that old fool uncover such a thing?"
Her heart raced. With these three Sharingan, she possessed not one, not two, but three chances at rebirth. Death itself no longer held the same chains upon her.
She could fight recklessly, unleash forbidden techniques without fear of consequence, even sacrifice her life and still return. And if she chose, she could channel this gift outward—combined with her own Self-Reincarnation Technique, she could restore others to life.
Three lives. Three chances. Three opportunities to undo tragedy.
Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "Scorpion… soon, I will resurrect your parents. You will no longer be alone."
Her voice quivered with longing.
Her mind drifted into memory. She saw the boy—her grandson, Sasori of the Red Sand. Lonely, withdrawn, and brilliant. His parents had perished when he was just a child, leaving him starved for affection. And Chiyo, burdened by her duties, had failed to fill that void.
Her heart clenched with guilt.
That loneliness had festered, molding him into someone cold, someone who turned his genius toward puppetry not for art, but for control, for permanence. Step by step, he had walked away from the light, until he poisoned and killed the Third Kazekage and defected from the village entirely.
The world saw him as a criminal, a monster. But to Chiyo, he was still that small boy with tearful eyes who reached out for warmth that never came.
She had hidden the truth of the Third Kazekage's death, announcing instead that his cause of death was unknown, his body missing. She shielded Sasori, convinced that if she just gave him time, he would return.
Now, with these Sharingan, she could rewrite his fate. She could bring back his parents. Perhaps then… perhaps then his heart would heal.
Her hand brushed across the eyes again. They pulsed faintly under her touch.
And then—
"Shit! The same kind of Sharingan watch as Danzo!"
The voice rang out suddenly, shattering the silence.
Chiyo froze. The hairs on her neck stood on end, her whole body trembling. Slowly, her wide eyes darted around the room.
"Who's there?" she barked, her voice quivering with both fear and authority. "Come out this instant!"
Her hands flew to her pouch. With practiced motion, she yanked out a scroll, unfurled it across the floor, and slammed her palm down.
Puff!
Smoke burst forth, and a line of puppets materialized. The Ten Chikamatsu Puppets, legendary tools of war, stood tall around her. Some brandished gleaming blades, others raised heavy shields. They arranged themselves in perfect formation, their wooden heads swiveling as if alive, watching every corner of the room with cold vigilance.
Chiyo's chest rose and fell rapidly. Sweat dotted her wrinkled brow. "Show yourself!" she shouted again, her tone harsher now. "If you refuse, I will strike without mercy!"
Her eyes darted, scanning shadows.
And then, with a faint shimmer, Peter appeared.
He had crept in invisibly, cloaked by the power of the snake charm. But the sight of the grotesque Sharingan embedded in Chiyo's arm had shocked him so much that he'd blurted his thought aloud, breaking his cover.
Now, with a sheepish smile tugging at his lips, he lifted his hands.
"Haha… don't be so nervous," Peter said, his tone light, almost playful. "I'm not a bad person."
---
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