Advisor Ebizo's demeanor was enough to make Izumo and Kotetsu hold their breath. The air between him and Roshi had shifted—calm, but heavy, like the stillness before a sandstorm.
Anko's eyes flicked between them. From her last experience, she could tell: this was where things got serious.
Roshi sat straight, fingertips resting lightly against the rim of his teacup.
Ebizo's tone, his impatience, even the way his fingers drummed the table—it all revealed one thing.
Sunagakure was under pressure. Serious pressure.
Whether it came from Iwagakure's aggressive push along the western front or the Land of Wind's dwindling coffers, the result was the same: the Hidden Sand needed tangible gains.
They wanted what Konoha could offer—but for entirely different reasons.
Konoha's goal with the Chunin Exams was strategic: to reallocate mission quotas, attract long-term contracts, and rebuild its influence after the war.
Sunagakure, by contrast, was desperate for immediate relief—supplies, funding, or military assistance to plug its growing internal holes.
Could Konoha afford to support them?
Strategically, yes. A stable, strong Sunagakure meant pressure kept on Iwagakure and a useful buffer zone in the west.
But could that support be tied to this negotiation—used as a bargaining chip for participation in the Exams?
No.
That would blur lines that should never be blurred.
The Chunin Exams were Konoha's stage—a political theater meant to display strength and reshape order.
Just by participating, Sunagakure stood to gain: recognition, prestige, and the chance to showcase its young shinobi before every major power.
That was already a fair deal.
Mixing this diplomatic exchange with resource concessions would only embolden Sunagakure's appetite, setting a precedent Konoha couldn't afford.
Last time, Konoha had been the one desperate to stabilize the alliance, sparing no cost to prevent Sunagakure from collapsing.
Now, the tables had turned. The western front had quieted, and with new alliances in the east, Konoha finally had breathing room.
At present, Konoha sought opportunity.
Sunagakure sought survival.
And in any negotiation, the one who needed something more always blinked first.
With that clarity, Roshi's expression shifted—calm, polite, and unmistakably firm. Ebizo recognized that look immediately and frowned.
Roshi stood, bowing slightly.
"Advisor Ebizo, we appreciate your hospitality. I've truly felt Sunagakure's sincerity today."
He turned toward his teammates. "We'll take our leave. It's been a long journey."
Anko rose without question. Izumo and Kotetsu exchanged panicked glances before scrambling to their feet, nearly knocking over their chairs in the process.
Ebizo's eyes widened. He had hosted a banquet, offered wine with his own hands—and this brat was just going to walk out?
"Jonin Roshi!" His voice cracked like a whip, the authority of a veteran advisor filling the room. "Is this Konoha's attitude when seeking an ally's cooperation?"
Roshi paused at the doorway and half-turned. The corridor's shadow cut across his face, leaving one eye glinting in the dim light.
"Konoha's attitude," he said evenly, "has always been one of sincerity. But because we value this alliance, we must be cautious with our words. Making promises that cannot be guaranteed—" his gaze hardened slightly, "—would be the greatest disrespect to an ally. Wouldn't you agree, Advisor?"
The silence that followed was thick and stifling. Before Ebizo could respond, Roshi turned and walked out, his team following close behind.
Only the faint sound of the door closing broke the stillness.
Behind it, Ebizo sat frozen for a moment—then let out a low grunt, part irritation, part reluctant amusement.
That brat has teeth.
On their way back, Anko leaned close, her voice a whisper.
"Roshi, we're just… leaving? That old man's face turned green."
"Let him think," Roshi replied quietly, his gaze sweeping over the sand-swept rooftops of Sunagakure, the desert wind blurring the outlines of the village. "Right now, we're not the ones who need results from this meeting."
Back at the inn, he gave no further instructions—just told everyone to rest.
The next morning, when Roshi requested permission to move freely through the village, the Sunagakure guard's face tightened.
"I'm sorry, Jonin Roshi. Village regulations forbid foreign shinobi from wandering without escort."
Roshi nodded mildly. "I see. Then never mind."
His tone was so casual that it sounded like a passing comment.
And yet, the subtle unease it left behind lingered in the guard's mind long after he walked away.
That entire day, the Konoha team remained at the inn. Roshi read quietly, Anko sharpened her kunai out of boredom, and Izumo and Kotetsu exchanged nervous glances, unsure what to make of their leader's silence.
It wasn't the fiery envoy they'd imagined—it was patience, pure and deliberate.
And it was working.
By nightfall, word of Konoha's stillness had reached Ebizo. The silence from their side was making the Sand's leadership increasingly uneasy.
This time, it was Sunagakure—not Konoha—that was beginning to fidget.
By the afternoon, a Suna shinobi arrived with a message:
Advisor Ebizo wished to invite Konoha's envoy for another discussion.
Roshi didn't even lift his eyes from the scroll he was reading.
"Tell Advisor Ebizo that we're feeling unwell and need rest," he said calmly. "Today won't work. Please offer our apologies."
The messenger blinked, stunned. Clearly, this was the first time anyone had dared to refuse one of Sunagakure's highest advisors so directly. He opened his mouth, but under Roshi's steady gaze, the words caught in his throat.
After an awkward pause, the shinobi bowed stiffly and retreated.
"Roshi," Kotetsu asked after a long silence, "are we… allowed to do that?"
Their mission was to invite Sunagakure to the Chunin Exams, not to offend them.
"It's fine," Roshi said, turning another page. "We wait."
Sure enough, less than an hour later, hurried footsteps echoed outside the inn. The door slid open.
Ebizo himself stepped inside. His expression was unreadable.
"Konoha brat," he said gruffly, "I hear you're unwell. It seems we've been negligent hosts."
Only then did Roshi set down his scroll and stand. "You overpraise us, Advisor. It's nothing serious—no need for concern."
Ebizo let out a short, humorless chuckle before dropping into a chair uninvited.
"Since I've come in person," he said dryly, "I imagine your health has miraculously improved. So tell me—what exactly is Konoha's plan for these so-called Chunin Exams?"
Roshi didn't answer immediately. Instead, he smiled faintly.
"It's not illness, really. Just a bit of restlessness. Though it seems your village regulations don't allow visitors much freedom… I hope I haven't caused you any trouble."
Ebizo's cheek twitched. Is this brat seriously pretending to be ill now?
He wanted to snap—but he stopped himself.
Because the truth was, Sunagakure needed this deal far more than Konoha did.
Roshi could see it too. The old man's bluster was a paper shield.
After a long silence, Ebizo suddenly rose.
"Fine," he said curtly. "I'll take you for a walk myself. Let's see if the air here really works miracles for delicate Konoha boys."
Roshi bowed slightly. "Then I'll trouble you, Advisor."
A strange sight soon appeared on the streets of Sunagakure—an aged Advisor with a perpetually sour expression, escorting a calm young Jonin and three uneasy subordinates through the village.
The hot wind whipped between narrow alleys, stirring dust that shimmered in the dying light.
Roshi's gaze drifted slowly over the streets and rooftops, memorizing details without seeming to.
The Hidden Sand Village hadn't changed much since his last visit, yet… something was off.
The streets were thinner with people. Those who did pass by wore hard, weary expressions—faces carved by wind, hunger, and grit.
From one shaded alley came the faint sound of muffled sobbing, quickly swallowed by the wind.
Ebizo's jaw tightened. He'd noticed too. His pace quickened, as if wanting to escape the sight.
Roshi didn't comment. But in his mind, the evidence was stacking neatly together.
Sunagakure was bleeding resources—and fast.
When the short "stroll" ended, Ebizo turned to him, visibly irritated.
"Well, Konoha Jonin, feeling better now?"
Roshi gave a mild smile. "The Hidden Sand truly leaves an impression. Thank you, Advisor, for your hospitality."
The next day, negotiations resumed.
This time, the atmosphere had shifted.
Ebizo's usual sharp edge was dulled—his tone careful, his eyes less defiant.
Roshi brought up the Chunin Exams once more, his words calm but deliberate.
"Sunagakure's participation will, in itself, be a powerful statement," he said.
"When Daimyo, nobles, and merchants from every land attend, they'll be watching closely. Only a strong village will win their trust—and their commissions."
Ebizo's frown deepened. Still the same political nonsense, his eyes seemed to say.
But Roshi wasn't finished.
"A village that performs well will naturally attract new opportunities," he continued. "Reputation can be as valuable as funding. Sometimes more."
Ebizo stared at him across the table. For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then the old man sighed through his nose, the faintest sign of resignation in his eyes.
He understood perfectly well what Roshi meant.
Konoha wasn't offering direct aid—but the implication was clear.
Do well at the Exams, and support will come afterward.
Not the immediate profit he'd hoped for, but a door left slightly open.
"…Fine," Ebizo finally muttered, leaning back. "Sunagakure will send its people to participate."
Roshi inclined his head. "Then the remaining details can be discussed once you arrive in Konoha."
"Hmph. So be it."
He wasn't pleased—but he knew he'd been cornered cleanly.
If anything, that calm young Jonin was even more infuriating than last time.
The Konoha team remained in the Hidden Sand Village for two more days. Everything seemed to have settled.
Then, on the final night, the desert's calm shattered.
Roshi woke instantly, his instincts screaming.
Outside the window, the sand was alive with chaos—winds tearing through the streets, the air trembling with killing intent.
And then came the roar.
A massive figure, cloaked in cursed seals, tore through the skyline—its shadow blotting out the moon.
"That's…" Roshi's eyes narrowed. "Ichibi. Shukaku."
Anko was already at his side, kunai drawn. "You've got to be kidding me. It's gone berserk?"
Outside, the desert trembled under the monster's fury.
The alliance they'd just secured was about to be tested in the harshest possible way.
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Next Chapter : Shukaku, the One-tail goes berserk!!
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