Konan wasn't alone.
Beside her stood a man in plain clothes, no Akatsuki cloak, no obvious headband. On his back… something bulky was wrapped and strapped down.
Huh. He looks kinda familiar…
Kenichi's curiosity poked at him, but he still looked back to Konan first. Someone talks to you, you answer them—that's just basic manners.
And Amamiya Kenichi, in his own mind, was a very polite, refined young man.
"Earth bread?" he echoed.
Konan gave a small nod, her voice as calm as always.
"Mm. A local specialty of the Land of Rain," she said. "Made with a kind of clay. No real nutrition… but it fills the stomach."
Her tone was flat, detached—as if she herself had nothing to do with any of it.
But Kenichi could see the sadness sitting quietly in her eyes.
Konan was a good person.
Didn't smoke, didn't drink, didn't dye her hair.
Sure, she was the explosive-tag sugar mommy of Akatsuki… but she was still a good person.
Earth bread, huh…
Kenichi immediately understood.
Back in his previous world, there was something similar—"Guanyin clay."
People always said, "I'm so poor I'm eating dirt."
Here, that wasn't a joke.
People really were eating dirt.
Kenichi bought a piece of the hard, black "bread."
Not to eat it. He had his own idea.
Nagato, after inheriting Yahiko's dream, had turned Akatsuki into the true rulers of the Land of Rain. In the future, this country never really showed up in any big wars.
Until Akatsuki was exposed, nobody bothered touching it.
What Kenichi wanted to know was simple:
How did Nagato see these people at the very bottom?
Did he actually care about them?
If he did, then Kenichi could use that as leverage—push for Akatsuki to set up a research division.
Then he could finally do what he liked: hide in a lab, develop fun new weapons, and let his enemies enjoy a warm, loving thermobaric hug from the sky.
But what surprised him was what Konan did next.
She quietly took out her own purse… and bought all the earth bread on the stall.
Then she looked at Kenichi, expression unchanged—
but somehow, he could feel the meaning in that gaze:
"You only bought one?"
She didn't say it. But he heard it anyway.
Kenichi almost laughed.
Konan really is… kind of cute.
"Is he a new member?" Kenichi asked, turning his gaze to the man at her side.
The stranger had a ring on his finger too.
That alone told Kenichi enough—Akatsuki.
Kenichi had one as well: "Gyoku" (Jade).
And this guy's ring…
Wait.
He looked at the man's face again. Really looked.
Red hair. Dead-fish eyes. That empty, disinterested look, like the world bored him to death.
…No way.
Scorpion?
The name flashed in his mind—
Sasori of the Red Sand.
The genius puppeteer of Sunagakure.
The man who killed the Third Kazekage.
The guy who would eventually remake his entire body into a puppet in pursuit of his own twisted immortality.
No wonder he'd missed it at first glance; right now Sasori still looked more or less… human.
"This is a new member," Konan said calmly. "Ao."
Kenichi's mouth twitched.
Ao, my ass. That's clearly Sasori.
He could recognise that dead, "I hate everything but art" gaze anywhere.
"Nice to meet you, then. I'm Amamiya Kenichi," he said cheerfully, extending his hand.
Sasori's eyes shifted to him at the sound of that name, studying him.
"The A-rank missing-nin from Konoha?" Sasori said.
The fact that Kenichi had just dropped his real name so casually clearly caught him off-guard—especially after Konan had just explained that members used code names within the organisation.
Konan could feel Sasori's glance and suddenly felt… awkward.
Nagato had definitely said, "Use your ring names."
But with this walking chaos generator in front of her, that rule had clearly failed to stick.
"This is your cloak," Konan cut in quickly, before the "new recruit" started questioning the organisation's professionalism.
If this went on, they'd look less like a secret criminal organisation and more like a travelling comedy duo.
They were Akatsuki, not a sketch show.
Kenichi had originally wanted to chat with Sasori about puppetry.
He was very interested in that craft.
After all, if you scaled the design up, made it more complex, used advanced materials…
Wasn't there a real chance you could build a mobile suit?
And if he, one day, evolved his eyes into Mangekyō Sharingan…
Then it would be Susanoo × mecha.
A perfect combination of eye-hax and giant robot.
Just thinking about it made his hands itch.
But Konan had already produced the cloak, so he turned his attention to it.
The moment he saw it, his expectations… dropped.
It was just a standard-issue uniform.
Loosely cut, yes, and if he left the front open it could function as a dramatic coat in the wind… but still.
"Not artistic at all," Kenichi sighed.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sasori glanced over.
…Kindred spirit?
For the first time, the puppet master felt a strange urge to speak up.
He cared about art.
Real, eternal art.
The thought of his body aging, wrinkling, rotting—
he loathed it.
That was why he'd started turning himself into a puppet in the first place.
He understood exactly what Kenichi meant.
"This is my work," Konan said flatly, eyes half-lidded as she glared at him.
She'd already had to alter the design because of this guy's endless demands—longer hem, better silhouette, something that "looked cool in the wind."
She had never met a shinobi who cared so much about fashion.
Clothes were clothes. You wore them. End of story.
Did they block kunai? Good. Done.
"But it really doesn't look that good," Kenichi said honestly, scratching his cheek.
You had to admit it—
the shinobi world's aesthetics were… special.
Of course, that might be because most people didn't have the luxury of caring.
When living past forty already made you "old," and surviving to Hiruzen's age made you a rare fossil, especially for civilians… who had the energy to argue about cuts and silhouettes?
Sasori silently gave Kenichi a thumbs up.
What a brave man.
He himself was usually very independent and reserved, but he at least knew when to offer some polite social sugar-coating.
This guy?
Walked up.
Looked at the cloak.
Insulted it to the designer's face.
Truly… fearless.
Konan's expression had gone completely dark.
If looks could kill, Kenichi would've been paper-tag confetti already.
In the shinobi world, whether you're strong or weak depends on the era…
But being cool?
That's a lifelong commitment.
Note: If you're interested, you can read up to Chapter 102+ at patreon.com/nakai01.