Akatsuki was, on paper, an organisation built to bring peace to the ninja world.
In reality, almost everyone in it had their own goals.
If you had to pick the two who genuinely wanted "peace," though—
it was Nagato and Konan, the ones who inherited Yahiko's dying wish.
Right now, Nagato was staring at Amamiya Kenichi in silence.
He'd lived in the Land of Rain for years.
He'd lost his best friend here.
He'd watched people starve here.
He himself used to be one of those people, hiding under broken roofs while war raged overhead.
After killing Hanzō and taking control of the country in the shadows, Nagato had made one painful discovery:
For all his power… there wasn't much he could actually do.
Turn the Land of Rain into a commercial hub?
Sure—if he wanted every neighbouring great nation to immediately see it as a threat and descend like wolves.
If Akatsuki's strength and structure were exposed too early, it would ruin his plan for "saving" the world.
So in the end, all he'd really done was stabilise law and order.
At least now, people could live without fearing bandits or random massacres.
In this war-torn world, that alone was already a luxury.
"…What's your method?" Nagato finally asked.
Kenichi lifted the mud cake he'd bought on the street.
"For most people, peace is simple," he said calmly. "They just want a full stomach. The people of the Land of Rain clearly don't even have that."
Obito, Zetsu, and Sasori didn't react much.
Famine was nothing new in this world.
Even shinobi—beings far beyond ordinary humans—were sometimes treated as disposable.
Kenichi had once seen a theory:
Ninja wars, at their core, were just a way to burn surplus manpower and stabilise supply and demand.
Nagato stayed quiet, eyes on the mud cake.
Of course he knew people were starving.
But grain yields were what they were.
Even if he turned the entire country into farmland, it wouldn't be enough. And with the endless rain and poor soil, much of the land wasn't even suitable for crops.
"That's why my plan," Kenichi continued, "is to research crops with higher yields. If we can raise production, then everyone can eat."
He didn't try to dress it up. This was his big "pie in the sky."
But it wasn't pure fantasy.
Back in his previous world, the reason most people could eat and live decently boiled down to one thing: grain output skyrocketed.
Here, that revolution had never happened.
"You can do that?" Nagato asked, doubt creeping into his voice. No one in this world had ever attempted anything like that. The field was completely blank.
"It'll take time," Kenichi admitted with a shrug. "Lots of experiments and breeding."
Hybrid strains weren't something you conjured overnight.
They needed to be tested, selected, crossed again, refined.
But Kenichi dared to propose it for one reason:
This world had chakra.
In the Land of Waves he'd already started playing around—sampling plants, saturating them with chakra, observing what changed. The effects were subtle, but real.
If he could nail down how chakra influenced growth, maybe he could skip years of blind trial and error.
"Tch."
Obito couldn't stop the quiet, contemptuous breath escaping behind his mask.
What would it matter? Even if you did manage it, so what?
Just drag the whole world into an Infinite Tsukuyomi and no one would ever go hungry again. No experiments required.
"If you can produce results," Nagato said at last, "and prove your claim… we'll talk."
Kenichi exhaled silently.
Hybrid rice, improved varieties—
in his old world, a single mu of cutting-edge crops could produce double, even triple what traditional fields yielded.
In the Fire Country, fields that produced four hundred kilos per mu were already considered "good land."
This world's agriculture was still primitive. As long as he succeeded even partially, it would shake the entire shinobi world.
"Fair enough," Kenichi nodded. "But I'll need time. If I'm constantly being sent out to collect funds, I won't have any left for research, right?"
Nagato's face darkened.
He thought he heard the subtext:
"I don't want to work; I want to sit and do science."
He looked at the mud cake on the table again.
He remembered digging through garbage heaps for scraps of food.
He remembered Yahiko's stubborn smile, promising they'd change this stupid world.
"…Fine," Nagato said. "You'll have some time."
He'd given in.
Konan's shoulders relaxed a fraction.
"Ao," Nagato turned to Sasori, ready to assign him. "For now, you will partner with—"
Akatsuki always worked in pairs. Two-man cells could cooperate in battle—and keep each other in check.
Until now they'd barely had enough members to have that system. With the additions, he could finally start arranging proper teams.
"Leader Pain," Sasori interrupted quietly, "may I be paired with Amamiya Kenichi?"
Nagato's expression visibly twitched.
Again?
First names. Real names. No codenames, no rings, no discipline.
He was pretty sure he'd said internal communication would use ring names.
The rule had lasted approximately three minutes.
"…Your reason?" he asked tiredly.
"I want to exchange techniques with him," Sasori said, without a hint of embarrassment. "It will benefit my puppetry."
"…Fine."
Kenichi blinked.
Did he just hear Pain sigh?
Off to the side, Obito's shoulders were shaking. If he didn't need to maintain his ancient-mysterious-senior act, he would've burst out laughing.
So rare… to see Nagato getting worn down like this.
Once Kenichi, Sasori, Zetsu, and Obito were gone, the tower finally quieted.
Nagato let out a slow breath.
He'd discovered that, ever since Amamiya Kenichi joined Akatsuki, his own mental fatigue had been rising in a straight line.
"That guy is exhausting…" he muttered.
"Nagato," Konan said softly, hesitating. "Do you… believe what he said?"
Compared to Nagato, she had a clearer view of how people in the Land of Rain lived now.
Otherwise there wouldn't be things like "mud cakes" at all.
"…He and Orochimaru were expelled from Konoha for illegal experiments," Nagato replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That means he's at least capable of doing things others can't."
"If he does succeed, fewer people will starve."
He paused, then added quietly:
"But the great nations will just raise taxes, too."
Even if you raised the floor, those on top would simply build a new ceiling.
So the world still needed… a more fundamental change.
"I have someone I want to recruit," Nagato said at last. "I'll have to go in person."
Akatsuki needed members who were… less of a headache.
Someone who understood money.
Someone tireless.
Someone who could work like a bank, a mercenary squad, and a tax office combined.
Kakuzu fit the job description perfectly.
There are some people whose names you don't need to say out loud.
Everyone already knows who they are.