A clap of thunder suddenly exploded beside their ears. Right after that, fat raindrops began to rattle against the window.
Hyūga Kiyonari was startled awake by the noise. Coming back to himself, he said, "So it's raining."
"Yeah—this is vicious." Konan pushed the window open a crack and glanced outside. Rain was pouring down in sheets, stitching the air into countless lines.
Kiyonari took a bite of his dango. The warmth from earlier conversation was gone from his voice. "You're a ninja, aren't you? Otherwise how would you know me so well—
even the Hyūga clan's affairs."
Only then did Konan realize she'd let something slip. "—Mm. I'm a ninja from the Land of Rain, and also… Jiraiya's student."
In the end, she still told him the truth. She'd only just managed to build up some goodwill—if it dropped because of this, wouldn't everything be wasted?
"Jiraiya-sama?" Kiyonari put on a look of surprise, then smoothly pivoted, deliberately messing with her.
"No wonder you've read my story. You must've been hunting for Jiraiya-sama's novels and just happened to stumble onto my work."
"Y-Yeah."
Konan's mouth twitched uncontrollably, her expression stiffening. Great. There goes my image.
What kind of "masterpieces" her teacher wrote—and how they'd swept the shinobi world—how could she not know?
"Oh, speaking of which, I really want to read that novel too," Kiyonari added casually. "Too bad the shopkeeper always refuses to sell it to me because I'm a minor."
With a single sentence, he yanked the distance between them right back to zero.
Nothing builds closeness faster than declaring you're on the same side. As for what kind of "same side" it was… details.
Even though this was a small rural town, the lighting overhead was bright, throwing a clear glow over Konan's face and making her already-pretty complexion look even paler.
"By the way—" she said, "you still haven't told me. Why didn't you keep writing?"
"Because I stopped having readers. Most of the feedback the magazine got was stuff like 'Ultraman is too childish.' After I finished the Ultraman arc, I put my pen down."
Kiyonari was probing a little. He wanted to know who in the Land of Rain was still reading his work.
It couldn't be Nagato.
Even if it really was him, Kiyonari didn't believe that stubborn guy would be able to swallow it.
"They just don't get it!" Konan couldn't help defending him. "There's a group in the Land of Rain that really loves your stories. For them, maybe the childishness on the surface is exactly the right fit."
"Them?" Kiyonari feigned confusion, though he already knew who she meant.
Konan instantly realized she'd misspoken again and hurried to correct herself. "I mean—they. A bunch of kids. They really like you, and the stories you write."
Ugh, seriously… why did she always drop her guard around him without realizing it?
Kiyonari nodded thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, my stories are pretty popular at Dean Nono's orphanage too. Looks like—
when I get back, I can talk to the magazine and start one specifically for kids."
"Konoha… has a lot of orphans too?" Konan asked softly.
"Of course." Kiyonari answered as if it were obvious. "War doesn't have winners."
"'Victory' is just a word in some grand narrative. But when it lands on every shinobi who fights and every civilian who gets swept up, it becomes a weight no one can truly bear."
Listening to him, Konan found it harder and harder to accept Akatsuki's original plan. The "necessary sacrifices" Nagato talked about—on the level of an individual—were exactly that unbearable weight.
But… was there really another way?
Peace—even false peace—was it really that far out of reach?
Outside, the rain only grew heavier.
Kiyonari finished the last skewer of dango on his plate and set down the bamboo pick with a helpless sigh. "Looks like—
I'm not going anywhere tonight. I was hoping to travel through the night."
The owner seemed to be saving electricity and had already turned off most of the other lights. Only a single lamp hung above their table. With thunderstorm rain outside, this little corner felt like a tiny island—oddly warm and cozy.
"In that case," Konan said, "let's talk a bit longer."
Thinking of the Rabbit Goddess mentioned in the journal, she asked, "Kiyonari… if you had power as great as Ultraman's, what would you use it for?"
Hyūga Kiyonari answered frankly. "Unless humanity faces an enemy it cannot defeat on its own, I wouldn't do anything."
"Why not use it to forge peace in this world?" Konan couldn't help asking.
She genuinely couldn't understand why Kiyonari insisted on being an 'Ultraman' who stood aside. Ultraman in the story came from another world—so not interfering with humanity's choices made sense. But Kiyonari himself was human!
Kiyonari sighed. "Aren't you Jiraiya-sama's student? How can you not understand something this basic?"
"Jiraiya-sensei believes people can come to understand one another, but—" Konan's voice carried both urgency and confusion. "Will an era like that really come? Even if it does… how long do we have to wait?"
"And what does that have to do with you?!" Kiyonari snapped, anger flashing through his words.
Konan met his gaze. "Because I'm an orphan from the Land of Rain. If Jiraiya-sensei hadn't taken us in, I— we might've died long ago."
"Under Jiraiya-sensei's guidance, we gained power, and we stopped the war in the Land of Rain. If I had more power, I would stop war across the whole world!"
Kiyonari's voice softened all at once. "So that's your purpose—to make sure tragedies like yours stop being born into this world."
"It's to stop wa—" Konan's voice cut off. Confusion and hesitation surged through her heart like thick fog spreading.
Yahiko… what was Yahiko's dream again?
Was it really… peace?
In her memories, Yahiko's face blurred, as if washed out by rain, gradually replaced by Pain's.
In that instant, an indescribable panic seized her.
Just then, Kiyonari's voice suddenly reached her ears. Like someone grabbing a pillar to keep from falling, she latched onto it.
"I have my own rules. Even if I have tremendous power, I only do what I can do without forcing it. If I see something and I can help, I help."
"The moment you start thinking 'the greater the power, the greater the responsibility,' and you insist on doing something for this world—saving people at any cost—what you'll get won't be gratitude. You'll get endless worry, and a crowd of giant babies who expect you to appear the second they run into trouble."
"Even if you don't care about that—if you start acting like the head of the household, constantly making decisions for humanity as a whole in the name of 'it's for your own good,' then the ending—
I already wrote it all out in that story."
Humanity as a whole isn't rigid. It tries, it fails, it tries again, and eventually finds a way out. But once a "god" appears, the whole becomes a single will—and loses the ability to correct itself.
So Akatsuki wouldn't become Ultraman.
They would become the "Narrator."