Chapter 93: A Dangerous Man

Rain veiled Amegakure's towers in silver as the Deva Path stood at the edge of the highest platform and looked down upon the residential blocks. Nagato's true body had been forced to leave its sanctuary and approach the battlefield before the full power of the Rinnegan could rupture Sensory Saturation from outside. Only then had he recovered the six bodies. 

The masked man stood nearby, his spiral mask tilted in mock concern. "Was one Konoha shinobi truly enough to cause all that? Our plan to change the world may be more difficult than I thought." 

Wind tugged at the three black cloaks. Deva turned his ringed eyes toward him. "He is exceptional. His genjutsu does not depend upon the Sharingan, yet he used it to compromise the link between all six Paths. If cooperation now troubles you, leave. You were not invited to remain." 

The admission cost Nagato nothing. Tonbo had defeated the Paths long enough to escape, and pretending otherwise would teach him nothing. Konoha had produced another dangerous shinobi. Jiraiya's old insistence that the village never exhausted its talent had proved accurate once again. The same trap would not work twice. 

"It was a joke," the masked man said. "We still require one another. If even the Rinnegan must take him seriously, others would fare worse." 

Behind the light tone, he reconsidered Tonbo. Few bodies were suitable for developing the Rinnegan's power. Nagato could not simply be replaced if the Konoha jōnin found a way past the Paths and reached him directly. 

Pain's comparison of genjutsu irritated him for another reason. Tonbo's technique had been effective, but the masked man regarded the Sharingan as something far beyond a clever barrier. He kept the judgment to himself. 

"Konan," Deva said, "what did Zetsu find?" 

Konan produced a thin file from within her cloak. "Less than we need. Tonbo is a Konoha jōnin, but he avoided attention for most of his career. Zetsu was watching more prominent targets." 

Deva read the file. Tobitake Tonbo. Veteran of the Third Shinobi World War. Former operative and current leader of Konoha's Analysis Team. Exceptional sensory range. Specialist in Psycho Mind Transmission and genjutsu. No remarkable family background. 

It was an ordinary file for a man who had defeated the Paths. "Another civilian genius," Deva said. "Konoha has produced such shinobi before. The Sannin. Minato Namikaze." 

Changing the shinobi world required more than defeating one opponent. Akatsuki first needed influence among the smaller countries, funds independent of the Five Great Nations, and an organization capable of taking the missions that sustained the hidden villages. As those missions dispersed, the great nations would reduce their investments. Their military villages would weaken. Only then could Nagato impose a peace none of them could break. 

Men like Tonbo were proof of how far away that future remained. 

"Do not compare him to the Fourth Hokage," the masked man said. "I fought Minato. Tonbo has not shown that level of speed or talent. If my plan had not removed the Fourth, Konoha would be stronger than it is now." 

Memory tightened behind the mask: chains broken in moments, space-time ninjutsu answered by faster judgment, defeat arriving even with the Nine-Tails and White Zetsu supporting the attack. The boast concealed how narrow his escape had been. 

In Konoha, a less consequential threat stood smiling at Tonbo in the middle of a busy street. 

Residents stared as Might Guy balanced on his hands, apparently immune to embarrassment. Tonbo attempted a courteous retreat. 

"I have somewhere to be. Another time." 

Guy flipped to his feet. "I heard you completed another S-rank mission! Let us celebrate with a youthful battle!" 

Tonbo should have refused. Instead, the challenge suggested a solution to an irritation he had carried home from Amegakure: weeks of control, deception, and silent calculation had left him craving something ridiculous. 

"Not taijutsu," he said. "Five laps around Konoha. On our hands." 

Guy's eyes ignited. "At last, you understand!" 

"One condition." 

Tonbo formed a seal and transformed. A red jumpsuit replaced his clothes, loud enough to offend good judgment at fifty paces. He added a green bowl cut, exaggerated brows, and a broad, unfamiliar face. A small mirror of Living Weave rose from the ground; he inspected the result and nodded. 

"Now we may begin." 

Guy pointed at him in horror. "Why did you transform?" 

"Are you withdrawing?" 

"Never! But red cannot embody youth. Green is the color of spring!" 

"My hair is green. I have satisfied the requirement." 

"That is not how youth works!" 

They dropped onto their hands and launched themselves along the road. Laughter followed. Some residents recognized Guy as Might Duy's son; no one identified his crimson companion. By the second street, children were racing beside them. By the third, shopkeepers had begun calling the pair Red and Green. Even a patrol from the Konoha Military Police chose another route rather than become involved. 

The transformation drew attention precisely because it was so badly chosen. Red caught every eye; the copied haircut encouraged comparison; the unfamiliar face denied spectators an easy answer. Rumor outran them from one block to the next. People leaned from windows before the racers arrived, already warned that two inverted lunatics were approaching at shinobi speed. 

Tonbo discovered that humiliation lost its edge when no one knew whose dignity was being ruined. More importantly, the absurd exercise demanded enough balance and strength to empty his thoughts. There was no Pain, no masked attacker, no dead subordinate—only paving stones passing beneath his palms and Guy's furious objections beside him. 

Guy, meanwhile, considered Tonbo's choice of color an attack upon everything he valued. "If I lose," he shouted, "I will complete fifteen hundred kicks and eight hundred push-ups!" 

"If you lose, you should reconsider your wardrobe." 

"Heresy!" 

They remained level through the first lap. His taijutsu already ranked among the best in Konoha. He had trained it with future enemies from beyond this world in mind, including the genjutsu-based combat method he was still developing. 

The disguise allowed him to compete without restraint. He accelerated. As they passed a training ground, a doubtful voice called from the fence. "Guy? Tonbo? What in the world are you doing?" 

Both racers stopped so abruptly that their hands skidded. Guy stared at the transformed man beside him; Tonbo stared back. He had relaxed after returning home and had not restored the information barrier he usually kept against eavesdropping. Someone had recognized him. 

For the first time since the race began, the red jumpsuit felt like a tactical error.