Farce

Mist Village, conference room.

The hallway was silent, save for the occasional sound of footsteps echoing from afar.

This building was the seat of power in the Mist Village, but at this moment, it felt more like a tomb.

Quiet, cold, and reeking of decay.

The door to the conference room was tightly shut.

Behind the door, the lighting was dim, with only a few wall lamps above the long table casting a sickly yellow glow that barely illuminated the faces gathered around.

Some of those faces were aged, some deeply wrinkled, others had clouded eyes, but without exception, they all wore the same expression—anxiety.

"Recently, the actions of those brats in the reformist faction have become increasingly brazen! They have absolutely no respect for us!"

A white-haired elder slammed his hand against the table, the sound reverberating through the empty room and causing the wall lamps to flicker.

His face was twisted with indignation:

"Since the era of the Third Mizukage, the Blood Mist policy has been in place for decades, producing countless elites for the Mist Village! That is the foundation of our strength!

How dare those juniors spout such nonsense and reject the decisions of our predecessors? It is utter stupidity!"

Another middle-aged man immediately chimed in:

"Exactly! Do they think they are wiser than the previous Mizukages? Their so-called reforms are nothing but a disaster!"

"Especially that brat, Shiina Sora!"

The elder who spoke first raised his voice, his wrinkled face flushing red with rage:

"Has he forgotten who promoted him?! If we had known it would come to this, we never should have entrusted him with Hiramekarei or allowed him to become one of the new Seven Ninja Swordsmen!"

"That ungrateful wretch—he probably doesn't even consider us elders anymore!"

"And that guy even went so far as to bewitch the foolish villagers!"

The person beside him immediately followed up, his tone filled with resentment:

"Leading the villagers to openly oppose the wise leadership of the Mizukage—those people are no longer just ordinary rebels! We must strike them down with an iron fist!"

"Give the order, Mizukage-sama!!"

"As long as you take the field yourself, you will easily annihilate that rabble! The Mist Village will return to being the Village of the Blood Mist!"

"That's right! Give the order, Mizukage-sama!!"

The group shouted in unison, their voices layering into a wave of sound that echoed repeatedly throughout the conference room.

In the center of the room, a young boy sat in a chair.

He was short in stature with a youthful face, appearing to be no more than twelve or thirteen years old.

Yet, no one dared to underestimate the "boy" before them because of his young appearance.

Karatachi Yagura—the Fourth Mizukage of the Mist, the current jinchuriki of the Three-Tails, and the only pillar of support left for the dwindling conservative faction of the Mist Village.

"What a pathetic sight..."

Beside Yagura, a tall man with the appearance of a shark watched the posturing "big shots" with mockery in his small eyes.

His skin was dark blue, and gill-like markings lined his face, making him look like a monster that had crawled out of the deep sea.

Kisame Hoshigaki, one of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen, wielder of the great sword Samehada, and currently the Mizukage's bodyguard and head of the Anbu.

He stood quietly at Yagura's side, but his small eyes flickered with undisguised contempt.

Because Sora-sama's reforms in the Mist Village have infringed upon their interests, they are desperate to goad the Mizukage into striking first.

The reformists are powerful now; if a full-scale war breaks out, it will only plunge the Mist Village into unprecedented chaos.

They are likely well aware of this fact.

Or perhaps... is this exactly what they desire?

They want the Mizukage and the reformists to destroy each other so they can swoop in and reap the rewards at the end.

...It is truly nauseating, these hypocritical wretches.

Kisame suppressed the disgust in his heart, his small eyes coldly sweeping over the old men who were still chattering incessantly.

Yagura stared at the crowd before him with hollow eyes.

There was no focus in those eyes, no emotion, and none of the light that should belong to a living person.

He sat there like an idol placed upon an altar, listening to the pious prayers of his believers.

Those "sincere" exhortations, those "righteous" shouts, and those performances of "worrying for the nation and the people" played out before him one by one.

After a long silence, he finally spoke.

His voice was flat, devoid of any inflection:

"If this is all the useless drivel you have to offer, then this meeting is over."

As his words fell, the heated atmosphere of the discussion instantly cooled.

The entire conference room plunged into silence.

The old men's mouths were still agape, their faces frozen in the rage of the previous second, but their voices had vanished.

They were like paused figures, frozen in place, only their eyeballs darting around restlessly.

One old man spoke with some reluctance:

"But, but Lord Mizukage..."

"Pfft—!!"

His words were cut short.

In an instant, his entire head, along with half his body, was torn apart.

Blood gushed from the severed ends, splattering across the entire conference table and onto the people around him.

No one present uttered a sound.

They simply stared in terror at Kisame, who had appeared behind the corpse at some unknown time, and the enormous Samehada in his hand, its bandages now stained with blood.

The bandages on the sword trembled slightly, as if savoring the taste of blood.

The barbs on the blade were bared, still dripping blood, and in the deathly silent conference room, the sound was maddeningly clear.

Kisame's face was expressionless.

He stood there, his small eyes coldly sweeping over everyone present.

Yagura still sat in his chair, his gaze vacant, his expression blank.

His voice rang out again, still in that mechanical, toneless cadence:

"It's not for you to dictate what I do."

"Remember, I am the Mizukage of the Mist Village."

He slightly raised his chin, his vacant eyes sweeping over the trembling old men:

"If you understand, then get out."

As his words fell, the "big shots" who had been so righteous moments before, instantly fled the conference room in a panic, as if escaping.

The conference room fell silent.

Blood still dripped from the empty chair, falling onto the polished floor with a faint sound.

A heavy scent of blood permeated the air, and in the entire conference room, only Yagura, seated in his position, and Kisame, covered in blood, remained.

Kisame stood there, his gaze fixed on the direction where the fleeing old men had disappeared, his small eyes filled with undisguised disgust.

"Tsk tsk."

An unrestrained voice slowly echoed from a corner of the conference room:

"To turn a perfectly good conference room into this state, I can only say it's truly worthy of the Mist Village's reputation, isn't it?"

The voice paused, a hint of mockery entering its tone:

"If only that person from Konoha could learn from this. Then I wouldn't have to defect."

Kisame's pupils contracted slightly.

He abruptly turned his head, looking in the direction of the voice.

In the shadows of the conference room corner, a person had appeared at some unknown time.

It was a tall, upright young man, his black hair tied into a small braid, with a few strands of loose hair falling onto his forehead, accentuating a handsome face with a hint of rebelliousness and roguishness.

He wore the Akatsuki uniform, but it hung loosely on him, as if casually thrown on.

He crossed his legs, casually resting his feet on the conference table in front of him.

On his handsome face, a half-smile played.

He ignored the Fourth Mizukage Yagura, who sat motionlessly in the center like a machine, and looked teasingly at Kisame opposite him.

Uchiha Kou, he had now dispelled the Transformation Jutsu, revealing his true appearance.

That face was completely different from "Shiina Sora," who had been influential in the Mist Village.

Gone was the gentle pretense, the humble facade, replaced by an unadorned composure and sharpness befitting a strong individual.

Kisame looked at Kou before him, a flicker of surprise in his small eyes.

"Such powerful stealth..."

A hint of admiration flashed in his eyes, and he forced a stiff, friendly smile.

That smile looked somewhat eerie on his shark-like face, but the respect in his eyes was undeniably genuine.

"Ah, it's Lord Sora..."

"No, I should call you Lord Kou now."

He slowly sheathed his Samehada and bowed slightly in Kou's direction, his posture humble and solemn:

"I'm truly sorry, you had to see this."

Kou shook his head, smiling and waving his hand:

"No need to mind."

He extended a hand, the lazy expression in his dark eyes receding slightly:

"Let's save the pleasantries for later and get down to business."

"The item Madara was supposed to give me, you have it now, right?"