A Farce

The Mizukage Building, conference room.

The hallway was silent, save for the occasional sound of footsteps in the distance.

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

Quiet, chilly, and reeking of decay.

The conference room door was shut tight.

Beyond it, the lights were dim. Only a few wall lamps above the long table were lit, their yellow glow barely illuminating the faces gathered around it.

Some of those faces were old, some deeply lined, some had cloudy eyes, but every one of them wore the same expression: anxiety.

"Lately, those upstarts in the Reformist Faction have been acting more and more brazenly. They have no regard for us at all!"

An old man with graying hair slammed his hand on the table. The sound echoed through the empty conference room, making the wall lamps tremble.

His face was full of indignation.

"Ever since the days of the Third Mizukage, the Blood Mist Policy has produced countless elite shinobi for the Mist Village over the course of decades! It is the very foundation of the Mist Village's strength!

"How dare those youngsters make such outrageous claims and condemn the decisions of their predecessors? They're utterly foolish!"

Another middle-aged man immediately chimed in.

"Exactly! Do they honestly think they're wiser than the previous Mizukage? Their so-called reforms are nothing but reckless nonsense!"

"Especially that brat Shiina Sora!"

The old man who had spoken first raised his voice sharply. His wrinkled face flushed red with anger.

"Has he forgotten who promoted him?! If I'd known things would come to this, I never would've given him Hiramekarei and made him one of the new Seven Ninja Swordsmen!"

"That ungrateful bastard probably doesn't even see us elders anymore!"

"And that fellow even managed to manipulate the foolish villagers!"

The person beside him immediately picked up the thread, his voice full of indignation.

"Leading villagers in openly opposing the Mizukage's wise leadership—those people are no ordinary rebels! We have to hit them hard!"

"Give the order, Lord Mizukage!"

"If you personally take action, you can easily wipe out that rabble! The Mist Village will become the Village of the Bloody Mist once more!"

"That's right! Give the order, Lord Mizukage!"

The crowd chimed in together. Their voices layered into a single swell of sound that echoed through the conference room.

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

He was short and had a youthful face, looking no older than twelve or thirteen.

But no one dared underestimate the "boy" before them on account of his young appearance.

Karatachi Yagura—the Fourth Mizukage of the Mist Village, the Jinchuriki of the Three-Tails, and the only support left to the increasingly weakened conservative faction.

"How ugly..."

Beside Yagura, a tall, shark-like man watched the pretentious "big shots" before him with narrow, amused eyes.

His skin was dark blue, and gill-like markings ran across his face. He looked like a monster that had crawled up from the depths of the sea.

Kisame Hoshigaki, one of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen and the wielder of Samehada, was also the Mizukage's bodyguard and the head of the Anbu.

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

"Because Sora's reforms in the Mist Village have harmed their interests, they're in such a hurry to persuade the Mizukage to make the first move."

"The Reformist Faction is powerful now. If they go to war outright, it'll only plunge the Mist Village into unprecedented chaos.

"They must understand that perfectly well."

"Or is that exactly what they want?

"They want the Mizukage and the Reformist Faction to cripple each other, then reap the benefits in the end."

"...This bunch of hypocrites makes me sick."

Kisame forced down his disgust and coldly scanned the old men who were still chattering away.

Yagura gazed blankly at the people before him.

His eyes had no focus, no emotion, none of the light of a living person.

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

Their "sincere" advice, their "righteous" shouts, their performances of "concern for the village and its people"—all unfolded before him, one after another.

After a long while, he spoke.

His voice was flat, utterly devoid of inflection.

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

The moment he spoke, the heated atmosphere cooled.

The entire conference room fell silent.

The old men's mouths were still open, their faces frozen in the indignation of the previous moment, but their voices had vanished.

They stood rigid, as if someone had pressed pause, their eyes darting about uneasily.

One old man spoke up, unwilling to give in.

"B-but, Lord Mizukage..."

"Pfft—!!"

His words cut off abruptly.

In an instant, his head and upper body were torn apart.

Blood gushed from the gaping wound, splattering the entire conference table and everyone around him.

No one present said a word.

They could only stare in horror at Kisame, who had appeared behind the corpse at some point, and at the enormous Samehada in his hands, its bandages now spattered with blood.

The bandages around the sword quivered faintly, as though it were savoring the taste of blood.

The barbs along its blade jutted out, and blood continued to drip from them. In the deathly silent conference room, the sound was horrifyingly clear.

Kisame's face showed no emotion.

He stood there, coldly sweeping his narrow eyes over everyone in the room.

Yagura remained seated, his gaze empty and his expression blank.

His voice sounded once more, still mechanical and utterly flat.

"It's not your place to tell me what to do."

"Remember, I'm the Mizukage of the Mist Village."

He raised his chin slightly, his empty gaze sweeping over the trembling old men.

"If you understand, then get out."

At his words, those "big shots" who had been so self-righteous only moments earlier fled the conference room in a panic.

The room fell silent.

Blood continued to trickle down from the empty chair, dripping onto the polished floor with a faint sound.

The air was thick with the stench of blood. The only ones left in the conference room were Yagura, still seated in his chair, and Kisame, spattered with blood.

Kisame stood where he was, gazing toward the spot where the fleeing old men had disappeared, his narrow eyes filled with undisguised disgust.

"Tsk, tsk."

A carefree voice slowly drifted from a corner of the conference room.

"They've turned a perfectly good conference room into this. Guess that really is the Mist Village's signature style."

The voice paused, its tone growing more playful.

"Would've been nice if that guy in Konoha had learned to do the same. Then I wouldn't have had to defect."

Kisame's pupils contracted slightly.

He whipped around, looking toward the source of the voice.

Someone had appeared in the shadows at the corner of the room.

He was a tall, straight-backed young man with black hair tied into a short ponytail. A few loose strands fell over his forehead, framing a handsome face with a hint of rebellious swagger.

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

Kou sat with his legs crossed, resting his feet carelessly on the conference table in front of him.

A faint, knowing smile played across his handsome face.

Ignoring the Fourth Mizukage Yagura, who sat in the middle of the room without saying a word, like a machine, he looked toward Kisame with an air of amusement.

Uchiha Kou had now dispelled his Transformation Technique and revealed his true appearance.

His face was nothing like that of "Shiina Sora," who had made waves in the Mist Village.

There was no gentle disguise, no pretense of humility—only the unmasked composure and edge of a strong man.

Kisame looked at Kou, surprise flashing through his narrow eyes.

"What incredible skill at concealing your presence..."

A note of admiration appeared in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth stiffly pulled back into a friendly smile.

The expression looked somewhat strange on his shark-like face, but the respect in his eyes was entirely genuine.

"Ah, Lord Sora..."

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

He slowly lowered Samehada and bowed slightly toward Kou, his posture humble and solemn.

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

Kou shook his head and waved a hand with a smile.

"Don't worry about it."

He reached out a hand, and some of the languor faded from his dark eyes.

"Let's save the small talk for later. First, let's discuss business."

"What Madara wanted to give me is with you now, right?"