When the Fourth Raikage, A, heard the words "Third Raikage" from the communications ninja, he shot up from his chair.
His fist slammed into the desk almost instinctively, with such force that even the map and cup on the table jumped.
"What did you say?! My father... was controlled again?!"
His voice was low and furious. Lightning flickered uncontrollably across his body, crackling sharply.
The communications ninja around him were cowed silent by his overwhelming presence and lowered their heads, while his secretary wanted to console him.
But just as he was about to step forward, he stopped again.
His fists clenched and loosened, then loosened and clenched again, repeating several times.
His chest heaved violently, his breathing rough as though he were trying to calm himself.
Because he knew that, as the Raikage, he could not rush to the front lines because of personal feelings.
The command headquarters needed him in command, and the entire battlefield required his coordination.
Besides, Ōnoki had already gone.
That old man might be crafty, but his strength and seniority were undeniable.
With him there, they could at least keep the Second Tsuchikage in check.
He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out.
In the end, he sat back down. Both fists clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white as he stared fixedly at the Fourth Division's position on the map.
"...Continue the report."
His voice was hoarse and suppressed, like a savage beast chained in iron.
Meanwhile, on the Fourth Division's desert battlefield.
Gaara stepped onto the sand and slowly floated into the air.
He looked down at the four approaching figures without speaking, merely raising his right hand.
The sand beneath his feet suddenly churned. Countless grains gathered into a massive wave that blotted out the sky and swept toward the