The First Akatsuki

In the late autumn of Konoha Year 48, the Land of Rain seemed forever shrouded in a gray curtain of rain, even the air carrying a lingering chill and the smell of rust.

The Ninja World War that had dragged on for years was like a massive festering sore, squeezing the pain and despair of neighboring nations into this small country caught in the cracks between three great powers. Rain washed over the muddy streets, but it could not cleanse the mottled bullet holes on the walls or the charred traces of Fire Release.

Uchiha Narong—or rather, the man currently using the alias "Yao"—walked down a relatively secluded street on the edge of the Hidden Rain Village. He carried no umbrella. A wide-brimmed bamboo hat sat on his head, and an unremarkable dark rain cloak draped over his body, rainwater dripping steadily from its edges.

His face was covered by a silver mask made from a special material, glinting with a cold sheen. It revealed only his sharply defined jaw and a pair of calm, rippleless eyes hidden in shadow.

He did not like Obito's childish spiral mask. This custom-made silver mask could not only effectively defend against cuts from ordinary kunai and shuriken, its inner side was also engraved with tiny talismans, granting it a certain resistance to genjutsu and the ability to interfere with chakra perception. It was a finely made ninja tool.

Most of the shops on both sides of the street had their doors and windows shut tight, and quite a few were nailed closed with wooden planks, looking exceptionally desolate. The few that were open were deserted as well, their shelves empty, their owners sitting listlessly behind the counters with numb eyes.

There were few pedestrians, and all of them hurried along with their heads lowered, as if afraid to meet anyone's gaze. The shadow of war, like this never-ending rain, had seeped into every corner of this country.

Crying children, sallow and emaciated refugees, and the occasional corpse covered with a torn cloth in the corner all silently told of this nation's suffering.

Narong seemed to walk casually, but beneath the bamboo hat, his gaze swept sharply over his surroundings.

He was searching for a place, the base of an organization said to provide a little help and hope to civilians struggling through the chaos of war—"Akatsuki."

Based on the intelligence provided by Black Zetsu, as well as the more concealed information fed back by the micro reconnaissance parasites he had released—improved from the secret techniques of the Aburame Clan—he quickly locked onto his target: a building on the edge of an abandoned factory district, converted from several rundown warehouses.

The building's exterior was utterly unremarkable, but a faint chakra reaction could vaguely be sensed, and there were traces of people coming and going. The most conspicuous mark was in an inconspicuous corner of the warehouse door: a newly painted symbol in red pigment, slightly immature in its execution—a simple upward bolt of lightning.

This was precisely the symbol of the early "Akatsuki," representing hope that tore through darkness.

Narong did not approach directly. Instead, he chose a half-collapsed building across the street, silently leaped up to the second floor, and found a broken window with a good view that also sheltered him from the rain. There, he quietly observed. He was like the most patient hunter, assessing the habits of his prey.

By evening, the rain eased slightly.

The door of the target warehouse was pushed open, and several figures walked out. Narong's gaze instantly focused.

At the front was a boy with short orange hair, around fifteen or sixteen years old. He was not particularly tall, but his eyes were bright, and his face carried an almost innocent optimism and steadfastness. He was loudly saying something to his companions, waving his arms with infectious energy.

Yahiko. An idealistic, hot-blooded youth, the founder and spiritual leader of Akatsuki.

Beside him was a boy with strange spiral-patterned red hair, Nagato. His build was somewhat thin, his head lowered, and he seemed a little quiet and withdrawn. There was a trace of barely perceptible timidity and sorrow on his face. But the eyes that occasionally lifted, revealed through the gaps in the red hair over his forehead—were actually the legendary Rinnegan!

Although the owner of those eyes at this moment still seemed unable to fully control their power, and might even see them as a burden and a curse, the faint fluctuation of ocular power they emitted, as indifferent and vast as a god's, made even Narong, hidden in the dark, feel a slight chill in his heart.

So these are the eyes Madara transplanted into him... They really are extraordinary, Narong thought to himself.

Walking at the back was a girl.

Uchiha Narong's gaze was involuntarily drawn to this girl. He had seen her countless times in the anime, but seeing her with his own eyes felt completely different.

She was about fifteen, in the prime of youth, with unique short blue-purple hair, trimmed cleanly and neatly. Her face was very delicate, her skin appearing somewhat pale under the gray light of the rainy day, her features refined and carrying an elegant Eastern charm.

Her expression was quiet, even a little detached, as if a thin veil separated her from this chaotic world. Most eye-catching of all was the exquisite paper flower pinned to the right side of her hair. It had been carefully made from pale purple origami and looked as vivid as a real blossom.

She wore plain light-purple clothes, a little old but very clean, and held a notebook and pen in her hands, seriously recording something. Her movements were light and elegant, carrying a natural sense of rhythm. Though she was still young, one could already see the embryonic form of the future "Angel."

Her gaze rested on Yahiko and Nagato most of the time, especially on Nagato, carrying a silent protectiveness. When she looked at the refugees, genuine concern showed in her eyes. This was a girl who appeared quiet on the outside but was resilient within, more real, more vivid, and more beautiful than in the anime. Narong silently evaluated her in his heart.

The three of them were distributing food and medicine to the refugees and children gathered at the warehouse entrance. Yahiko spoke passionately about the ideals of achieving peace through dialogue and understanding, Nagato silently handed out supplies, and Konan carefully recorded their needs.

"What a... adorably naive guy." Beneath the mask, the corners of Narong's mouth curved in an almost imperceptible arc.

After observing for about half an hour, Narong had formed an initial judgment of the three personalities: Yahiko was idealistic and infectious, the core of the team; Nagato was sensitive inside, powerful but lacking confidence, the team's foundation of strength; Konan was meticulous and pragmatic, the team's adhesive and actual executor. A rather stable triangular structure, Narong thought.

The timing was about right. Narong silently dropped down from his hiding place, adjusted his bamboo hat and mask, and made himself look like a mysterious wandering ninja. He regulated his breathing and chakra, appearing peaceful and weary, then walked toward the warehouse.

His appearance immediately caught the attention of the three. Yahiko was the first to stop speaking, looking warily toward Narong as he stepped forward to shield his companions. "Stop! Who are you?" His tone was cautious but not fierce. Nagato subconsciously took half a step back, a trace of nervousness flashing through his Rinnegan. Konan also closed her notebook, several paper shuriken quietly pinched between her fingers, her movements smooth and hidden.

"Don't be nervous, young man." Narong stopped and raised both hands to show he held no weapon. His voice passed through the mask, hoarse yet gentle. "My name is 'Yao,' a wanderer passing by. I heard there was an organization here called 'Akatsuki' that helps suffering people, so I wanted to come... and take a look."

Yahiko's wariness lessened slightly, but he did not completely relax. "'Akatsuki' is just a small organization, and our abilities are limited. Do you... need any help?" He noticed that "Yao" had no obvious killing intent or hostility on him.

"Help?" Narong shook his head lightly, his voice carrying exhaustion and emotion. "More like... after seeing what this world has become, I feel lost. I've been to many places, and all I've seen is war, hatred, and death. Just now, I heard you talking about understanding and peace... It's been a long time since I heard anyone speak like that."

These words skillfully catered to Yahiko's idealism. Yahiko's eyes lit up. "You also believe peace can be achieved through dialogue and understanding? This world shouldn't be like this! We're going to change it all!"

"Change... Easier said than done." Narong let out a timely sigh. "Powerful ninja villages have tailed beasts and jinchuriki, and tens of thousands of ninja. What can an organization like 'Akatsuki' rely on to change anything? Handing out food and medicine?"

These words seemed to sting Yahiko, and he said passionately, "Of course not! As long as we stick to the right path..."

"Power..." Nagato suddenly spoke in a low voice, confusion and pain in his Rinnegan. "Without power, you can't protect anything... You can't even save the people right in front of you..." He remembered the scene of his parents dying at the hands of Konoha ninja.

Konan also added softly, her voice clear and calm. "Mr. Yao, we know the road ahead is difficult. But precisely because it is difficult, someone has to do it. At the very least, we can help the people before us and let them see a glimmer of hope." As she spoke, she looked at Narong seriously, her gaze sharp, as if judging this mysterious visitor's true intentions.

The reactions of the three were all within Narong's expectations. He nodded, his tone growing more sincere. "You are... remarkable. In such a desperate age, you can still preserve this kind of heart and the will to act. Perhaps... we can talk? I'm very interested in your ideals. I've wandered for many years and learned some medicine and simple ninjutsu. Perhaps I can be of help."

Yahiko looked at his companions and exchanged glances with them. Konan nodded slightly, and Nagato hesitated but did not object. Yahiko turned back, revealing a smile that was guarded yet warm. "Of course! Welcome, Mr. Yao. As long as someone bears goodwill and is willing to work for peace, they're our friend! Please come inside. The rain's getting heavy again."

And so, Uchiha Narong, using the alias "Yao," successfully stepped across the threshold of the Akatsuki organization. He knew this was only the first step. He had to gain the initial trust of these three idealistic youths, blend in with them, and then... he could influence them subtly and gradually.

The light inside the warehouse was dim, but a small fire had been lit, dispelling the cold and damp. Narong took off his bamboo hat, but still wore his mask. He explained that "there are old wounds on my face, so it is inconvenient to show others," and Yahiko and the others expressed their understanding.

Sitting around the fire, a conversation about peace, power, and the future began. The true hunter had already quietly entered the game.

Konan sat quietly to one side, occasionally taking notes, listening most of the time. Her gaze swept from time to time over this mysterious masked man who called himself "Yao," carrying cautious observation. Narong could sense the keen insight beneath her quiet exterior. This girl might be even harder to deal with than he had imagined.

But that only made it more interesting. Narong laughed silently in his heart.