The third day after the great battle in the Land of Lightning.
Iwagakure, Tsuchikage's office.
The room reeked of cheap tobacco, mixed with the strange sour smell of ink.
Ōnoki was sprawled over that broad mahogany desk, his backside sticking up as he gripped a thick wolf-hair brush tightly in his hand.
The old man was not even wearing the conical hat that symbolized the Tsuchikage today.
A layer of fine oily sweat covered his bald forehead, trickling down the wrinkles on his face.
"Scratch, scratch, scratch—"
The brush danced across premium waterproof parchment, each stroke sinking through the paper.
He wrote with such force that he nearly gouged deep trenches into the soft rubber writing pad beneath it.
"Yoru, listen to this. Does this sound imposing enough?"
Ōnoki straightened up and casually wiped the sweat off his face with a sleeve speckled with ink.
Pinching the still-wet parchment, he opened his raspy, broken-gong voice and began to read.
"You sorry bastards from the Wind, Water, Lightning, and Fire villages, listen up!"
Ōnoki spat to wet his throat.
"You have one month to personally march your legs through the gates of Iwagakure!"
"To attend this... ah, right, the 'Ninja World New Order Conference'!"
"Whoever dares arrive even one day late, I'll send the Sky Fleet to blow up your front gate!"
Yoru leaned against the genuine leather sofa opposite him, his legs crossed and propped on the coffee table.
A clump of dried mud fell from his shoe onto the carpet, but he did not even glance at it.
He held an unwashed red apple in his hand and took a huge bite without peeling it. Juice dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
"Old man, your writing is way too crude."
Yoru mocked him indistinctly as he chewed the