"According to the reports, that state you entered was quite unusual. I've never heard of anything like it. What was it?"
Here came the question.
Alarm bells rang in Shira's mind, but he put just the right touch of embarrassment on his face and looked as though he were struggling to remember.
"I don't know either. Things were really dangerous, and all I could think about was protecting my parents and the goods. I breathed as hard as I could, and then it felt like I had an endless supply of strength, and I got a lot faster too. But I ran out of strength again pretty quickly, and I felt awful for days afterward."
He described the Seven Heavens Breathing Method as an uncontrollable burst of potential brought on by extreme pressure, with severe aftereffects, perfectly concealing its true nature as a secret technique that could be cultivated.
Rasa watched him in silence, apparently trying to judge whether he was lying.
The air in the office almost froze.
After a long while, he spoke again, but abruptly changed the subject, his question even sharper. "You seem to be quite close to Gaara, the village's One-Tail Jinchuriki?"
Shira's heart clenched. He knew the real test had come. He steadied himself and answered frankly, "Yes. We train together every morning."
"Why?"
Rasa leaned forward slightly, and the invisible pressure intensified sharply. "Everyone in the village fears him, shuns him, and sees him as an ominous monster. Why aren't you afraid of him? Why are you willing to get close to him, even 'help' him?"
His tone carried an unquestionable desire to probe and deep suspicion.
Shira took a deep breath, knowing his answer at this moment was crucial. He couldn't show too much sympathy; that would make Rasa even more suspicious.
He raised his head and met Rasa's gaze openly, answering from a more practical perspective, one more befitting the son of a merchant. "Lord Kazekage, I-I don't think he's scary. I just think he's strong."
"Strong?" Rasa raised an eyebrow, thoroughly puzzled by the answer.
"Yes." Shira nodded, a hint of childish self-interest in his tone. "When I train with him, I can learn a lot and get stronger. And he doesn't seem to dislike me. I thought, if I could become friends with him, then maybe no one in the village would dare bully me anymore?"
This explanation laid bare a child's petty calculations in seeking powerful protection and personal gain. It cleverly packaged a "bond" as an "investment," greatly lowering Rasa's guard.
Rasa's gaze flickered slightly. He didn't seem surprised by the answer; he even seemed somewhat satisfied.
What he needed was controllable exploitation, not uncontrollable emotion.
But Shira wasn't finished. He seemed to hesitate, then carefully added, his tone tinged with confusion at what he had observed:
"And, Lord Kazekage, I think the more everyone fears him and provokes him, the more unstable that monster inside him seems to get. When I train with him, as long as things are a little calmer, that 'sand' seems much more obedient."
"My father always says you have to be amicable to make money in business. You can't always be fighting and killing. Even if you have a powerful 'weapon,' shouldn't you take good care of it instead of constantly hitting it? If you damage it, or it stops listening altogether, wouldn't that be even worse?"
With those words, Shira placed himself entirely in the perspective of a child who "knew nothing of politics and understood only simple costs and benefits," yet he had struck precisely at the contradiction Rasa cared about most.
Rasa wanted to use Shukaku's power, yet feared losing control of him. So Shira, drawing on his identity as the son of merchants and using the analogy of "a merchant caring for his goods," subtly pointed out the potential risk of the current high-pressure policy-excessive provocation could lead to a complete loss of control.
Shira was ecstatic inside. Those high school Chinese lessons weren't wasted. The art of language, right there!
Rasa's fingers abruptly stopped tapping on the desk.
His penetrating gaze fixed on Shira, as if he meant to see straight through him.
A long, suffocating silence fell over the office.
At last, Rasa slowly leaned back in his chair. Neither pleasure nor anger showed on his face. He simply waved a hand, his tone returning to its earlier chill. "Enough. You may go."
"Yes, Lord Kazekage." Shira bowed respectfully, then turned and left the office with steady steps.
Only after he walked out of the Kazekage building and felt the scorching sunlight and windblown sand again did Shira slowly release the stale breath he had been holding in his chest. His back was already drenched in cold sweat.
The exchange just now had seemed calm, but in truth it had been fraught with danger. Every word had been like dancing on the edge of a blade.
Damn it, a transmigrator really has to know how to act.
But he knew he had passed the test for now. The reasons he had offered, whether "seeking protection" or "maintaining a weapon," both fit Rasa's cold, utilitarian way of thinking. They might even have provided him with a kind of "official tacit approval" to continue approaching Gaara.
More importantly, he had succeeded in planting the idea that "excessive provocation is harmful" in Rasa's mind like a seed.
As for whether that seed would sprout, and what it might grow into, that could only be left to time and his future strength.
Shira raised his head and looked at the murky yellow sky over Sunagakure, his gaze growing a little firmer.
His first direct encounter with the Kazekage had given him a clearer sense of the coldness and weight of this world's uppermost echelons.