The Perfect Mask

[Third Person POV]

Midnight in Konoha was not silent.

It was quieter, certainly—most civilians had long since retired, and only the occasional shinobi patrol moved through the streets. But the real underbelly of the village never slept. In the alleys, behind locked doors, in places where the Hokage's law held no weight, life thrived in the shadows.

It was exactly where she needed to be.

Akari Inori remained in the orphanage, her body still and at rest. But elsewhere, in the dark corners of the village, he walked.

The Kage Bunshin, wrapped in the guise of a man, moved with quiet confidence. The Henge no Jutsu was flawless—broad shoulders, a lean but strong frame, dark hair that was neatly combed back, sharp features that carried just the right amount of wear. Not too old, not too young. Just the right kind of unremarkable. A man who could disappear into a crowd, yet stand firm when needed.

The perfect mask named Kiyotaka Kobiki.

A name without history. A face without a past. A shadow given form.

He walked into a dimly lit district near the outer edges of Konoha—the kind of place most shinobi avoided unless they were collecting information. This was where the village's lowest crawled, where the gangs held their ground, out of the eyes of the ANBU.

He was here to take.

A small gang operated here, running minor extortions and illegal trades. They weren't big, nor were they strong. But they had connections—whispers of information that trickled down from more powerful sources. That was all they needed.

Kiyotaka stopped in front of a rundown building, barely more than a shack. Two men stood guard outside, exchanging quiet words until they noticed him.

He said nothing, only walked forward.

One of them frowned. "Who the hell are—"

Kiyotaka moved.

A flicker of motion. A shift in the air. Before either could react, one of the men was on the ground, his throat crushed by a brutal strike. The second barely had time to draw a weapon before Kiyotaka's fingers drove into his windpipe, silencing him before he could even scream.

Two down. No wasted effort.

Pushing open the door, Kiyotaka stepped inside. The gang leader—Masaru—was at a table, surrounded by five men, playing a game of dice. They turned at the sound of intrusion, hands moving toward weapons, but Kiyotaka was already closing the distance.

His approach was slow, deliberate, exuding power. Not just physical strength, but something greater—absolute confidence. A predator walking into a den of prey.

Masaru scowled. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Kiyotaka stopped in front of the table. He let a long silence stretch, letting them feel the weight of the moment. Then he spoke, his voice low, cold, and edged with amusement.

"Your replacement."

Masaru barely had time to blink before Kiyotaka struck.

Faster than a common thug could follow, Kiyotaka's hand shot out, grabbing the gang leader by the throat. With terrifying ease, he lifted him off the ground, fingers tightening just enough to make the point clear.

Masaru struggled, kicking wildly, but it was useless. Kiyotaka held him there, eyes never leaving his, watching the moment realization set in.

"You want power?" Kiyotaka murmured. "It isn't about numbers. It isn't about who you know." He squeezed harder, feeling the pulse under his fingers slow. "It's about who's willing to take it."

Then, with a single twist, he snapped Masaru's neck.

Silence.

The other men stared, frozen in horror as their leader's lifeless body crumpled to the floor.

Kiyotaka turned to them, unbothered, adjusting the sleeves of his cloak. His gaze swept across the room, assessing. Five men. Not warriors. Thieves and rats who relied on fear to survive.

Time to give them something new to fear.

"Now," he said, stepping over Masaru's corpse. "You can run. You can die." He reached down, grabbed a knife from the table, and spun it between his fingers. "Or you can listen."

No one moved. No one spoke.

Then, slowly, one of the men knelt.

The others followed.

Good.

Kiyotaka sheathed the knife and smiled—a cold, humourless smile as he spoke only 2 simple words.

"Let's begin."

Kiyotaka stood in the dimly lit room, surveying his new assets.

The five men—no, his five men now—remained silent, watching him like cornered animals waiting for the killing blow. Smart of them. Fear was useful. But fear alone wouldn't build an empire.

He gestured with a tilt of his head. "Show me what I've taken."

One of the men—a wiry guy with a missing tooth, whom the others called Shinji—swallowed hard and led him through the base.

It was a pathetic thing.

A rundown warehouse with peeling walls, creaking floors, and a smell that was equal parts stale alcohol and damp wood. The gang had made a home of it, but it was barely a step above squatters pretending to be criminals.

A few rooms held stolen goods—mostly worthless trinkets, alcohol, and a small stash of ryo that wasn't even enough to call wealth.

The "armory" was worse. Rusty blades, a few blunt kunai, and a single old crossbow missing its bolts. Pitiful.

Kiyotaka exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. This was the lowest level of Konoha's criminal underbelly. But that was fine. That was perfect.

Because it meant he could build it into something stronger.

He turned to face his men. "This?" He kicked a broken chair aside. "This is nothing. This is why Masaru is dead."

The men tensed.

"From this moment forward, you have a purpose," Kiyotaka continued. His voice was steady, controlled, carrying an undeniable weight. "Survival isn't enough. Power isn't enough." His gaze swept across them. "We will build something bigger. Stronger. And to do that, we need leverage. We need information."

He walked forward, slow, deliberate steps, forcing them to listen.

"The underworld of Konoha is a tangled web. The big players—the ones with real power—don't just fight. They know. Who's moving money. Who's making deals. Who has weaknesses to exploit."

He stopped in front of Shinji.

"You. How many other gangs operate in this part of the village?"

Shinji hesitated. "Uh… three, I think. Maybe four?"

Kiyotaka's eyes narrowed. "Think?"

Shinji stiffened. "T-Three, for sure. The Okabe crew, the Red Knives, and the Hoshino gang."

"Good." Kiyotaka turned to the others. "We'll start small. We don't go to war. We don't make noise. We infiltrate."

He pointed at one of the younger-looking men—a lean kid with nervous eyes, probably the lowest-ranked among them.

"You," Kiyotaka said, voice like a knife's edge. "What's your name?"

The boy hesitated. "Kenji."

"Kenji." Kiyotaka placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing just enough to make him flinch. "Congratulations. You're no longer with us."

Kenji's eyes widened in panic. "W-What?"

"You're going to join the Red Knives. Work your way in. Start as a grunt. Gain their trust." Kiyotaka's grip tightened, his next words cold and absolute. "Climb."

Kenji swallowed hard, sweat forming on his brow. "And then what?"

"Then," Kiyotaka said, leaning in slightly, "you feed us everything. Their operations. Their members. Their secrets." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And when the time comes, we take them. From the inside out."

Silence.

The others exchanged uneasy glances, realization dawning on them. This wasn't just about taking over a gang. This was about control. Power through patience.

Kiyotaka turned back to the rest of them. "The rest of you?" He motioned to the warehouse. "We clean this up. We expand. We prepare."

His eyes gleamed in the dim light.

"This is just the beginning."

And those words were the truth.

(One Week Later)

The warehouse was no longer pathetic.

What was once a crumbling hideout now had order. The stolen goods had been sorted, traded, or sold for actual resources. The armory—while still not impressive—was no longer a pile of rust and broken weapons. The gang members, once a group of directionless thugs, now moved with purpose.

And most importantly—they knew things.

Kiyotaka stood at the center of it all, arms crossed as Shinji gave his report.

"The Okabe Crew has ties to a fence near the merchant district," Shinji said, his voice steady, no longer carrying the nervous tremor from a week ago. "They move stolen goods there, clean them up, then resell through legitimate traders."

Kiyotaka nodded. Useful.

"The Red Knives?" he asked.

Shinji hesitated. "Kenji's still working his way up. Right now, they just have him running small jobs, but he says they're planning something big. He'll pass details when he gets them."

Kiyotaka exhaled slowly. He expected this. Climbing took time. But Kenji knew the stakes. Kiyotaka had made sure of that.

"What about the Hoshino gang?"

At this, Shinji smirked. "They're struggling."

Kiyotaka raised a brow.

"We spread the rumor, just like you said," Shinji continued. "Word is, their leader—Souta—borrowed money from the wrong people. Some of his own guys are questioning him now."

Good. Let the rats eat themselves.

Kiyotaka turned to the rest of his men, who had gathered around. "This is progress," he said. "But it's not enough." His voice was cold, unwavering. "We don't just want scraps of information. We need everything. Who's paying who. Who's afraid of who. Every secret. Every weakness."

His eyes settled on a man leaning against the wall—Daichi, one of the stronger fighters in the gang. "What about the brothels?"

Daichi straightened. "We got someone inside the Silver Lotus. One of the girls there listens. She says the owners take protection money from more than just gangs. Some of Konoha's merchants pay them too."

That was new.

Kiyotaka's mind worked fast. If the brothel's owners had financial leverage over merchants, that meant potential influence. Something he could use later.

He gave a slow nod.

"You're proving yourselves," he said, sweeping his gaze over them. "You're proving that I didn't waste my time letting you live."

A chill ran through the room.

They hadn't forgotten. What he did to Masaru. How he took over without taking a single hit.

Kiyotaka walked forward, his voice steady.

"But remember this—knowledge is only power if you know how to use it. Information means nothing if you don't act on it. If you hesitate. If you let fear stop you."

He stopped in front of one of the men—Toru, a former pickpocket who now handled some of the gang's contacts.

Toru tensed.

Kiyotaka tilted his head. "Do you have something for me?"

Toru swallowed hard. "I—I heard something about the Black Serpents."

Silence.

Shinji stiffened. Even Daichi shifted uncomfortably.

Kiyotaka's eyes didn't leave Toru's. "Go on."

Toru hesitated. Then, finally—

"They're moving something soon. Something big. But no one knows what."

The Black Serpents weren't like the Okabe Crew or the Red Knives. They weren't small-time. They were bigger, stronger, more established. They had real money. Real connections. Real power.

Kiyotaka smirked.

That just meant they were worth watching.

He stepped back, addressing the room.

"Keep gathering. Keep infiltrating. We're just getting started."

And they understood.

Because in just one week, they had become something else. Not a gang. Not a bunch of thugs.

They were a force.

And Kiyotaka was the one holding the leash.

Kiyotaka moved to his own personal, private space in the warehouse. Nobody else was allowed here, it was just him.

He used a Kage Bunshin no Jutsu who was already just another him. Then the original Kage Bunshin of Akari dispelled giving her a weeks worth of memories.

(With Akari)

The moment the clone dispelled, the memories hit her like a surge of cold water.

One week's worth of sights, sounds, and sensations—compressed into an instant. Her advanced mind got to work analysing the memories whilst she walked through the wooden halls of the Orphanage.

The dim glow of lanterns in the criminal districts. The rough texture of blood-dried knuckles. The weight of a blade spinning between fingers. The moment Masaru's throat gave under her grip. The fear in their eyes. The silence before obedience.

It worked.

She had expected it to, of course. She had planned for this, for every possible outcome , And now, after a single week, she had a foothold. An army in the making.

The strategy had worked—intimidation, control, patience. A direct takeover would have been reckless, attracting attention from both shinobi and rival factions. But infiltration? Manipulation? Letting the pieces move while she remained unseen? That was power.

Kenji was in place. The Red Knives would be hers soon.

The Hoshino gang was already fracturing. They'd collapse before long.

And now, the Black Serpents…

Akari's fingers curled into the sheets. This was where things became interesting.

The Serpents were different from the bottom-feeders she had seen so far. They weren't just thugs swinging rusted weapons—they had real influence, real power. If they were moving something important, then that meant opportunity. And one of White Room's teachings taught to her personally by her own father was: "Those who hold power yet fail to use it to their advantage are nothing more than fools. And those who are foolish with their power can have it seized."

She was after information on Danzo with this strategy, but it wouldn't do her any good if she didn't seize more and more power. These first few months, will be dedicated to gathering and consolidating power. Power that was under her commend with no one realising it under the guise of Kiyotaka.

The perfect mask.