Chapter 10: The White Angel of the Akatsuki — Konan

They called her the white angel of the Akatsuki. Konan, the paper phantom. Cool, calm, and terrifying in a minimalist, origami death-machine kind of way.

This was her third visit to the Wind Country's giant sandbox. And she hated every grain of it.

Seriously—who the hell designed a village in the middle of a sun-blasted, skin-peeling wasteland? The entire region was just endless beige and bad decisions.

Her mission was simple—on paper.

Recruit Sasori of the Red Sand. Puppet prodigy. Murder artist. Emotionally unavailable.

But two attempts in, the guy was a ghost. No trail. No chakra signature. No forwarding address. Just poof.

Today was her final try. If it failed, she'd fly home, hand in her report, and let Tobi make his next brilliant plan. Probably involving a different puppet psycho.

That was the plan.

Until the sky ripped open with chakra.

Not just any chakra—this was pressure-cooker, aneurysm-inducing, what-the-hell-am-I-feeling chakra.

Konan's wings unfolded in a sharp snap of paper and chakra. She took off toward the source like a missile wrapped in grace.

And when she arrived?

Chaos. Confusion.

And then—complete silence.

Below her, two figures stood in the wreckage of a battlefield that looked like God had gotten angry at geometry.

One of them was unmistakable.

The Third Kazekage.

Alive. Intact. Breathing.

Correction.

Dead. Very not breathing. Currently being carried like an overcooked rotisserie chicken by a silver-haired teenager with the emotional range of a teaspoon.

Konan blinked.

Did… did that child just flatten one of the strongest Kage in history?

No. That couldn't be right.

But then the Kazekage's corpse hit the sand like a dropped sack of miso, and Zeldris just kept walking like he was taking out the trash.

Yeah.

That was right.

Konan hovered in the air, dead silent. Her usual calm expression faltered for the briefest moment.

What is he?

That strange light… that power… no hand seals, no build-up, no chant. Just boom.

A bloodline limit? Something even rarer?

Or… was he just built different?

Below, Zeldris followed Sasori through the dunes, calm as ever.

He glanced at the puppet master walking stiffly ahead and sighed.

Should I just make my own organization?

He was strong now. Kage-level. Solo-ing contracts like a one-man demolition squad.

But still… too slow. One mission at a time wasn't efficient.

What he needed was a team.

A mercenary syndicate. Strong. Ruthless. Efficient.

He glanced at Sasori again.

Untapped potential. Crazy artist vibes. Body count in the triple digits. Good starter material.

He stopped walking.

"Sasori."

The red-haired boy flinched like someone just whispered "free hugs" in his ear.

He turned slowly. "...Yes?"

Zeldris smiled faintly. "Ever considered joining me?"

Sasori blinked.

"Joining you? As in… working for you?"

Zeldris tilted his head.

"With me. I'm not into hierarchies. I'm into results."

"Join me, and I'll show you the path to eternal art."

That phrase hit Sasori like a slap from the gods.

His eyes widened.

Eternal art…?

That… that was his entire life. His obsession. His reason for replacing his spleen with springs and gears.

He stared hard at Zeldris.

Was this a trick?

Zeldris looked serious.

And that made Sasori pause.

Was this silver-haired lunatic actually the real deal?

He opened his mouth to respond—

Then the air shifted.

Both boys turned sharply.

The dunes whispered, and a rustle echoed overhead. Not leaves. Not birds.

Paper.

A flutter.

And from the sky descended a woman.

Blue-purple hair. Pale skin. Wings made of paper. Cloak dark as ink, marked with red clouds.

Konan.

Zeldris recognized her instantly.

The paper angel. The only woman in the Akatsuki who could fold you into 300 deadly shapes and call it "art."

She hovered like death on silent wings, gaze calm and unreadable.

Zeldris squinted.

Did I just think about the Akatsuki five seconds ago?

And now their angel descends from the clouds like some karmic Amazon delivery?

A little too convenient.

Sasori, meanwhile, was staring daggers at her.

"Who is she?" he muttered. "One of yours?"

Zeldris raised a brow.

"Do I look like I travel with airborne origami assassins?"

Fair point.

Konan landed softly, wings folding behind her in a whisper of paper.

She looked at Zeldris.

Then at Sasori.

Then at the dead Kazekage lying face-down in the sand like an unpaid intern.

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