[The Fool]

Shamaru.

Just another nobody in Iwagakure. Nothing to his name—unless you counted his childhood obsession with… sand.

While most played ninja or practiced shuriken throws, little Shamaru spent his days covered in dirt. Not metaphorically—literally. He'd coat himself head to toe in sand and mud, shaping crude sculptures, rolling in it, even dreaming of eating it. If sand were edible, he'd have devoured it like candy.

Every day, he returned home a walking mud statue. Every day, his mother beat the ever-loving hell out of him for it.

But Shamaru? He loved it.

The insults—"idiot," "dunce," "freak"—they were like lullabies to him.

He didn't enjoy the beatings per se, but over time, he'd devised a defense: coat his body in a dried, compacted mix of mud before going home. Inspired by wild boars who rolled in muck to ward off parasites, he refined the formula—strength, flexibility, resilience—until the mud armor became second skin.

With it, even his mother's wrath became… a warm embrace.

That's how his life went. Blissful, if strange.

Until one rainy day, when digging along the riverbank, he unearthed an eye.

Not just any eye—a divine, pulsating relic.

Even before touching it, he could feel the beauty, the power.

A piece of a god. A Saint.

He knew at once: this was his.

He pressed it lovingly to his face, rolling in glee as if cuddling a tiny piglet of mud.

And then—it merged.

Into his skin.

Into his right socket.

Gone.

Shamaru wasn't afraid.

He was ecstatic.

His vision sharpened. He could scan through walls, see chakra, feel pressure and heat through sight alone. Sand obeyed his will—it became an extension of his body.

And with that will, a form emerged.

A sand-wrought humanoid, looming and raw. A Stand.

He named it: [The Fool].

A tribute to his own "idiocy"—but the kind of foolishness that hid depth. A partner. A friend. A weapon.

[The Fool] let him perform miracles. Earth release was the smokescreen; sand was the truth.

When the Rasengan had scattered his Sand Uplift into debris, he'd released [The Fool] to take control. More and more sand spread across the battlefield, each grain under his command.

And when he neared Ishiki Kujo, the Right Eye began to vibrate.

Another Saint relic… on him!

If he could seize it—he might ascend to godhood.

BOOM!

A monstrous sand claw surged from the ground, seizing Ishiki's legs and pulling him downward. The trap snapped shut—perfectly timed.

But then—

A roar.

Flames exploded outward.

Sand burst apart as a muscular figure with a rooster-like head erupted from the crater, surrounded by searing cross-shaped fire.

[Magician's Red].

The Stand released volleys of burning X's toward Shamaru's direction.

But before the fire could land—SLASH.

Shamaru's body split in two, cleaved apart by Dragon Flame Jutsu.

Ishiki didn't stop. Neither did [Magician's Red].

He had seen it—the "Shamaru" who'd been hit was just a sand clone. The real one had vanished the moment he released the sand. Typical Stand-user tactics.

And the Stand?

That grotesque shape. That granular control. That impossible mimicry.

It had to be… [The Fool], just like Iggy's.

Was this what the Saint's Corpse could awaken?

A miracle? Or something worse?

Ishiki didn't know. But this battlefield—stone and dust—was the enemy's domain.

He clapped his hands. Dozens of Ripple-infused bubbles floated outward from his palms.

Then he jumped.

His feet touched one of the bubbles, which quivered but held. Ripple gave them form—solid enough for steps. When they dipped, he bounced to another.

A dance on air.

Each bubble that struck the ground sent vibrations through the terrain, giving Ishiki real-time sonar through Ripple feedback. He felt where Shamaru was hiding—where the sand moved unnaturally.

He also knew heat would make hiding impossible.

More bubbles hit earth. Ripple heated them. The temperature of the sand rose rapidly—subtle, but fatal.

Ishiki prepared a hand seal. Chakra surged in his chest.

But the sand struck first.

BOOM!

A colossal sand boar formed from nothing, charging upward toward Ishiki's airborne form.

He leapt, graceful as a swallow. In midair, he spat a giant, glowing Great Fireball Jutsu down toward the beast.

But just then—his Sharingan flickered.

He saw someone that shouldn't be here.

A swirling orange mask.

A black cloak with red clouds.

Tobi.

Uchiha Obito.

What the hell is he doing here?!

No time to react.

The boar burst through the fireball. Its hide charred, glowing red—but still moving. The flames couldn't reach its core.

[Magician's Red] surged forward, fists ablaze, hammering its skull.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Its head crumbled like an onion, layers peeling back with each punch. But from within—a spray of sand exploded outward.

Ishiki ignored it.

He spun, gathering chakra into his palm. Another Rasengan formed.

Obito was far—but he'd seen enough. The Right Eye of the Saint was guarded by more than just sand.

[The Fool] wasn't done yet.

And Shamaru…

Wasn't just another idiot.