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"Flying Thunder God... Yes, it must be the Flying Thunder God Technique!"
After hearing the masked man's words, Itachi's eyes narrowed with realization.
This kind of space-time teleportation ninjutsu—if it wasn't the Flying Thunder God Technique, what else could it be?
Upon his confirmation, White Zetsu immediately exploded with frustration.
"Flying Thunder God! The Flying Thunder God of the Fourth Hokage! And Uchiha Shisui's Shunshin no Jutsu! Damn it! How did Konoha hand over both of these jutsu to Uchiha Haru!?"
Obito and Itachi both had the same question lingering in their minds.
Judging from the way Uchiha Haru left with the Uchiha clan back then, although things seemed to end in a mutual compromise, anyone with eyes could see that it was temporary.
The Uchiha and Konoha were destined to clash again. Even if Konoha agreed to give up forbidden jutsu as a peace offering, it didn't have to be these two incredibly powerful techniques.
Yet compared to the actual techniques, what disturbed them most wasn't that Haru had them—it was that he had mastered them.
A terrifying level of talent.
The Flying Thunder God Technique. Uchiha Shisui's Body Flicker.
Each one already stood at the pinnacle of complexity and required immense chakra control and speed.
Few in Konoha had ever been able to learn even one.
Yet Haru had mastered both.
And not just that—he had done it in barely over a month since the Uchiha clan left Konoha.
This level of talent wasn't just rare—it was monstrous.
Itachi, long regarded as a genius, could only frown slightly in self-mockery. If he tried to master both techniques in such a short time, he doubted he could have learned even one.
A feeling he hadn't felt in a long time stirred in him again—defeat.
"Mangekyō Sharingan, Wood Release, the Flying Thunder God Technique, and Shisui's Shunshin..." White Zetsu exhaled slowly. His voice was heavy with foreboding.
"Uchiha Haru keeps getting stronger."
"We should bring in Nagato," he added darkly. "A man like Uchiha Haru must be eliminated before he reaches his full potential."
"Pain?" Obito raised an eyebrow beneath his mask and then slowly shook his head. "No. There's no need to call on Nagato. Not yet."
Even knowing how strong Haru was becoming, even recognizing the abnormal talent and destructive potential he carried, Obito still had absolute confidence in their ace—Nagato.
Because Nagato wielded the power of gods—something that could obliterate everything in a flash.
Even Uchiha Haru wouldn't be able to resist that.
"But..." White Zetsu hesitated, clearly wanting to press further, but in the end, he nodded in agreement. "I was being hasty."
Obito was right. Nagato was their final trump card. He was a blade reserved for the most critical moment, a weapon of last resort. Now wasn't the time to reveal that hand.
Throughout the conversation, Itachi remained silent, observing and committing every word to memory. Especially the name "Nagato."
He was new to Akatsuki, still unfamiliar with all the members and inner workings. But this name would stay etched in his mind.
"So what do we do now?" White Zetsu asked. "Uchiha Haru has taken the people who discovered our secrets to see Elder Genji. By tomorrow, the truth about the Fourth Mizukage being under genjutsu will be exposed."
"With Uchiha Haru interfering, are we just going to give up on the Hidden Mist Village?"
White Zetsu looked visibly tense. He had followed Obito the longest and knew exactly how important Kirigakure had become to him.
Giving it up now would be a massive loss.
Obito stayed silent for a moment, then exhaled long and slow. "If the truth about the Fourth Mizukage being controlled gets out and we can't stop it, then Kirigakure is no longer ours."
"It's time to let it go."
He paused.
"But we won't leave quietly. We'll take what's ours. And don't think this ends with our departure. Elder Genji... he's not as simple as he seems."
…
The next day, under Elder Genji summons, the senior leadership of Kirigakure assembled in the office of the Fourth Mizukage.
Under normal circumstances, seeing the Mizukage required layers of clearance and bureaucracy. But today, everyone demanded an answer: was the Mizukage truly under genjutsu control?
This entire event wasn't made public. It was kept strictly confidential.
Two main reasons:
First, everything they knew at this point was based solely on Mei Terumi's testimony—they couldn't yet be completely sure.
Second, even if this news proved to be true in the end, the implication that their own Mizukage had been under someone else's genjutsu for years without being discovered was a devastating scandal. If made public, it wouldn't just discredit the Fourth Mizukage—it would utterly humiliate the entire leadership of Kirigakure.
It would deal a serious blow to their internal credibility. The political fallout would be catastrophic.
Still, a group of high-ranking Mist shinobi had gathered outside the Mizukage's office, their expressions grim, their presence forceful.
The elite jōnin guarding the door had never seen anything like it. Though alarmed, he forced himself to speak up.
"Lord Mizukage isn't seeing anyone today!"
Elder Genji said nothing. He simply waved his hand.
Immediately, a skilled shinobi stepped forward, subdued the door guard with swift precision, and kicked the door open.
The Fourth Mizukage's office was simple and sparsely furnished. Aside from several file cabinets, there was only a modest desk positioned before the floor-to-ceiling window. Beside the desk stood a large, high-backed chair.
As the group entered, they saw someone sitting in that chair, their back to the door.
The chair was imposing—far too large for the man they believed to be seated in it. The Fourth Mizukage, Yagura, was a short man. Sitting in that massive chair, his figure would be nearly hidden.
"Lord Mizukage," someone called out, voice hesitant.
No matter their suspicions or urgency, protocol had to be observed. If it turned out Yagura wasn't under any genjutsu, their brash actions today could spell disaster.
Especially considering how erratic and unstable the Mizukage's personality had become in recent years.
But after their respectful greeting… there was no response.
No movement. No reply.
If they couldn't see the hand barely resting on the chair's arm, they might've believed no one was there at all.
"Lord Mizukage?" someone else tried again.
Still nothing.
The crowd of senior shinobi exchanged uneasy glances. The tension in the room was rising by the second.
Elder Genji stepped forward cautiously, intent on confirming the truth for himself.
But just as he took his second step—
The chair moved.
Slowly, it began to swivel, turning little by little.
The man sitting on it finally came into view.
He wore an orange spiral-patterned mask with a single eyehole and a black cloak adorned with red clouds.
The room erupted.
"It's him! That's him!" Mei Terumi shouted, pointing at the man. "That's the one I saw last night! He's the one who's been controlling the Mizukage!"
There was no longer any doubt.
The masked man now sat openly in the Mizukage's chair—clear, undeniable proof that Mei Terumi had been telling the truth all along.
Everyone stared in disbelief. The real Mizukage was nowhere to be found. In his place sat a stranger cloaked in the signature robe of the Akatsuki.
"Who are you?!"
"Where's the Mizukage?!"
"What have you done with him?!"
The room exploded with accusations and shouts.
But the masked man didn't move.
He sat calmly in the chair, radiating confidence, mockery flickering in his lone visible eye.
"To hell with this. Just take him down!" someone roared. "Once we capture him, we'll make him talk! He'll tell us where Mizukage-sama is!"
Dozens of Mist shinobi surged forward.
But the moment they attacked, they realized something was horribly wrong.
Their punches missed.
Their kunai went right through him.
It was as if he wasn't really there.
And yet—they could see him. Sitting there. Unmoving. Mocking them.
"What is this sorcery?!"
Still, a few stubborn fools refused to accept the situation and continued striking at the phantom form in futility.
Then, suddenly—
A swirling vortex of chakra appeared where the masked man sat.
The air around him twisted violently as space itself seemed to ripple.
Startled, everyone instinctively backed away. No one wanted to be caught in some unknown jutsu.
The masked man's body slowly disappeared into the vortex, piece by piece—absorbed into some unseen dimension.
And when he reappeared, he stood far away from the crowd, isolated, watching them all with that same cold indifference.
Another Mist shinobi tried to lunge toward him again, but this time, Elder Genji held him back.
"Wait."
He stepped forward, his expression stern.
"Since the end of the Third Great Ninja War, you've been using genjutsu to control the Fourth Mizukage… haven't you?"
The masked man didn't flinch. He didn't lie. He didn't deflect.
"That's right."
He confessed without hesitation.
There was no point in denying it anymore. The lie had already unraveled. The truth was coming out, whether he wanted it or not.
Shock swept through the crowd.
Even though they had mostly accepted Mei Terumi's accusations the moment they saw the masked man earlier, hearing him admit it—out loud—was something else entirely.
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