Chapter 4: Puppet Showdown and Prank Mastermind
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: ENGAGING FOE. PREPARING FOR VERBAL DESTRUCTION.]
Being part of Team Kakashi, even in a "specialist" capacity, was less glamorous than I imagined. More running, less dramatic entrances. More dust, less witty banter with a captive audience. But hey, at least I wasn't stuck doing D-rank missions. Cleaning up dog poop was definitely not on my reincarnation bucket list.
We were deep in the Land of Rivers, tracking the Akatsuki. Naruto was still sporting a faint pinkish tint to his hair, which he blamed on me daily. Sakura was still giving me death glares. Kakashi was still perpetually bored. And I was still me, which meant I was perpetually looking for the next opportunity to cause delightful chaos.
Our target: Sasori of the Red Sand. Master puppeteer, art enthusiast (in a horrifying, human-puppet kind of way), and generally unpleasant individual. My goal: piss him off. Profoundly. Enough to get his 'Hate' meter up. And maybe snag some sweet puppet skills. Who needs a proper education when you can copy ancient forbidden arts?
"You know, for a guy who turns people into puppets, Sasori really needs to lighten up. It's like, dude, chill. Art is supposed to be about expression, not about collecting human trophies. Though, I have to admit, his collection probably has better resale value than my lucky frog coin. Still, no soul. Big difference."
The hideout was exactly where my 'doodle' said it would be. Go figure. The team burst in, ready for a fight. I, however, was ready for a monologue. And some truly terrible art criticism.
Sasori, looking exactly like a moody teenager trapped in a giant puppet suit, was already engaged with Sakura and Chiyo. His puppets were menacing, intricate, and frankly, a bit much. I mean, do you really need that many blades? It's just excessive.
[ADAM IZUKU: ENGAGING THE ART CRITIC WITHIN. INITIATE CONNECTION PROTOCOL.]
[SASORI HATE METER: 10%]
I decided to start small. While Sakura and Chiyo were busy dodging a barrage of needles, I sauntered into the cavernous room, pretending to be deeply unimpressed.
"Is this it?" I drawled, hands in my pockets, a look of profound disappointment on my face. "This is 'Sasori of the Red Sand,' master of puppets? Honestly, I've seen better craftsmanship at a village fair. And the color palette? So… beige. Where's the pizzazz? The sparkle? The emotional depth?"
Sasori's puppet head twitched. "You dare insult my art, civilian?" his voice, filtered through the puppet, was surprisingly high-pitched and annoyed.
"Art?" I snorted, waving a dismissive hand. "This isn't art, it's a glorified broom closet full of bad posture and dusty strings. Where's the passion? The suffering? The abstract angst? All I'm seeing is a serious lack of imagination and a distinct overuse of the 'creepy mannequin' aesthetic. Did you even try to innovate?"
[SASORI HATE METER: 30%]
Sasori's puppets, momentarily distracted by my verbal assault, faltered. Sakura seized the opportunity, landing a powerful blow.
"You… you insolent little brat!" Sasori shrieked, his puppet flailing. "My art is eternal! My puppets are masterpieces!"
"Eternal, schmaternal," I scoffed, dodging a poison needle with a theatrical flourish. "They look like they were designed by someone who really, really liked taxidermy and hadn't had a good night's sleep in centuries. And the 'red sand'? So cliché. You couldn't come up with something more avant-garde? Like, 'Sasori of the Glittering Blood' or 'Sasori of the Technicolor Nightmare'? Now that would be art!"
[SASORI HATE METER: 50%]
Chiyo, who had been fighting valiantly, paused, a bewildered expression on her face. Even Sakura seemed momentarily stunned by my relentless barrage of insults. Sasori, however, was now actively targeting me, his puppets moving with a furious, jerky aggression.
"This is exhilarating! Like poking a very angry, very large, very well-armed bear with a very tiny, very annoying stick. The trick is to keep poking until he explodes, or, in this case, until his 'Hate' meter maxes out. And honestly, for a guy who's been alive for, like, forever, he's got surprisingly thin skin. Must be all that puppet making. No sunlight."
"You will be my next masterpiece!" Sasori roared, unleashing a flurry of chakra strings.
"Oh, goodie," I said, rolling my eyes. "Another creepy doll to add to your collection. Do you even have a good display case for them? Because I'm picturing a dusty attic, and really, your 'art' deserves better than that. At least get some proper lighting!"
[SASORI HATE METER: 70%]
He was practically vibrating with rage. His attacks became more desperate, less precise. He was making mistakes. And that's exactly what I needed.
"And another thing," I continued, ducking under a swing of his iron tail, "your ultimate puppet, Hiruko? Looks like a giant, grumpy tick. Not exactly awe-inspiring. More like, 'I need an exterminator, stat!'"
Sasori let out a guttural scream, a sound of pure, unadulterated fury. He began channeling more chakra, abandoning his meticulous control in favor of raw power.
[SASORI HATE METER: 80% - ACQUIRABLE SKILLS: PUPPET MASTER JUTSU, A FEW OF SASORI'S PUPPETS]
"You… you will regret this! I will make you suffer for desecrating my art!" he shrieked, his voice cracking with emotion.
"Oh, I'm sure you will," I said, grinning, my eyes glinting with triumph. "But hey, at least I gave you something to be truly passionate about for once, right? Now that's what I call art!"
With his focus entirely on me, Sasori left himself open. Sakura, ever the quick thinker, saw her chance. With a powerful, chakra-infused punch, she shattered his main puppet body. Chiyo moved in, delivering the final, decisive blow.
As Sasori's true body was revealed, a fragile, pale form, he lay there, defeated, still glaring at me with incandescent rage.
"You… you are a stain… on the canvas of life," he rasped, his eyes burning.
"And you, my friend," I countered, leaning over him, a smug smirk on my face, "are a magnificent burst of angry color. Truly, a masterpiece of irritation. You're welcome."
The Puppet Master Jutsu was mine. And all it took was a few well-placed insults and a profound disrespect for the concept of 'fine art.' My kind of victory.