The air in the chamber is thick, stagnant. I can hear the hum of machines over the storm outside — mechanical breath pulling in, pushing out, like some metal lung keeping this place alive.
I stand frozen, half-tempted to bolt, half-tempted to just close my eyes and pretend the door never opened. But I can't. Not when he is right there.
Nagato.
His chest rises shallowly, ribs shifting beneath skin stretched too thin. For a moment I think he might stay asleep, lost to whatever drugged half-life keeps him here. Then, without warning, his eyes open.
The Rinnegan.
Grey concentric ripples lock onto me, cold, unblinking. I've seen those eyes in the story, in animation, in still frames, and panels. But here? Here they are alive. Eternal. They do not search. They do not blink. They simply are. And they pin me in place like a bug on a board.
My throat is dry. My stomach is a knot. Every instinct screams to look away. But I don't. I can't.
Nagato's lips part, his voice low but firm, like it doesn't belong to this frail body.
"You took longer than expected. Konan and I thought you would open this door in the first week. You surprised us both."
I swallow hard, heart pounding against my ribs. He doesn't sound impressed. Just… inevitable. Like this was written somewhere long before I arrived.
But fear makes me stubborn, and stubbornness makes me sarcastic. That's my default defense.
"Well," I manage, forcing my voice to stay steady, "what can I say? I'm a cautious guy. Curiosity just won the month-long staring contest."
The words echo weakly in the chamber. My grin feels brittle, like glass ready to shatter. Nagato doesn't react. No smirk, no glare. Just those rippling eyes, measuring me without measure.
And for the first time since I got dragged into Ame, I realize—This is the closest I've ever stood to godhood. And godhood doesn't care if I joke or beg.
His eyes do not move, do not blink, yet I feel the weight of them burrow through me.
Then, finally, he speaks again.
"What finally made you open it?"
His voice is calm, but it carries an edge that makes the machines hum louder, the storm outside duller. Like the entire world leans in for my answer.
My mouth is dry. I try to think of some clever line, some smooth excuse, but in the end, all I have is honesty dressed up in sarcasm.
"Konan kept talking about it," I admit, my eyes flicking around the chamber like I might spot her folded into the shadows. "Dropping hints, pointing me at the door without saying I should open it. Eventually, yeah, I just… couldn't let the mystery win."
I almost add that's on her, not me, but I bite it back. No reason to poke the bear when the bear has good eyes.
There's a shift in the air — soft, deliberate, like paper brushing against stone.
From the corner, the darkness moves. No — it unfolds. And there she is.
Konan.
She steps forward without a sound, the origami wings of her cloak catching the faint light from the machines. Her face is unreadable, carved in that same calm precision she always wears. But her eyes… her eyes are sharp, blue as cut glass, and they pin me even harder than Nagato's Rinnegan.
"I wasn't dangling the door," she says, voice level. It carries none of the storm's chaos, only quiet control. "I wanted to see if you would obey… or if you would prove your nature and open it, knowing it was forbidden."
Her words cut through me like a blade slid between armor plates. Not anger. Not disappointment. Just truth. And somehow that stings more.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, and raised my hands in mock defense.
"You left a mystery box at the end of the hall," I say, trying to keep my tone light but hearing the edge of nerves in it. "Of course, I was going to open it eventually. I mean… come on. I'm only human."
The joke lands flat. Konan doesn't smile. She just looks at me, and in her eyes I see it — she already knew this was how it would end. That maybe it wasn't even a test, just inevitability waiting to unfold.
And in that silence, standing between them, I realize I've stepped through more than just a door. I've crossed a line.
Konan's gaze doesn't waver. If anything, the silence stretches longer, sharper, until I start to feel like maybe the storm outside has stopped altogether — just so I can hear how loud my own heart is in this moment.
Then she speaks.
"This," she says, stepping slightly aside so the pale figure behind her is framed in the glow of his machines, "is the man behind Pain. Nagato Uzumaki."
Her voice is steady, like she's reciting scripture. There's no flourish, no ceremony — just the kind of respect that needs none.
Nagato.
The name lands heavier than the air itself. My stomach knots. It's one thing to know the story — to know the face behind the curtain. But it's another thing entirely to stand here and hear it confirmed, to have the fiction carved into reality with a single introduction.
I force myself to move, to break the paralysis. I lift a hand in a weak little wave. "Hi. Nice to meet you, neighbor."
The joke feels thin, even to me, but I can't help it. If I don't lace my fear with humor, it'll strangle me.
Nagato's head tilts ever so slightly, the motion deliberate, not weak. His eyes — those concentric, endless rings — study me. Not curious. Not judgmental. Just… absolute.
Then, softly, he asks, "Do you have a name?"
The question knocks the air out of me harder than a kunai to the gut. My mind stutters. For a second, a dozen answers scream in my skull — my name from the old world, the fake ones I've toyed with here, the countless shinobi names I could steal.
But in the end, the truth is simple.
I drop my hand. My mouth feels dry when I open it.
"…No."
The word echoes in the chamber, swallowed by the machines. And for the first time, I feel naked in this world — stripped of all sarcasm, all cleverness. Just a stranger standing in front of godhood, with nothing to offer but absence.
Konan's eyes flicker, the barest ripple of surprise — or maybe pity. Nagato doesn't react. He just looks at me, as if he already knew. As if he always knows.
And in that moment, I wonder if not having a name makes me freer… or if it makes me less than human in their eyes.
Nagato's gaze doesn't flinch at my answer. If anything, the silence deepens, settling over the chamber like fresh snow. Machines hum. The storm groans against steel walls.
Then, his lips part, voice rolling out slow and deliberate.
"…That is interesting."
He lets the words linger, studying me with those endless ripples. And then, with a faint hum, he adds:
"Mm. Then I suppose…You will now be called Arata."
The syllables fall like a verdict, soft but absolute. A new beginning. A rebirth.
For a moment, I just stand there, blinking. My chest tightens — because that's not just a name. That's an anchor. Something this world can actually hold me by.
"Oh. Okay," I say, a little too quickly, like I'm agreeing to a menu order instead of God handing me an identity. My voice wobbles, but I force a grin. "Guess I'm Arata, then."
I pivot, making a show of it, and sweep one hand across my chest. "Well then. Konan. Nagato. Allow me to reintroduce myself."
On instinct, I drop to one knee in front of Konan. It's ridiculous, over-the-top, but it buys me a heartbeat to breathe. My fingers fumble with the square of paper I snagged from her desk earlier.
The folds don't come out smooth. My thumbs crease too sharply, my hands shake just enough to ruin symmetry. The shape that slowly emerges is uneven, lopsided — more effort than art. A flower, in the loosest sense of the word.
I hold it out, eyes darting up to meet hers. "For you," I say, voice softer than I intended. "Not perfect… but I figured, if you're going to give me patience, the least I can give is something to make the background less lonely."
Konan's eyes narrow slightly — not in suspicion, but in thought. Her gaze lingers on the paper, then on me. I can't tell if she's amused, moved, or simply cataloguing me like she does everything else. But she takes it, folding it gently into her palm.
I turn then, clumsily trying to make something for Nagato. My fingers work the paper into harder creases, sharper angles. But when I lift my eyes —
His Rinnegan is still there. Immovable. Absolute.
The purple rings stare through me, and suddenly the paper feels heavy, meaningless. My hands falter. The half-folded shape trembles in my grip. For the first time since I entered this room, I can't meet his gaze.
"Uh…" I clear my throat, awkward. "Still working on yours."
I set the ruined shape on the table instead, unfinished. Between us.
The chamber is silent again, but this silence is different. Not suffocating — just… watching.
And for the first time, I feel like "Arata" isn't just a name. It's a test.
Nagato's eyes linger on the unfinished scrap of paper I abandoned on the table. He doesn't touch it, doesn't acknowledge it, but somehow I feel like he sees more in the folds than I intended.
Then his gaze shifts back to me, and the weight of it presses down again.
"Tell me, Arata," he says, voice low, measured. "Why did you come through this door? You knew it was forbidden."
The storm rumbles faintly behind the steel walls, like thunder waiting on his words.
I rub the back of my neck. "Curiosity. Honestly? That's it. You put a door at the end of the hall, locked it with silence, and left me staring at it every day. It's like waving a red button in front of someone and saying, Don't press it.' Eventually, you have to."
His expression doesn't change. "Curiosity," he repeats, as if tasting the word. "That is often the first step to pain."
I bite back the smart-ass reply bubbling up in my throat. This isn't the time. Instead, I shrug. "Guess I'll take the risk."
Nagato doesn't move, but somehow the air thickens, his presence filling the room more than his frail body has any right to.
"You speak of risk," he says. "But do you understand what lies beyond it? Do you understand peace?"
The word hits like a blade. Peace. The one thing this world never holds for long.
I shake my head slowly. "No. I don't know what peace is. Not really." My voice cracks at the edges, betraying the honesty. "But you haven't killed me yet. So whatever it is you're planning… I'll be there. In the background. Folding paper. Watching."
Konan shifts slightly behind him, her face unreadable. Nagato's eyes do not leave mine.
"Peace is not watching," he says. "It is not folding paper to pass the time. Peace is only born from true understanding… and true understanding comes through pain. Through loss. Through the cycle of hatred."
His words hang in the air, heavy, inevitable.
I take a breath, forcing myself not to look away. "Maybe. But I've lost before. I've hurt before. And I don't feel any closer to understanding than the day I woke up here."
For the faintest moment, I think I see something flicker in those rippling eyes. Recognition? Or just the reflection of my own stubbornness?
"You speak with honesty," Nagato says at last, his tone still flat, but with the barest shade of… not approval, but acknowledgment. "Honesty is rare. But honesty without conviction is weakness. If you cannot define peace, then the world will define it for you. And it will not be kind."
The machines hiss. The storm roars. And in the space between his words, I feel like the chamber itself is waiting for me to either shatter… or stand.
I lift my chin, swallowing hard. "Then I'll figure it out. Or I won't. But until then, you'll just have to put up with me."
The silence that follows feels like a cliff edge. Then Nagato closes his eyes, not in dismissal, but in something closer to meditation.
"…We shall see."
Nagato does not dismiss me. His eyes remain closed for a moment, as though he's sifting through my words the way one might sift through sand for something solid. When they open again, the ripples of the Rinnegan feel softer somehow — not kinder, never that, but less suffocating.
"What do you think of the world?" he asks. His voice doesn't accuse this time; it inquires, deliberate, as though my answer matters even if it means nothing. "Of war. Of Akatsuki's goal to break the cycle."
I hesitate, the question knotting in my chest. What do I think? What can I say that won't sound hollow against the weight of his vision?
"I think…" I exhale, shaking my head. "The world's too big for me to make sense of. Every nation, every village, they all cling to pride, to grudges, to survival. It's like… no one even remembers what peace is supposed to feel like. They only know what they've lost."
Nagato studies me, unblinking. "And you think that makes them wrong?"
"No," I say quickly. "Just… human. Everyone's carrying scars they can't let go of. Maybe that's what it means to live in this world." I force a half-smile. "Guess I don't have the god's-eye view on it."
Konan shifts slightly at my words — not mockery, but acknowledgment. Nagato's lips twitch, almost imperceptibly.
"Your view is not without truth," he says. "But humanity's scars are what ensure the cycle will continue. Pain breeds hatred. Hatred breeds conflict. Only through shared suffering can the world be forced to change."
His words weigh down like chains. And yet, in the cadence of his voice, I hear something else — the echo of Yahiko's idealism, buried but not extinguished.
I look down, realizing I've been clutching a sheet of paper that hadn't been in my hands a moment ago. No — it came from me. Just like hers.
Konan's eyes narrow, glinting with curiosity as the strip flutters in my grip.
"Well," I murmur, trying to keep my voice steady as I fold, "if everything is scars and cycles, maybe it doesn't hurt to try for… something else. Even if it's clumsy."
My fingers move, shaping, creasing. The paper resists, my folds uneven, but I force it to take form. Slowly, painfully, a lotus begins to emerge. Petals are rough, but petals nonetheless.
When I finish, I hold it out awkwardly between us. "It's not perfect," I admit, voice low. "But… It's a lotus. You know, rebirth through the mud. Thought it kind of fit Ame — finding beauty in all this storm and sludge."
The paper flower trembles in my hand.
For the first time, Nagato's eyes linger not on me but on the thing itself. And in that stillness, I swear I see it — the flicker of memory, the ghost of Yahiko's smile, the echo of Konan's resilience, the faintest reminder of his own humanity before the machine.
Konan steps forward quietly, her hand brushing mine as she takes the lotus. Her touch is soft, deliberate. Her gaze, when it meets mine, is unreadable — but it lingers a heartbeat too long to be empty.
Nagato's voice finally breaks the silence, softer than before.
"…Even in mud, there are those who choose to bloom."
The storm outside groans against the walls, but here, in this room, it feels almost… muted.
And for the first time, I feel like Nagato doesn't just see me as a trespasser. He sees me as something to be watched. Something that might, against all odds, grow.
The lotus rests in Konan's hand, its crooked petals catching the sterile glow of the machines. She studies it for a moment longer before tucking it carefully into her cloak. Then she turns to me, her expression cool, but her voice not unkind.
"That's enough for today, Arata," she says. The name sounds deliberate in her mouth, like she's testing its weight. "Leave."
It's not a suggestion. It's dismissal, crisp and final.
I shift awkwardly, glancing once more at Nagato. His gaze hasn't left me. The Rinnegan is still and endless, but his voice carries with it a faint echo of something almost… curious.
"Before you go," he says, "tell me. Do you view curiosity as strength… or weakness?"
The question hangs in the chamber like incense smoke, curling into every corner.
I hesitate, running my tongue along the inside of my cheek. "Who knows?" I shrug, letting the words come out casual. "Maybe it's a strength in this case."
Those rings tighten, his focus absolute. "How so?"
A grin tugs at my lips, half-nervous, half-genuine. "Well… I met my new neighbor. And I made a new friend. That's worth something, right?"
The words sound ridiculous in the echo of the chamber, but I let them stand.
For the faintest second, Nagato says nothing. No rebuke, no lesson. Just silence. His expression doesn't shift, but the stillness feels different than before.
Konan steps to my side, her hand light but firm on my shoulder. Guiding me toward the heavy door.
I glance back once more as it begins to close, the shadows swallowing the machines, the storm pressing faintly against the steel.
"See you around," I call lightly, raising a hand in a casual wave.
The Rinnegan follows me until the last sliver of the chamber is sealed away.
And then the door shuts with a final, inevitable thud, leaving me with nothing but the pounding of my own heartbeat… and the strange, ridiculous feeling that I might've just gotten away with something impossible.
The hall feels longer on the way back. My footsteps echo off cold stone, the storm outside whispering through the pipes like it's mocking me. The walls here always felt heavy, but tonight they feel heavier — like the building itself knows I crossed some invisible line.
My chest is still tight, but the adrenaline has dulled into something stranger. My brain won't stop replaying the last thing I did before leaving.
"See you around."
The words bounce in my skull, echoing until I almost groan out loud.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I drag a hand down my face as I walk, muttering under my breath. "Really? See you around? That's what I went with? Like I just bumped into some guy in a grocery store instead of the man pulling the strings of godhood?"
I shake my head, the absurdity burning through me. "What is this, a sitcom? Am I supposed to laugh track my way through conversations with Nagato Uzumaki now?"
The thought makes me snort, then immediately wince. Because the truth is—he's not just Nagato. He's Nagato. The man with the Rinnegan. The walking apocalypse. The guy who, right now, might actually be the most powerful person alive.
And I waved.
Like an idiot.
"Arata," I whisper the name he gave me, testing how it feels on my tongue. It's strange. Heavy. Not mine, but… maybe it could be. Maybe it already is.
I stop in front of my door, leaning back against the cold wall. My heart still hasn't slowed, not really. The weight of those rippling eyes lingers, the quiet inevitability of his voice, the way Konan's gaze softened for just a heartbeat when she took the lotus.
I breathe out, shaky. "Well. Still alive. That's progress."
Then I slip back into my room, shut the door quietly, and let the storm swallow me again.