Naruto: I'm Nine-Tails and My Host is Kushina

What a bunch of naive fools.

Hanzō of the Salamander has no intention of sparing the Akatsuki. Right now, he's merely toying with them, using a fake Konan as bait. But what he didn't anticipate was Yahiko, the Akatsuki's leader, actually willing to die for her.

It's laughable.

Are there really shinobi this innocent? Hanzō's spent decades in the ninja world, and this is the first time he's seen such idiocy. These brats don't grasp the cruelty of shinobi life, still chasing pipe dreams of peace. Utter nonsense.

Yahiko believes his death will free Konan, spare Nagato, and save the Akatsuki. Possible? Not a chance. It's absurdly hilarious.

From his perch, Hanzō gazes down at Yahiko, the Akatsuki's clownish leader. He's curious—how will this fool choose to die?

Yahiko glances at the bound Konan, then at Nagato. He closes his eyes, exhales, and opens them with resolve. Turning to Nagato, he speaks gravely, "Nagato, pick up the kunai and kill me with it."

Nagato stammers, "Yahiko, you…"

He knows Yahiko means it. He's trying to save Konan.

The fake Konan, perched high, plays her part flawlessly. Her face twists with despair, voice cracking. "No, Nagato, stop! You and Yahiko, run! Don't worry about me!"

Nagato's eyes widen, his breathing ragged. "Haa… haa…" It's as if something chokes his soul, a suffocating weight. Slowly, he lifts the kunai, glancing at Konan, then back at Yahiko.

Whoosh! A shadow lunges—Yahiko. He slams himself onto Nagato's kunai.

Unbelievable. He's throwing himself into the blade.

Nagato's grip is iron-tight, and Yahiko's aim is true. The kunai pierces deep. Blood sprays, staining Yahiko's black cloak red.

From above, the fake Konan shrieks, "No! Don't! Nagato, Yahiko, stop!" Her performance is so convincing, it's almost art.

And just like that, the Akatsuki's leader falls to a simple kunai. In the shinobi world, kunai rarely claim lives so directly. Danzō was one exception—overconfident, burning through Izanagi like it was free, only to be felled by Sasuke's shuriken. Susanoo hammered him, sure, but a shuriken? Danzō, a contemporary of the Third Hokage, couldn't dodge a single projectile? His Sharingan stockpile was squandered, wasted on arrogance.

Now Yahiko joins that ignoble list, slain by a kunai. With his dying breath, he gasps, "Nagato, you're the sage's heir, the true savior. Save Konan… lead this shinobi world to peace."

Nagato's silent, his breathing frantic. "Haa… haa…" He's drowning in grief, air barely reaching his lungs.

Hanzō, watching from above, is stunned. The Akatsuki's leader killed himself? It's too easy. If he'd known they were this gullible, he wouldn't have bothered scheming with Danzō or dragging in Root's forces. Amegakure's shinobi could've handled this alone.

Now only the red-haired kid remains. Would Hanzō honor a dead man's plea and let Nagato go? Of course not. Shinobi break promises as easily as breathing—especially to corpses. Yahiko's death is merely a bonus, one less thorn in Hanzō's side.

"Do it!" Danzō's voice cuts through, and scores of Amegakure shinobi unleash a barrage—shuriken, kunai, and throwing knives, all aimed at Nagato.

The fake Konan, still on the platform, snarls, "You filthy old man, you're a liar!" Hanzō shoots her a glance, almost amused. You're a fake, and you're calling me out? Whether she's genuinely angry or just deep in character, it's hard to tell. She's committed, that's certain.

As the hail of weapons closes in, Nagato's heart shatters. Yahiko, why? Why so stubborn? No—stupid. His death means nothing. Hanzō's promise to spare Konan and Nagato was a lie, empty as the wind. Nagato can't fathom why Yahiko chose this path. They could've fought together. Alive, there's hope. Dead? Nothing.

He mourns Yahiko's folly. Hanzō's betrayal was obvious, yet Yahiko trusted him. A teammate dumber than dirt.

"Argh!" Nagato roars, fury and grief exploding. His Rinnegan flares, ripples pulsing with power.

Bang! Bang! With a wave of his hand, every shuriken, every kunai, is repelled, scattered like leaves in a storm.

"They're… deflected?" The shinobi gape. "How?"

What technique is this? Not taijutsu—Nagato didn't move. Not genjutsu—illusions don't block steel. No hand seals, just raw power, bending the air itself.

Hanzō's sharp eyes catch the truth. Those rippled irises. "The Rinnegan," he breathes, stunned. In a backwater like the Land of Rain, a kekkei genkai this rare? Unthinkable.

He mutters, "So, the real threat wasn't Yahiko. It's you, red-hair. Nagato, is it? I'll remember that."

Whoosh! Nagato moves, a blur too fast for most to track. He's before Hanzō in an instant. Even Hanzō, the demigod, barely dodges, leaping back to gain distance.

Nagato stops at the fake Konan's side, intent on freeing her. But Hanzō smells weakness—Nagato's focus on saving his friend is a flaw to exploit. Shinobi fight dirty; it's their nature.

As Nagato reaches for Konan, Hanzō strikes. "Fire Release: Explosive Flame Array!"

Boom! His palms slam the ground, and the earth trembles. Detonating tags erupt beneath Nagato, coiling like serpents.

Rumble! The explosion engulfs the area, smoke billowing thickly.

Hanzō peers through the haze. "Did it work?" Few shinobi could survive that.

But as the dust clears, no bodies lie in the crater. Nagato, somehow, has snatched the fake Konan and laid her beside Yahiko's corpse.

Nagato's glare locks onto Hanzō. His legs are scorched, mobility gone from the blast. Hundreds of Amegakure shinobi surround him, yet he doesn't flinch. Escape isn't his goal.

Murderous intent radiates from him, a tidal wave of rage. These shinobi will pay for Yahiko's death. None will leave alive.

With a guttural chant, he summons his trump card. "Summoning Jutsu: Gedo Statue!

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