Rasa lay half-buried in the rubble, motionless.
Blood streaked across the cracked stone beneath him, seeping into the earth. His breathing was ragged, shallow.
His once-proud frame was now battered and broken, his golden armor dulled by dust and blood.
And yet, despite the pain, his eyes stayed locked on the boy slowly walking toward him.
Zeldris.
Even now, Rasa couldn't believe what had just happened.
He—the Fourth Kazekage—had been defeated.
In a single move.
By a boy who hadn't even broken a sweat.
What kind of monster…?
Zeldris stopped a few steps in front of him, looking down with calm, indifferent eyes. There was no mockery, no fury, just quiet judgment—like a god staring at a failed creation.
"You're nothing more than gravel beneath my feet," Zeldris said flatly. "Not even close to my level."
Rasa's heart clenched at the words, but he didn't argue. He couldn't.
Because deep down, he knew it was true.
The silence stretched. Then, with great effort, Rasa lifted his head, his voice hoarse:
"…Who are you?"
Zeldris blinked once. Then, as if remembering something amusing, he pulled a small card from his pocket and casually tossed it down.
"I told you already," he said with a faint smirk.
"Just a passing worker."
He gestured at the card.
"There. My business card. If you need anything, crush that, and I'll know."
Rasa stared at the card, barely able to comprehend what he was hearing. His fingers trembled as he picked it up, reading the line etched across the surface:
Ninja World Mercenary - Zeldris
Mercenary?Is this… some kind of organization?
Rasa's expression darkened with confusion, his mind swirling.
As if sensing the doubt, Zeldris added, "We take on any job. No matter how big or small. Payment's fair, too."
His voice was light, almost teasing, as if he hadn't just leveled half a village.
Rasa said nothing. His pride, his title, his role as Kazekage—none of it had protected him today.
And now… his final card.
Gaara.
Eyes darting around, Rasa searched for his son. He spotted him, crumpled nearby—unconscious, barely breathing.
His heart sank.
In truth, Rasa had never looked at Gaara as a son. To him, Gaara had always been a weapon—a vessel for the One-Tail. A tool for war.
But now, even that weapon was about to be stolen.
Zeldris turned to leave, brushing dust off his cloak as he walked toward the unconscious Jinchūriki.
"Well then," he said over his shoulder, "since you've got nothing left, I'll be taking the One-Tail now. Goodbye."
No…!
A surge of anger and desperation welled up inside Rasa.
He couldn't allow it—not after everything. Not while his pride lay shattered beneath his broken body.
He clenched his teeth, then shouted with what little strength he had:
"Gaara!"
"Wake up!! Use Shukaku's power!! Stand up!!"
His voice echoed across the ruined village.
Desperate. Furious.
Zeldris raised an eyebrow, glancing back with an unimpressed look.
Really?
You think you're the main character now? Trying to yell him back into action?
He shook his head, amused.
But then—
Something changed.
Zeldris paused.
Gaara's body twitched.
"What the hell…?"
Zeldris turned fully, eyes narrowing.
Gaara's form slowly began to rise, unsteady at first, his head hanging low. A strange pressure began to thicken the air.
Rasa let out a raspy breath, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
He had placed his final hope not in his son, but in the demon sleeping inside him.
Zeldris's expression turned serious for the first time.
A violent chakra began to pour from Gaara's body—wild, erratic, and feral.
The sand around him began to swirl.
Zeldris squinted.
"Alright then," he muttered. "Guess this might get a little interesting."
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