Chapter 150: The First Clash Between Akatsuki and Night Owl
“Orochimaru.”
Near Amegakure, in the Land of Rain.
A passing frog suddenly spoke in a human voice as it stepped across the water, its expression unusually grave. From long-term observation, he knew Orochimaru appeared here regularly. The purpose was still unclear, but that unmistakable Akatsuki cloak with its red clouds had already revealed his identity.
A member of the Akatsuki.
Akatsuki…
The frog’s eyes narrowed, a mix of confusion and disbelief flickering within them. He had heard of the Akatsuki. He even knew that the organization had originally been founded by his three students.
But during the Third Great Ninja War, he’d heard rumors that civil strife had broken out in the Land of Rain. Akatsuki had been wiped out, and the whereabouts of his three disciples were unknown. Jiraiya had long assumed they were dead.
And yet now, Akatsuki had resurfaced—more mysterious than ever. Even his former companion, Orochimaru, had joined their ranks.
An organization capable of accepting Orochimaru… what kind of group could that be?
As he continued gathering information, every piece he uncovered only deepened his unease. Those signature cloud-pattern cloaks. Members all composed of missing-nin. What he’d learned so far was that they had become wartime mercenaries—hired by various villages as combat forces, relentlessly hunting high-value targets for money.
It felt as though they were amassing power, preparing for some inevitable eruption.
What exactly were they trying to achieve?
The frog puffed up slightly, staring toward the unnervingly silent Amegakure under the curtain of rain.
“Orochimaru, don’t make another mistake.”
After a moment of heavy thought, the frog cautiously hopped toward Amegakure.
...
“Ever since the Tsuchikage of Iwagakure and the Kazekage of Sunagakure personally came to Konoha to apologize, the Third Shinobi World War has officially ended.”
“It’s clear that Konoha is far stronger than any other village now.”
“But because the other villages avoid provoking Konoha, they’ve started clashing more among themselves. As a result, the number of missions our Akatsuki organization can take on has increased a lot.”
“The funds we’ve accumulated are considerable.”
Inside the Akatsuki conference room in Amegakure, Konan calmly analyzed the current state of the shinobi world.
This meeting wasn't conducted through their Illusionary Projection Technique. These weren’t illusions of members participating remotely.
These were their actual bodies.
Every so often, to maintain loyalty and to properly assign workloads, in-person meetings were necessary.
But more than anything, it was the loyalty check that mattered.
After all, Akatsuki was composed of Missing-nin from every country—a title that made loyalty questionable by default. As their “god,” Pain had to demonstrate his power from time to time to keep them subdued.
But today was different. Today was mainly for intelligence sharing.
After glancing around the room, Konan concluded her briefing.
Kakuzu and Hidan—the Immortal Duo—remained as diligent as ever, still enthusiastic about making money.
Zetsu, along with the newly joined Afei, stood to one side.
Orochimaru and Sasori of the Red Sand continued glaring at each other as though waiting for the moment to strike.
Beside them stood Biwa Jūzō with his Decapitating Blade. Because of Hakken’s intervention, Itachi had never become a Missing-nin and never teamed up with him, so Jūzō hadn’t died in Kirigakure and still carried the blade on his back.
Along with Deva Path and Konan, these were Akatsuki’s current combat forces.
“We need more members,” Pain said, his expression blank.
Whether it was to accelerate Akatsuki’s development for the future Ultimate Weapon domination plan, or to prepare for the Illusionary Dragon Nine Seals required to seal the Tailed Beasts, they were clearly understaffed.
“Any targets?” Konan asked.
“Yes. Still under observation…”
Just as Pain was about to continue, he suddenly fell silent, a wave of deathly killing intent erupting from his body.
“Someone… dares to infiltrate Amegakure.”
...
What is this place?
He had infiltrated successfully, yet Jiraiya felt no satisfaction.
Hardly any villagers. Strange buildings. And the grotesque statue at the center, its tongue jutting outward.
This Amegakure felt even more mysterious than it had under Hanzō’s rule.
Feeling the cold rain on his skin, Jiraiya slipped into a dark corner, returned to human form, and pulled on a straw raincloak.
Where did Orochimaru go?
This whole village reeks of something unnatural.
As he crept forward cautiously, several sheets of pale paper drifted down from the air, blocking his path.
Instantly, Jiraiya shifted into battle stance.
More and more paper scattered around him—until a woman with light blue-violet hair emerged, making him shout in shock.
“Konan?”
There was no mistaking her.
She had grown, yes, but after spending years together, he could never fail to recognize his own disciple.
The woman before him was one of the students he once saved and took in—Konan.
“Angel. The Angel of God.”
Konan unfurled her wings formed of Shikigami Dance paper, her cold, lofty expression making it clear she saw herself as a divine messenger.
“Konan, what happened? Why are you here?”
Jiraiya frowned deeply. According to the rumors, his three students had died during the civil war in the Land of Rain.
So why was Konan alive?
And why call herself a god’s messenger?
“Didn’t expect to see a familiar face here.”
Just as confusion clouded his mind, several figures appeared—behind Konan and at the far end of the street behind Jiraiya.
In an instant, his escape route was cut off.
“Orochimaru!”
Ignoring the others, Jiraiya’s gaze locked onto the man standing not far behind Konan—his former comrade.
His breath quickened as he turned back to Konan.
“You’re here… then where are Nagato and Yahiko?”
Even now, he worried for his disciples, completely ignoring the danger surrounding him.
Konan remained expressionless, her wings beating lightly. She had no intention of explaining anything.
The gentle girl she once was had long since transformed. Her purpose now was to support Nagato’s ideals.
Yahiko was dead.
Even if Nagato’s path wasn’t the right one… so what?
Someone had to shoulder the dreams of those who had died.
“Kill him.”
A cold voice descended from above. Jiraiya followed the sound, and in his pupils appeared an orange-haired figure.
“Yahiko?”
Jiraiya froze. His former disciple was ordering his death.
Why?
What happened to them?
Pain’s command had been given. Akatsuki members rushed in from all sides.
Konan, closest to him, struck first, her wing slicing through the air.
It was a death trap closing in around him—
Swish!
A blade flashed.
The encirclement shattered instantly.
“Hey, you self-proclaimed goddess-of-shit—who told you you could lay a hand on my people?”
Boom!
A thunderous impact shook the street as several figures landed around them.
Every Akatsuki attack had been blocked.
A black-haired man stood in front of Jiraiya, his sword raised, catching Konan’s paper wing on its edge.
That earlier insult—“goddess-of-shit”—had been spoken by him.
At this moment—the first clash between Akatsuki and the Night Owl squad had begun.