"The visible leader of Akatsuki..."
Nagato repeated the phrase under his breath, then let out a hollow laugh.
Visible. On the surface.
Once he thought about the masked man and Black Zetsu, the title fit far too well. He had been standing at the front of the stage for years, convinced he was directing the play, only to realize he had been reading lines written by soone else.
"I was used for so long... and never even noticed," Nagato said quietly.
The masked man’s real goal had clearly never matched what he had preached. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have revealed himself so hastily. If Nagato still held real value to him, wouldn’t he have at least tried to extract him using that intangibility technique?
No.
Nagato had never been a companion. Just a disposable piece.
"Used for a long ti?" Fujimoto Tōma said lightly while continuing the treatnt. "Do you know when it started?"
Nagato stiffened.
"...Wasn’t it after Yahiko died?"
Tōma glanced at him. "Smart. But wrong."
Nagato’s breath caught. If that wasn’t the beginning, then—
"You started being used the mont you obtained the Rinnegan."
Silence fell.
Nagato froze. Of all the answers he had imagined, that one had never crossed his mind. It was so early it bordered on absurd.
"...Explain," he said at last.
"Do you know how the Rinnegan is born?" Tōma asked.
"Isn’t it... sothing you’re born with?"
"Not yours," Tōma replied calmly. "Outside of very specific bloodlines, the Rinnegan doesn’t appear naturally. It evolves. Sharingan to Mangekyō, then beyond."
Nagato and Konan both went still.
"Sharingan...?" Nagato echoed hoarsely.
"Which ans," Tōma continued, "even if your mother was Uzumaki and your father Uchiha, you still wouldn’t awaken it directly. And ask yourself this: if those eyes were truly yours, would using them have felt like tearing your body apart every ti?"
Nagato trembled.
When he had torn the Rinnegan out, the overwhelming sensation hadn’t been pain.
It had been relief.
Like discarding sothing his body had never accepted.
mories surged. His parents’ deaths. The night the Rinnegan "awakened." At the ti, he had believed it was destiny. Now, doubt seeped into every crack.
"Then... even without Danzo," Nagato whispered, "sothing else would’ve happened?"
"Yes," Tōma said flatly. "You should be grateful it only cost Yahiko’s life."
His gaze flicked briefly toward Konan.
Konan went pale. She understood imdiately. If Nagato hadn’t broken then, the next death would have been hers.
Nagato’s thoughts collapsed into chaos.
"If what you’re saying is true..." His voice shook. "Then why should I believe you?"
"You don’t have to," Tōma replied, shrugging. "Truth doesn’t need permission."
Konan clenched her fists. "Why tell him this now? You could’ve stayed silent."
"Because," Tōma said without looking up, "this is the punishnt."
She froze.
"Death was never the penalty," he continued. "Living with the truth is."
Nagato understood then.
If Jiraiya had gone to the Rain Village alone, Nagato would have killed him. That future hadn’t happened, so their lives were spared. But that didn’t an absolution.
Truth was the blade. And Nagato would spend the rest of his life healing from it.
"...I understand," Nagato said at last.
Tōma finished the treatnt and withdrew his hand. "We’re done."
Nagato flexed his fingers, surprised. His body felt lighter. Not whole, but stable.
Later, at Jiraiya’s residence, Tōma left them there and returned to deal with Konoha’s defenses.
The village soon learned the crisis had passed.
Days later, Konoha returned to normal.
And within it appeared two quiet newcors.
Nagato sat in a wheelchair, Konan pushing him along a sunlit street. Jiraiya walked beside them, pointing out shops, markets, ordinary places ant for ordinary lives.
Children ran past. Vendors shouted. Laughter echoed.
A boy bumped into Nagato by accident.
"I’m sorry!" the child said quickly, then shoved a wrapped lollipop into Nagato’s hand before running off.
Nagato stared at it.
Konan smiled softly.
"Do you think this is fake?" Jiraiya asked gently.
Nagato didn’t answer.
He unwrapped the candy and placed it in his mouth.
Sweet.
And bitter.
"So this," he murmured, "is my punishnt."
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