Chapter 2
Everything seemed to be going according to plan. He couldn’t be too far from Konoha, and though he could spend the night in the forest as he had done so many times before, there was an urgent matter he needed to resolve—clothing. He wasn’t willing to endure insect bites all over his body. He remembered from his classes in Iwa that the Land of Fire was famous for its great diversity of flora and fauna, which included an unpleasant abundance of insects—from venomous spiders with terrifying and unique appearances to annoying fleas the size of a grain of rice.
"How disgusting," he thought, slightly furrowing his brow. "I'd rather sleep in a damn decent place with a futon and a bath instead of this miserable forest." He knew luxuries like resting at an inn or in a house were a thing of the past ever since he became a shinobi and joined Akatsuki. Sleeping on a cold, rough ground was an everyday occurrence—no longer even a choice. Though he hated this unartistic lifestyle, it was the reality of being a ninja.
“What a shitty life, hmm… I’d rather be making art right now," he muttered, his steps growing slower and heavier. Even though he hadn’t been walking for more than forty minutes, he felt strangely exhausted, as if he’d been training nonstop since sunrise. He desperately needed a nap, but in his current situation, that wasn’t even an option—too much to do, too little time.
"Not even when I was a brat did I get tired this fast. My taijutsu level feels the same as always, so the only reasonable conclusion is that damn teleportation drained me somehow—though I’ve never heard of a jutsu like that. The closest thing I can think of is the Yellow Flash, hmm…" he mused irritably. But there was something bothering him even more, something he couldn’t shake from his mind.
His ninja pride was taking a serious hit from how ridiculous he looked in the water’s reflection. The clothes that once fit him perfectly now hung off his frame—his pants were so loose he had to hike them up every few minutes just to keep them from sliding down. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, they were filthy from dragging on the ground during his trek from the forest to Konoha’s less urbanized outskirts.
"This is humiliating," he thought for the tenth time that day, adjusting his clothes with palpable irritation. "An artist of my caliber should never look like this, hmm." The idea of someone seeing him in such a state annoyed him deeply—especially if that someone was Tobi. That idiot would mock him for days, no doubt.
Deidara could admit he was sometimes vain, but he couldn’t help it. His long blond hair required meticulous, specific care to stay healthy and knot-free. The ritual of painting his nails was non-negotiable—apparently, it was part of the dress code, something the bomber found ridiculous. But none of that mattered; his self-image was far too important to neglect.
"Hmm, I'll sleep in the forest," he muttered under his breath, critically scanning a nearby area - not deep in the woods, but far enough in that no one would bother him. "Either way, I don't plan on staying in this ugly village for more than a week. I'll just stay long enough to either find Tobi and kill him or convince him to leave Akatsuki. And if he's already dead or not even here? Then I don't have to do anything at all. I'll just wait and see if I find anything useful - or not," he reflected indifferently.
The forest was far from the ideal place he had in mind when he landed in the Land of Fire, but at least it offered some privacy. The last thing he wanted was to attract attention from any Konoha ninja. Normally he wouldn't care about drawing unnoticed stares from civilians or ninjas - after all, whenever he ran into them he had the perfect excuse to use his art and destroy them with an explosion, which was pretty awesome. But this time that would just be a nuisance. "The last thing I want is for them to mistake me for some lost kid," he murmured. The blond had to admit his current appearance wasn't helping at all.
As he walked, he noticed the air growing increasingly cooler, likely due to nightfall. The sounds of animals gradually faded away. He knew this forest was full of minor dangers, but nothing that posed a real challenge to a ninja of his caliber - he could easily wipe out a pack of wolves and deal with the cold.
From what he knew about Konoha, clothing shops closed around eight in the evening. Judging by the sky, it was probably around nine now. "What bullshit," the blond ninja thought, scowling. "In Iwa, vendors stay open until midnight. Everything here is so orderly... so artless." But there was no time to complain. He wanted to wrap up his business as quickly as possible and get out.
His plan was simple and straightforward: steal. That much was certain. He just needed to find a shop that looked like it sold clothes, slip in quickly, grab whatever he needed, and be back in the forest in a flash. "Shouldn't be too hard, right?" he muttered under his breath while hiking up his pants yet again, trying to figure out how to keep them from slipping so much.
Building a shelter shouldn't be too complicated - after all, it was just a matter of stacking some logs or maybe using an earth jutsu. He'd survived far worse nights than a simple forest could offer. As for food, Deidara decided he'd make use of his time by hunting whatever animals he found. "If I can hunt S-class ninja from the Bingo Book, of course I can catch some stupid brainless animal," he thought. Though after some consideration, he admitted it might be more efficient to use another hunting method rather than his explosive art. "But where's the fun in that, hmm? My explosive art will always be better than all those stupid ninja tools, hmm."
When he finally reached Konoha, he noticed the streets were still lively. Civilians wandered about, presumably enjoying the night with bottles of sake in hand, while shinobi stumbled in and out of bars and restaurants - many appearing drunk and foolish. The clamor of clinking glasses, boisterous conversations, and general merriness could be heard for miles, all of which struck him as irritatingly loud.
He began prowling the streets in search of a clothing store. It didn't matter if the shop was closed - just finding one would suffice. After exploring well-kept alleys and avenues for some time, one particular store immediately seized his attention. The reason was obvious: a massive, flashy sign with bold, glowing letters reading "NINJA CLOTHES" - a design specifically made to catch anyone's eye, though the blond found it utterly tasteless.
As expected, the shop was closed, likely due to the late hour. The lack of interior lights and absence of people nearby made this obvious. But this posed no real obstacle - he could break in countless ways, some destructive, others not. "Now the real mission begins," he mused, cracking his knuckles with anticipation.
With the stealth of an S-class ninja, Deidara swiftly scouted the entire building, searching for structural weaknesses. Slipping in through a flaw would undoubtedly be faster and more discreet than blasting a hole through the wall.
It didn't take long to find what he needed—a small crack at the rear of the building, subtle enough that an untrained eye would miss it, but perfect for his current purposes.
A simple earth jutsu, requiring minimal chakra, created an opening just large enough for his child-sized body to slip through. "I could use C4," he mused as he crawled through the makeshift entrance, "but I don't have enough clay to waste on nonsense like this." Though he privately admitted that a massive explosion—one that would leave the place in flames or carve out a crater lasting decades—would've been far more entertaining.
Breaking into this building was child's play compared to his daily Akatsuki missions. "Don't know why I got excited over something as simple as breaking into this damn store," he muttered, adjusting the oversized pouch at his hip that now held his clay. "Probably 'cause this is a damn kid's body, and their brains work differently," he whispered, hiking up his pants yet again—though at this point, he was seriously considering just ditching them altogether.
Once inside, Deidara quickly scanned his surroundings. The shop was obviously empty and too dark to clearly make out anything in front of him. But as his eyes adjusted, he could see piles of different clothes hanging on racks and folded in small stacks - presumably organized by garment type. His self-assigned mission was simple: find something that matched his refined tastes and wouldn't make him look like some Konoha circus freak.
The blond wouldn't call himself a fashion enthusiast - he preferred true art after all - but that didn't mean he had bad taste. Sometimes he even considered giving Hdan fashion advice. He had an eye for recognizing which pieces worked together and which colors to avoid unless he wanted to look ridiculous. "An orange jumpsuit is definitely on my never-wear list," he thought while holding up the bright garment. Even in Iwa - the village with what he considered the most ridiculous standard shinobi uniforms he'd ever seen - he'd managed to find proper, comfortable clothing. Even the Akatsuki robes had decent style. "This shouldn't be too difficult," he murmured under his breath as he carefully examined shelves and clothing piles, straining to distinguish colors in the shop's darkness.
And so began his meticulous inspection of the various garments he could barely make out in the dim store. Deidara was doing the best he could given the circumstances. Sure, he could see a little, but distinguishing colors properly was challenging. He assumed most of the clothing came in basic tones - blacks, grays, and maybe the occasional navy blue. His fingers carefully felt the fabrics as he searched, occasionally holding items up to his small frame to gauge their size. The whole process was frustratingly slow compared to his usual efficiency, but blowing up the entire store just to find one decent outfit seemed excessive even by his standards. "Maybe I should've just stolen clothes off a laundry line," he grumbled, immediately dismissing the thought - that would be even more humiliating than his current situation. At least here, no one could see him rummaging through merchandise like some common thief. Not that he cared what others thought... much.
The clothes the blond assumed were trendy—or at least selling excessively—were displayed on mannequins right by what would be the store's entrance.
The ninja wouldn't call it a large shop; at best, it was medium-sized, but it had enough space to comfortably fit about eight people without them being crammed together. The floors, made of polished wood, were immaculate—when he ran his small hands over them, he couldn't feel any dust. The walls appeared to be at least white, which he could tell because the place wasn't in total darkness; faint light seeped in through the exterior windows, casting thin rays of illumination.
"What a clean place," Deidara thought, a hint of sarcasm in his tone as he wandered through the store, pausing briefly whenever something caught his eye. Yet his critical expression never wavered. "Still doesn't make the clothes any less basic and ugly."
After half-heartedly sifting through various garments of different styles and colors, he came to a firm conclusion—one that only grew stronger with every second spent in that shop: All of it was hideous, and hardly anything matched his taste.
The only things he found somewhat acceptable were some basic black shirts with attached ninja mesh—very similar to what he was currently wearing, just a couple sizes smaller. "This isn't too bad," he muttered to himself as he picked up a few and examined them in the faint window light. After a moment's consideration, the blond decided he'd steal the shirts he'd grabbed along with some plain black pants that seemed roughly his size, though he hated how tiny they looked.
Children's clothing options were far more limited than adults' when it came to style. "Probably to keep brats from dressing like circus freaks," he thought amusedly, eyeing some brightly colored, patterned outfits on the mannequins with disdain. "Though judging by how ridiculous these look, I doubt they're succeeding."
After carefully weighing his options, his gaze landed on a pair of black Konoha-style ninja sandals with flexible soles. They looked small—to his displeasure—but then again, so was he now. He picked them up to test their quality, not that he was in any position to be picky. Flexing the material between his fingers for a few seconds, he ultimately deemed them acceptable. "At least these are decent, hmm." With that, he resumed his search for more useful clothing to last him a few days.
He quickly tried on a black sweater, pulling it tight to check the fit. After all, he wasn't immune to the cold, and nights were freezing anywhere - especially if he planned to sleep in that damn forest, though he was starting to regret that decision. He also searched urgently for gloves, finding them after scouring the shop for a while. He normally hated wearing gloves - mainly because they got soaked with saliva from his mouths and became annoyingly uncomfortable - but he needed to hide his "peculiarity." If he planned to enter the village or interact with people, it was only a matter of time before someone noticed and started asking questions he wasn't willing to answer.
"These Leaf villagers have terrible taste, hmm," the boy grumbled to himself as he quickly folded everything he'd decided to take, except for the boots which he'd already put on for better mobility. He also changed out of his old pants, switching to one of the black pairs he'd taken earlier. Surprisingly neat in his folding, the blond then moved on to the next step of his plan.
He didn't plan to spend another second in that disgusting store full of cheap, brightly-colored fashion and mediocre quality fabrics - not that he wasn't used to it. The Akatsuki cloaks were the only decent quality items they were provided, probably something the leader had insisted on to Kakuzu. But that miser insisted on pinching every last penny on everything else - meals, shoes, even their secret bases were usually bare stone caves. His own room barely had a proper bed.
Another reason for his hurry was the time - the sky had already turned pitch black, with stars fully visible. He preferred to start building his shelter before it got any later and seeing became even more difficult. Back in Iwa, this wouldn't have concerned him as much; after all, he knew the dangers of his own country. An enemy wouldn't have many places to hide there - just rocks and more rocks - unlike Konoha where any of the endless trees could conceal a spy or a ninja guarding the area.
For a brief moment, the blond considered sneaking into some apartment in the village for the night, but immediately dismissed it as a non-viable long-term solution. "Too risky," he concluded. His plan was simple: track Tobi in the forest for two days. If he found no trace, he'd enter Konoha proper - that idiot was the opposite of subtle, capable of striking up conversations with anyone while being remarkably clumsy. He'd surely hear about him immediately. And if nothing turned up? Then he'd assume he'd been transported alone and leave Konoha to make art and blow things up in some small village.
With surprising agility, he slipped back through the same hole he'd entered, stolen clothes in tow. Once outside, his legs propelled him away from the shop as if he'd never been there. As he ran, a question surfaced that he should have considered earlier: how the hell had he bypassed Konoha's barrier? He was almost certain the village had an advanced detection system to keep unauthorized intruders out without the Hokage's approval. Had they not detected him? "Or maybe they just have more important things to do," he mused briefly, "plus my chakra's weaker now..."
Deidara was certain they must have detected him for two simple reasons: first, he wasn't a native - he was born in Iwa and had never set foot in Konoha before. Second, he obviously didn't have the Hokage's authorization. Yet no one seemed to have noticed his presence. Or perhaps they'd been watching him since he arrived, planning to ambush and kill him quickly. But that would make no sense - they would have confronted him already, or at least made some noise. Letting him leave the store would have been stupid.
Whatever was happening, none of it made sense to the blond. Everything felt... dreamlike. But he wasn't one to drown in unanswered questions. He'd find what he needed in due time. He knew his current situation was probably that mysterious bastard's fault - the one who'd dragged him here in the first place, he concluded with simmering resentment. If someone was manipulating this whole situation, he'd deal with them later.
With a weary sigh escaping his lips from exhaustion, he continued on his way. He couldn't afford delays. Deidara ran through Konoha's poorly lit streets, but one detail caught his attention - the complete disinterest of the people passing by. Some even bumped into him as if he were invisible. He could see noticeably drunk elderly civilians stumbling over their own feet, loud couples laughing and talking as if their stupid conversation mattered to everyone around them, and sweaty ninja squads who seemed to naturally ignore his presence.
"Seriously, no one finds it strange to see a little kid walking alone in this kind of district?" he briefly wondered. Somehow, this worked in his favor. In Iwa, the situation would've been completely different. A child alone at night without parents meant either an interrogation, a beating, or being forcibly recruited into the ninja forces due to manpower shortages—all depending on the mood of the on-duty chunin and how much resistance you put up. But here? It seemed almost normal. Well, not normal—more like he was being completely ignored.
"Maybe this is why they lose so many ninja, hmm. If they just grabbed every kid they found, they'd have way more shinobi," he mused, scowling.
Then, he remembered one of the old geezer's rants during one of his infamous lectures. Between scoldings, Onoki would often ramble about "the weakness in Konoha's system," before inevitably assigning him some tedious punishment mission for whatever minor offense he'd committed.
Deidara knew firsthand how vastly different the genin team systems were between the two villages. He'd snooped through Iwa's restricted files on Konoha's spy reports. In Iwa, teams weren't assigned based on friendship or compatibility—unless the mission demanded something very specific. You were thrown together at random and sent on real missions from day one, experience be damned.
Meanwhile, Konoha's genin? They fetched lost cats. Unclogged toilets. D-rank nonsense.
His first sensei's words after graduating the academy two years early still echoed in his head:
"Survive a week, and you're useful. Die, and you were never worth the effort, brat."
His earliest assignments? Poisoning wells in disputed territories. Kidnapping and interrogating merchants the village deemed suspicious—fail the mission if you came back empty-handed, even if it meant resorting to torture. And then there were the special missions: hunting down deserters. Sometimes, those deserters were former classmates.
But according to Onoki? "They had to set an example."
The blond never cared too much about that—after all, he never cared about his academy classmates to begin with. He was happy as long as he could explore things and make art. Besides, it wasn’t like he had time to grow attached to his "comrades," especially since they died regularly and were quickly replaced by someone else. Suddenly, a brief but intense wave of nostalgia hit him—memories of his time as a genin in Iwa. He would describe it like an explosion.
He didn’t think being a brat in Iwa had been so bad. At least there, they understood that power came with pain. "If only the village hadn’t been so blind to true art, hmm," he muttered angrily, just thinking about it, clenching his now-gloved fists.
"They couldn’t see that my art was superior, that I didn’t need their stupid rules or my stupid clan’s." A sudden smell distracted him—food. His stomach growled despite himself. His adult body was used to going without food for long periods, but this child’s body wasn’t as accustomed to hunger. He ignored it with disdain and kept running, even channeling a bit of chakra to his feet to move faster. He knew it would burn, but the more chakra he used, the sooner his body would adapt and stop getting injured. Besides, he didn’t have time to waste—he had a shelter to build and a Tobi to hunt.
"Konoha may be as soft as a cloud with its ninja, but Iwa is so blind they couldn’t recognize true potential even if it exploded right in front of them."
———
Deidara soon found himself back in a less urbanized area of Konoha—the borderlands just before the forest. The noise of the village center had finally faded, replaced only by the chirping of crickets and the sound of his own footsteps. This particular zone was no more than ten minutes from the woods, with a few humble houses scattered about. After surveying the dark forest and these dwellings, he decided he'd commandeer one as his temporary shelter. They didn't look particularly welcoming—constructed with wood that seemed to be rotting and roofs of old thatch—but it would suffice. He wasn't picky.
Deidara couldn't care less if someone already lived in whichever house he chose. If they didn't let him stay willingly, he'd kill them. Letting them live would be too dangerous; they'd alert some patrol and cause a confrontation. Not that the blond couldn't handle it—he just wanted to avoid unnecessary attention.
With a calculating glance at all the houses in the area, he debated for a few seconds which to pick. Each stood a short distance apart, offering a minimal semblance of privacy. In the end, he chose the one that seemed most isolated. He'd knock, try to convince whoever answered that he was just a lost, needy child desperately seeking temporary shelter for a few days. If that failed? Violence. He'd hide the body in the woods—maybe even blow it up, though that... wouldn't be the most discreet option.
Deidara approached the house slowly, crafting a tragic backstory in his head and adjusting his body language to project exactly what he needed: the image of a helpless, lost boy. He mentally rehearsed the sob story he'd concocted in seconds—orphaned, separated from his brother during a bandit attack, kidnapped, now searching for shelter. Simple, believable lies. Not that they'd matter much if he defaulted to his preferred method: violence.
Deidara knocked on the door a few times with moderate force and waited. After minutes passed with no response, he assumed the house was empty—until he finally heard footsteps inside and a woman's voice calling out that she was coming to open the door. From the slow, shuffling steps, he guessed it was an elderly woman, or at least someone very old. Killing her crossed his mind, but the neighbors would likely be nosy and notice her absence too quickly, leading to unwanted questions. An exasperated sigh escaped his lips, more out of irritation than anything else—the idea of having to play the role of a frightened child instead of the S-class ninja he truly was disgusted him.
The door creaked open with an annoying squeal, and the blond’s expression shifted instantly. The figure before him was indeed an old woman—so frail her bones seemed visible beneath her wrinkled skin. Her hair was as white as dirty snow, thin and brittle, her posture hunched. Cloudy cataracts turned her eyes into murky pits, which disgusted him, and she leaned heavily on a gnarled walking stick just to stay upright. Easy prey, he thought without an ounce of empathy. His face transformed in an instant—eyes wide and trembling as if he’d seen a ghost, shoulders hunched in near-perfect fearful posture.
In a voice deliberately soft and shaky—just loud enough for aged ears to catch—he launched into his pathetic act:
"E-Excuse me… S-Sorry to bother you, but—" He cut himself off abruptly, swallowing hard like he was too scared to speak. "A bandit… a bandit attacked me and my brother. We’re orphans. I-I lost him… I think he was taken! And it’s so cold… C-Can I stay here just for a couple nights?" he asked, layering on the timid act.
His hands faked nervous twitches. “If this hag says no, I’ll strangle her with her own damn cane” he thought irritably. The old woman blinked slowly, as if processing his words, before finally rasping out her reply in a voice as rough as bark:
"Oh, you poor thing… Come in, come in."