Chapter 33
Sasori worked through the night, methodically repairing his puppets. The steady rhythm of his tools against wood and metal filled the room, the once-broken creations slowly returning to pristine condition. He moved with precision, each motion a blend of artistry and calculation. The promise of a mission had invigorated him, sharpening his focus.
By dawn, his broken puppets were fully repaired, his demonic form gleaming under the morning light streaming through the window. Sasori inspected his work, ensuring every joint, scale, and mechanism was perfect.
"Ready," he muttered, satisfied.
With practiced precision, Sasori sealed Ryukan and the other puppets into a single scroll. The intricate markings on the scroll glowed faintly before settling into silence. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the scroll, his expression unreadable, as if he were contemplating the effort and purpose behind each repair. Finally, he pocketed it with a smooth motion.
His preparations were complete, Sasori gathered his belongings, slipped on his cloak, and headed toward the door.
-Before with the Wives-
Makio stood near the kitchen counter, staring at the child seated in front of her. The little one's innocent gaze was fixed on her, but her thoughts were in turmoil.
"Okay... What the hell do we do with him?" Makio asked, her voice tense, betraying the storm of emotions she tried to keep hidden.
Suma shifted nervously beside her, hesitant. "How about we... give him to Sasori?" she suggested, her tone unsure but filled with sincerity.
Hinatsuru turned to Suma, her brow furrowing slightly, while Makio froze at the suggestion.
"Give him to Sasori?" Makio repeated, her voice a mix of disbelief and anger. "Are you serious? He's a demon slayer—a dangerous one! He wouldn't have the time or the care to look after a child!" Her fists tightened, the thought of handing the child over feeling like a betrayal.
Hinatsuru hesitated, sharing a look with Suma before speaking carefully. "I understand how you feel, Makio, but... think about it. He saved this child from demons. The boy would probably feel safer with him than anyone else."
Makio's eyes darted toward the child. His small hands clutched the edge of the counter, his gaze wide and trusting. Her heart twisted painfully.
"I don't like it," she admitted softly, her voice breaking. "How could we just hand him over? What if something happens to him? What if Sasori can't protect him next time?"
Hinatsuru gently placed a hand on Makio's arm, steadying her. "Makio, we're not exactly in a position to take care of him ourselves," she said, her voice calm and soothing. "We're constantly on missions. Sasori, at least, has ties to the Butterfly Mansion. They could help care for him when he's away. It's... it's the safest option."
Makio's shoulders slumped, her heart warring with her logic. She didn't want to agree. She didn't want to let go.
"I just..." Makio's voice cracked.
Hinatsuru gave her a reassuring squeeze, her expression full of understanding. "Neither do we. But this might be his best chance."
The sound of footsteps descending the stairs drew their attention.
-Back to Present-
Makio turned to see Sasori entering the kitchen, his expression calm and detached as always.
"Ah! Mister Sasori? Are you leaving already?" Suma asked, fidgeting nervously behind Makio.
"Yes," Sasori said simply, his voice devoid of emotion as he moved toward the door.
Hinatsuru glanced at Makio and gave her an encouraging nod. Taking a deep breath, Makio turned, the child in her arms, and walked toward Sasori.
"Sasori," she called, her voice trembling slightly.
He stopped, turning to face her, his expression unreadable.
Makio stepped closer, her arms tightening protectively around the child. "He would be safer with you," she said, her voice firm yet wavering under the weight of her unspoken plea.
Sasori's sharp gaze flicked to the child, then back to Makio. His expression remained impassive at first, but his lips tightened slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "Safer," he repeated, his tone carrying a trace of mockery. "You're handing me a crying child and calling it 'safe'? Do I look like someone who knows what to do with this?"
The child whimpered, clinging even tighter to Makio and burying his face in her shoulder, as though trying to shrink away from Sasori's presence.
"Ah! What's wrong? Are you hungry?" Makio fretted, her voice rising. "Suma, get the milk!"
Suma scrambled to retrieve the bottle Makio had prepared earlier, fumbling as she handed it over. Makio quickly took the bottle and offered it to the child, who grasped it but didn't stop crying, his sobs muffled against her shoulder.
Makio rocked him gently, murmuring soothing words, her maternal instincts taking over. The scene was a stark contrast to the stoic figure standing a few feet away, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowing in what looked like frustration—or perhaps thought.
Sasori finally broke the silence, his expression shifting into one of mild exasperation mixed with faint pity. He gestured vaguely toward the crying child. "Do you think he'll stop crying just because you hand him to me?" His voice softened slightly, tinged with reluctant understanding. "He doesn't need someone who saved him once and then drags him from place to place. He needs someone familiar, someone he trusts."
Makio froze, her grip tightening on the child as Sasori's words struck a chord. Her lips parted as if to argue, but she found herself glancing at Suma and Hinatsuru. Both of them seemed equally uncertain, their earlier resolve shaken.
Sasori, noticing their hesitation, sighed, the corners of his mouth pulling downward in irritation. "Look," he said, raising a hand, though his gaze rested firmly on Makio. "He's clinging to you because you've been here for him. You're his mother now, whether you like it or not." His tone turned slightly sharper, his brow furrowing as he added, "And don't think handing him off to someone like me absolves you of that responsibility. Children aren't scrolls you can seal away and ignore until it's convenient."
Makio blinked, her gaze dropping to the child in her arms. Her grip loosened slightly as guilt flickered across her face. Hinatsuru bit her lip, her thoughtful expression growing heavier. Even Suma, usually bubbly, looked somber.
The silence stretched for a moment before Sasori turned toward the door, his movements deliberate and composed.
"Where are you going?!" Makio's voice cracked, half angry, half desperate.
Sasori stopped at the threshold, glancing back over his shoulder with an expression that softened just slightly, as though he wanted them to understand.
"Children don't need a guardian who treats them like an obligation," he said, his voice quieter but firm, his words carrying weight. "They need a mother's care—or, in this case," his gaze shifted briefly to Suma and Hinatsuru, "mother's. Don't push that responsibility onto someone else just because it's hard."
His words lingered, the weight of his wisdom pressing down on them. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out, the door creaking shut behind him.
Makio stared at the closed door, her arms instinctively tightening around the child again. She exchanged a glance with Hinatsuru, who nodded softly, her face resolute.
"He's right," Hinatsuru said gently.
Makio's shoulders sagged, and she looked down at the boy in her arms, his sobs quieting as if sensing her renewed determination. "Yeah... he is," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Suma sniffled, wiping at her eyes. "We'll figure it out together," she said, her usual cheer creeping back in despite the tears.
The three wives stood together, the child nestled against Makio, as Sasori's words echoed in their minds, a reminder of the weight they carried—and their strength to bear it.
The sound of Sasori's footsteps echoed faintly in the morning stillness as he walked away from the Uzui household. He didn't glance back; his mind was already shifting to the task ahead. The morning sun bathed the path in golden light, the quiet chirping of birds the only accompaniment to his solitude.
The sun dipped lower in the sky as Sasori passed through a small grove, its canopy filtering the light into dappled patterns on the ground. Memories of the Butterfly Mansion surfaced—its serene gardens, the diligent care of the staff, and the air of calm that contrasted starkly with his own methodical existence. It wasn't a place he particularly enjoyed, but it was a necessary destination.
By late afternoon, the mansion came into view, its elegant structure framed by blooming flowers and lush greenery. Sasori slowed his pace, his sharp eyes taking in the familiar surroundings. The sound of laughter and soft conversation floated through the air, a stark contrast to the silence of his journey.
As he approached the gate, a girl with light skin and a set of circular, dark brown eyes. She has shoulder-length black hair with thin bangs framing her face, along with two pink butterfly clips on each side of her head.
"Oh! Mister Sasori your back?" The girl asked as she walked up to Sasori.
Sasori didn't have much encounters with the staff of the butterfly mansion much but he seen this child and two others running around and helping the injured.
If Sasori's memori served him correctly this one was named Terauchi.
"Yes. I'm here to visit Shinobu..." Sasori answered "Mister Sasori has spent a lot of time with miss Shinobu lately." Kiyo said in an innocent tone but Sasori sensed that the child was ploting something.
"I suppose I have... Anyways I'll be on my way." Sasori said as he walked past the child.
"Ok mister Sasori! Bye!" Kiyo waved at his retreating figure.
Sasori stepped into the mansion grounds, the soothing atmosphere doing little to ease the tension that lingered within him. His purpose here was clear, and he wouldn't waste time indulging in pleasantries.
His gaze swept the courtyard, noting the familiar faces of staff and slayers alike. They greeted him respectfully, though many did so with a hint of unease. Sasori's reputation preceded him, and he preferred it that way.
He made his way toward the main hall, his movements precise and unhurried. As the day neared its end, the Butterfly Mansion seemed to hum with quiet life, each soul within dedicated to their roles. Sasori, however, moved like a shadow, his presence almost unnoticed except by those who knew where to look.
Finally, Sasori stopped at the doors leading to Shinobu's study. He raised a hand to knock but paused for a fleeting moment, his sharp senses picking up on faint sounds within. With a soft but deliberate knock, he announced his presence.
Inside, Shinobu glanced up from her desk, her usual serene smile faltering for just a fraction of a second before returning. "Oh! Sasori, you're back sooner than I expected," she said, rising gracefully to her feet.
Sasori inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I am. Has something happened?" His eyes narrowed slightly as he noted the faint tension in her posture, her hands gripping the edge of her desk just a bit too tightly.
Shinobu's smile widened, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh? No, no, everything's fine," she replied lightly, though her voice held a hint of strain. "Just a bit..." She trailed off, then quickly shifted gears, her tone becoming brisk. "Anyway, we'll be leaving tomorrow. You should get some sleep."
Without waiting for his response, she reached for a small set of keys on the desk and tossed them toward him. Sasori caught them effortlessly, his gaze never leaving her.
"Here are the keys to your room. Rest up—you'll need your strength," she added, her words coming faster now, as though she were eager to end the conversation.
Sasori's brow arched slightly, his curiosity piqued by her uncharacteristic rush. Still, he didn't press her. "Understood," he replied, his tone measured. With a final glance at her, he turned and left the study, the faint clinking of the keys in his hand the only sound accompanying him.
As he walked down the quiet hallways, his mind lingered on Shinobu's demeanor. Something was amiss—her usual composure had been fractured, however subtly. For now, though, he decided not to pry. If it was important, she would reveal it in time.
Instead, Sasori redirected his focus. Perhaps he should seek out the Wind Hashira. Shinobu seemed... distracted, and Sasori disliked wasting time when there were potential matters to address.
-Shinobu-
As soon as Sasori left, Shinobu closed the door with a quiet thud, leaning against it for a moment. She exhaled a long, weary sigh before walking over to her desk. Scattered across it were papers and books—volumes of history, theories about otherworldly beings, and legends of creatures from beyond the stars. None of it directly referenced the Ōtsutsuki, but the implications gnawed at her.
The idea that aliens existed—and that Sasori had been brought back to life specifically to combat them—raised more questions than answers. Were there new methods discovered to counter the Ōtsutsuki? Or were those celestial beings still out there, plotting something even more catastrophic? Were they still hell-bent on destroying the moon itself?
It was overwhelming, far beyond her pay grade or even the collective capabilities of the other Hashira. Yet, while the others remained hesitant, skeptical of Sasori's allegiance, Shinobu found herself trusting him. Against all logic, she trusted him.
Her fingers brushed absentmindedly across the pages of a book as her thoughts wandered. She hadn't even told the others about Sasori's demon puppet. Why had she kept that to herself? Not even she could explain it. But something within her understood—Sasori is an ally. Or at least, she liked to think he was. The world wanted Sasori brought back to life to save humanity. That had to mean something, didn't it?
She caught herself smiling, unsure why—but it felt like a rare moment of certainty in the storm of confusion. Even if she couldn't fully understand why, Shinobu trusted Sasori.
-Back with Sasori-
Sasori walked through the dimly lit corridors of the Butterfly Mansion, the soft sound of his footsteps swallowed by the ambient quiet. The air was thick with the faint aroma of medicinal herbs and flowers, a blend that felt oddly serene yet stifling.
Shinobu's rushed demeanor lingered in his thoughts. She had tried to mask it, but her tension was palpable. Her usual calm had been disrupted, her subtle gestures betraying what her words sought to conceal.
He pressed his fingers lightly against the keys she had tossed to him, their cold surface grounding him momentarily. He pocketed them, only for his thoughts to be interrupted by the sudden arrival of a crow.
The bird landed on his shoulder with an air of confidence, its glossy feathers adorned with an array of tiny jewels that sparkled faintly in the dim light. It tilted its head, sharp eyes glinting like it carried the weight of its own importance.
"Hello!" the crow croaked in a deep, dramatic tone, its voice almost comically foreboding.
Sasori regarded it with a raised eyebrow. "Hello. What can I do for you?"
The crow straightened, puffing out its jeweled chest as if delivering a decree. "Tengen Uzui will deliver your order of wood in five business days!" it declared with theatrical flair.
Before Sasori could respond, the bird launched itself off his shoulder with a burst of energy, disappearing into the night sky as quickly as it had arrived.
Sasori stood still for a moment, processing the bizarre encounter. He exhaled through his nose, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Even his crow is dramatic," he muttered, shaking his head before redirecting his focus. He adjusted his coat and began walking again, heading toward where he sensed the Wind Hashira's presence.
-Sanemi-
Sanemi sat cross-legged on the floor, a stack of notes spread haphazardly in front of him. These were extra records he'd managed to dig up, detailing experiments conducted by the demon known as Orochimaru. Experiments, Sanemi thought bitterly, was far too clinical a word for the grotesque atrocities described in those pages. They were among the most inhuman things he'd ever had the misfortune to read.
It was hard to call them experiments, though. They were little more than grotesque acts of cruelty, the kind of inhuman depravity that made even Sanemi's hardened stomach churn.
Among the scattered pages, there had been some notes on the aliens—those celestial beings Shinobu had been digging into—but she had claimed those for herself earlier, leaving Sanemi with the scraps.
He leaned back, rubbing his temple. His thoughts wandered to Sasori, the man who seemed to exist in a category of his own.
Sanemi didn't know what to make of him. On one hand, the red-headed puppet master was unsettling. On the other hand, Sanemi wasn't eager to fight him either.
The first time Sanemi had met Sasori, the man had casually hurled a Lower Moon demon through a cluster of trees like it was nothing. And then there was the report from Iguro. During Sasori's battle with Upper Moon Three, not only had Sasori emerged unscathed, but half the village had been reduced to ruins in the process.
What made it even more terrifying was that Sasori had been handling more than just the Upper Moon at the time. According to Iguro's account, he'd simultaneously dealt with a group of mind-controlled villagers and yet another Lower Moon demon—and still emerged victorious.
Then there was his reputation. Sasori had the most impressive track record the Demon Slayer Corps had seen in decades, possibly ever. It was something the other Hashira couldn't ignore, no matter how wary they were of him.
Even Uzui, the Corps' most skilled hand-to-hand fighter, had admitted to being thoroughly outmatched in a sparring session with him. "Manhandled" was the word Uzui had used, though Sanemi suspected the flashy Hashira would never say that in public.
Not to mention Sasori's army of puppets. Sanemi gritted his teeth, shoving the thought aside.
The man was a force of nature, an ancient, red-haired monster wearing the guise of an ally. Sanemi might not trust him, but he wasn't stupid enough to pick a fight with him.
Sanemi scowled, shoving the notes aside and standing up. His mind felt no clearer than it had before, but one thing was certain: Sasori was not someone he wanted to cross.
Just as he rose to his feet, the door to his room slid open. Sanemi reacted instantly, moving in front of the entrance to block Sasori's way in and obscure the scattered notes from view.
"Oh? Greetings," Sasori said, his tone neutral as his piercing gaze met Sanemi's.
"Haven't you heard of knocking?!" Sanemi snapped, his annoyance thinly veiling a hint of nervousness.
"My apologies," Sasori replied smoothly. "I wanted to gather more information about the mission we'll be undertaking."
Sanemi frowned, momentarily caught off guard, before recalling the arrangement.
"Oh, right. You're joining us," he muttered. "Well, I'm busy right now. I'll explain everything in the morning." Without waiting for a response, Sanemi slid the door shut firmly, cutting off any objection Sasori might have had.
The Wind Hashira exhaled sharply and turned back to his notes, quickly collecting and counting them. His expression darkened when he realized one was missing.
"Damn it!" he hissed, his voice low but sharp. Panic surged as he began searching every corner of the room. "Where is it?!"
-Meanwhile With Sasori-
Sasori walked calmly through the hallway, a folded note held loosely in his hand. Sanemi had done his best to hide the documents, but all Sasori needed was a glimpse. With a subtle chakra string, he had plucked one from the pile just before the door slid shut.
Unfolding the paper, Sasori's sharp eyes scanned the familiar handwriting. There was no mistaking it—this was Orochimaru's work.
The contents, however, piqued his interest far more than the handwriting itself.
The note described an incident involving a member of the Ōtsutsuki clan. This individual had somehow transformed part of himself into a massive tree designed to siphon chakra directly from the planet. In an attempt to stop him, two Jinchūriki had launched simultaneous Tailed Beast Bombs at the tree-man.
The Ōtsutsuki had tried to absorb the attacks, but the sheer power was too much. He had exploded, and because his lower half had been rooted into the earth, his destruction triggered a catastrophic chain reaction. The roots, which had spread across the world, caused a planet-wide earthquake, reshaping the land and splitting the Five Nations apart.
Sasori's expression remained impassive as he folded the note and tucked it away. His mind, however, was already racing. What was this Ōtsutsuki clan mentioned in the notes? He had never encountered or even heard of a clan capable of transforming into trees and absorbing chakra-based attacks. Their abilities were unlike anything documented in the annals of shinobi history—or even in Orochimaru's myriad experiments.
He needed answers. More importantly, he needed the rest of those notes.
The brief glimpse into Orochimaru's writings had only deepened Sasori's curiosity. If even a fraction of what was written about the Ōtsutsuki was true, they represented a level of power and manipulation that could dwarf even the most fearsome shinobi techniques.
As Sasori continued down the hallway, his thoughts churned. What other secrets lay buried in those notes? And just how much had Sanemi managed to decipher so far?
Whatever the Wind Hashira was hiding, Sasori intended to uncover it.