How to Survive as an Uchiha

The yellow sand shifted as something small pushed up from below. Sand slid away, revealing what was hiding underneath.

It was a hunched man with an ugly appearance and disheveled clothing. A slovenly brute.

No, "brute" might be excessive—after all, you couldn't even see his feet.

This was not his true body.

He was once known as the Sasori of the Red Sand.

Through Hiruko, he gazed coldly at the familiar desert before him. Perhaps, just perhaps, a faint ripple stirred in his icy heart.

That was all.

"That old hag... her defenses are truly tight."

Sasori, the most infamous traitor of Suna—now in his thirties—was in no good mood.

Born into a family of puppet masters, he had been hailed as the best of Suna's puppet arts, the likes of which had never been seen before and would never be seen again. After his departure, Suna's puppet techniques had dimmed and paled in comparison.

But such praise? To Sasori, it wasn't worth a fart.

A fart at least made a sound.

His demands for his life were minimal—just two things.

One: don't make him wait.

Two: don't stop him from pursuing the eternal beauty.

It wasn't because of the human puppet technique that he pursued eternal beauty. It was the other way around: it was in his pursuit of eternal beauty that he incidentally developed the human puppet technique.

In this sense, he and Orochimaru were kindred spirits.

The Snake Sannin also dabbled in ninjutsu as a side pursuit of his quest for truth.

But Sasori and Orochimaru didn't get along.

To this day, Sasori couldn't understand why Pain had recruited such an eyesore.

Granted, Orochimaru had his skills, and they both shared a fascination with eternity. But sometimes, dislike was just dislike.

He sought eternal beauty—not eternal ugliness.

Having an eternal grotesque flitting about in front of him? It was infuriating, to say the least.

It was an affront to his art.

"So many good materials... I can't let this go to waste."

With this thought, he began to maneuver Hiruko forward at a leisurely pace.

When he left Suna, he had taken with him most of the masterful puppets he had painstakingly crafted—except for that pair he made as a child.

Art allowed no place for sentimentality or hesitation.

He had to sever meaningless bonds.

Yet severing those bonds was far from easy. To accomplish it, he replaced his body with a puppet. But even in his puppet body, a small piece of flesh remained—his imperfect past still trying to haunt him.

Without cutting it off, his mind would never be at peace.

And so, he returned—not just to collect materials, but to sever everything once and for all.

To make them his enemies was the cleanest way to regain silence.

Sasori had already chosen his first "material."

Kiri was a goldmine of excellent resources. One day, he would make time to visit the Land of Water.

Hiruko's movements left faint tracks on the ground, which were quickly buried by the desert winds.

The desert was Suna's battlefield.

It was also Sasori's domain. Here, his puppets could achieve their greatest potential. The wind and sand were his allies.

If there was one weakness to his human puppet transformation, it was probably his reduced chakra reserves due to the lack of flesh and blood.

But freed from the limitations of a physical body, his control had reached unprecedented heights. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to counter that Konoha ninja's technique.

It wasn't easy; the other ninja's skill was extraordinary. Among the people he had encountered, that technique stood out as exceptional.

Hidden in the wind and sand, Sasori slowly approached his target.

It was a squad from Kiri.

When Hiruko's unique silhouette began to emerge from the storm, it immediately drew the attention of the Kiri ninja.

A shuriken flew straight for its face. The sound of metal clashing rang out as Hiruko's iron tail swatted the shuriken into the sand.

The Kiri ninja finally saw their opponent clearly.

"Not bad…"

Sasori was quite pleased. The abilities of these three individuals could be added to his Hundred Puppets.

Human puppets had the limitation of not fully replicating their original strength. But that was irrelevant for Sasori. His goal wasn't to recreate their power but to extract and preserve their unique abilities.

And bloodline users? They were the best materials.

Poisoned needles scattered in the wind and sand. The Kiri genin fell one by one, unable to resist.

"Excellent... simply excellent…"

Sasori moved closer, his gaze staying on the fallen bodies with the intensity of an artist admiring a masterpiece.

The key to crafting human puppets lay in preserving chakra.

The longer the body had been dead, the less chakra remained—until there was none.

Conversely, if the puppet was crafted while the subject was still alive, their abilities could be preserved at full capacity.

Just as Sasori had done with himself.

Was the human puppet technique cruel? Inhumane?

Was it an act of violence? A means of torment?

He didn't think so. When he turned himself into a human puppet, yes, it hurt—but the pleasure outweighed the pain.

That was the difference between someone who pursued art and someone who didn't.

As an artist, he respected all other artists—even his enemies.

But Orochimaru? He wasn't an artist. To him, eternity was merely a tool.

And that, ultimately, was why Sasori despised Orochimaru.

Controlling Hiruko, he extended a hand, pulled out a scroll, and prepared to seal the bodies.

His poison was a special concoction. It wouldn't kill immediately but would strip the victim of all sensation.

Then he heard the faint sound of something slicing through the air.

It was Suna ninjas—scouts patrolling the desert who had noticed the disturbance.

Hiruko's tail twitched nimbly, deflecting kunai and shuriken with ease.

A puppet charged through the sandstorm—his opponent was also a puppet master.

But the gulf between puppet masters was vast.

The puppet and mechanisms of his foe were crude and laughable to Sasori.

Back when he was still a ninja of Suna, he had crafted countless puppets for the village—mass-produced and mediocre by his standards.

Not because he couldn't do better, but because the village needed tools for average puppet masters. His masterpieces would have been wasted in their hands.

It's like expecting someone who can drive a basic car to handle a high-performance machine—it just wasn't going to happen.

In a single clash, Hiruko reduced the attacking puppet to scrap.

Meanwhile, Sasori sealed the three Kiri ninja into his scroll.

Hiruko then slowly turned, facing the surrounding Suna ninja.

"Who are you?" the Suna ninja demanded. They had realized this wasn't an ordinary enemy when their comrades' puppets had been destroyed so easily.

But these were chunin—not high-ranking enough to recognize Hiruko or deduce Sasori's identity.

Sasori didn't care.

"I have no interest in you. If you don't interfere, I won't harm Suna ninja."

He already had all the valuable materials from Suna. The rest weren't worth his attention.

Oh, wait—there was one exception. But that person was no longer a Suna ninja.

"What arrogance!" the Suna ninja shouted. "Don't think you can do as you please just because you've got some fancy equipment!"

The success of puppet techniques had spurred research into mechanical weaponry across the villages. Hiruko's lifelike movements had fooled these mid-tier ninja into mistaking it for a person.

"Is that so…"

Sasori pondered for a moment. After all, he had come to sever all ties with Suna. It didn't matter anymore.

Kill them now, or kill them later—it made no difference.

And so, Hiruko moved.

---

Rasa was in his office, reviewing documents.

For him, this was one of the rare moments of leisure in his day.

Since the era of the Second Kazekage, the requirements for becoming Kazekage had changed from one to two.

What used to simply require being the strongest now also demanded mastery of the Magnet Release.

This technique was developed by the Second Kazekage based on the power of Shukaku.

Though Magnet Release was not exclusive to Suna, the village's version was entirely unique.

Rasa could still remember how excited he had been as a young man when he finally mastered the Magnet Release.

So why...

Why on earth had he decided to take the gold dust route back then?

But for the next generation...

The Magnet Release, a technique passed only to males, had already been tested on his eldest son, but he lacked the aptitude.

As for his youngest, Gaara, he was a natural-born user of Magnet Release.

The fusion of Shukaku with the Magnet Release was, from a technical perspective, the ideal outcome. But whether he could truly control Shukaku's power, and whether he even had any feelings of loyalty toward the village, Rasa was unsure.

The ninjas of Suna were notoriously hard to manage. It didn't matter that Gaara was his son—Kazekage candidates were no exception.

Even Sasori had once been a candidate for Kazekage, and he had left without so much as a word.

The fact that Rasa's wife had died giving birth to Gaara was also a painful thorn in his heart.

His feelings toward this son of his were complicated.

This was his child by blood, after all. It wasn't as if he had no feelings for him.

"Kazekage-sama!"

His mood soured immediately.

That phrase was usually followed by "The village is out of money again."

Damn it! He was the Kazekage—couldn't they find a more tactful way to ask him to go gold mining?

He genuinely disliked holding these Chunin Exams.

Leaving aside the influx of spies, they were simply too expensive!

There were so many areas in the village that needed funding, and the income from the exams couldn't even begin to cover the costs.

Ultimately, it was Suna's geographic location that made it poorly suited for commercial development.

If the exams were held in Konoha, they would have turned a profit.

"What is it? Why are you shouting?" he reluctantly put down his pen and began warming up his wrists.

Gold mining required a proper warm-up—if your body was loose, the process would be more efficient.

What time was it now? If he started mining in broad daylight, he could have dinner at six.

"There's been an incident at the exam site, Kazekage-sama!" A Suna jonin burst in, his expression grave.

Rasa's warm-up exercises came to an abrupt stop.

"Be specific."

"Yes…" The jonin hesitated as he noticed Rasa's movements. Under normal circumstances, he might have been moved by the hardworking spirit of his Kazekage, but now there was no time for that. "Several exam proctors in the desert have been killed, and the candidates they were monitoring are missing."

"The candidates are missing too?"

"Yes. All the proctors were killed using puppet techniques."

Rasa was stunned.

"Any leads? Is it the same person as last time?"

This was no small matter.

There was a significant difference between dying during the exams and dying because of the exams.

Especially when the deaths were caused by Suna's unique puppet techniques.

This wasn't just looking bad—it was a total mess about to blow up. Mishandling it could crush Suna under the weight of public outcry.

"Take me to the scene."

"Um... Chiyo-sama just returned from the scene..."

Rasa, who had been about to rush out the door, stopped in his tracks. He looked at his aide, who avoided his gaze.

He knew the aide was worried he might lose his temper.

Hah, Rasa thought. As if I would ever lose my temper!

"Very well. With Chiyo on the case, I'm sure it will be handled appropriately."

He returned to his seat.

Irritated, he decided he wouldn't mine gold today—he wasn't in the mood.

The aide gave an awkward laugh.

"Keep me updated if there's any news," Rasa instructed.

"Yes, Kazekage-sama."

"And remember, I want updates promptly. Don't let the elders beat you to it."

"Understood…"

With a dismissive wave of his hand, he signaled for the aide to leave.

After the door shut behind him, Rasa picked up his pen again. But as he read through the documents, his irritation only grew.

Puppet techniques... Who could it be?

Suna had its share of missing-nin over the years, some of whom were puppet masters. The most infamous, of course, was Sasori.

Even now, no one in the village could understand why he had left without a word.

The decline of Suna's forces in the Third Great Ninja War was partly due to the simultaneous loss of the Third Kazekage and Sasori, two of the village's greatest assets.

Either of them alone was worth a thousand men.

Had even one of them remained, Suna wouldn't have fared so poorly in the war.

Rasa's eyes scanned the documents in front of him, but not a single word registered. So, he put down his pen and walked to the window, staring silently at the landscape outside.

This village had many problems.

Gold dust techniques could solve financial issues, but they couldn't address the human ones.

And that was Suna's greatest flaw.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway.

"No need to knock," Rasa called out.

"Kazekage-sama," his aide said as he opened the door. "Chiyo-sama has sent someone to request your presence."

"Where?"

"At the fishing spot she often visits with Ebizō-sama."

"Both of them are there?"

"Yes, they are…"

"I see." Rasa took his Kazekage hat from the desk and placed it on his head. "Carry on with your duties. Keep monitoring the exam site, and have the jonin stay vigilant. The enemy isn't ordinary."

"Understood."

As the door closed behind him, Rasa sighed softly. He adjusted his demeanor, reverting to the confident and stern persona of the Kazekage.

He would never let his comrades see any weakness. That was the responsibility of the Kazekage.

He could die, but he could never falter.

With a swirl of sand, his figure disappeared.

---

About half an hour later, Rasa arrived at the agreed location.

By a man-made pond, Chiyo and Ebizō were fishing.

This unremarkable pond would hardly draw a second glance in Konoha.

At the very least, they'd spruce it up with a garden.

But in Suna, this was a privilege reserved for the elite.

"Rasa." At sixty years old, Chiyo was considered elderly by ninja standards.

She was renowned for developing antidotes that neutralized the poisons of Hanzō of the Salamander during the Second Great Ninja War.

Unfortunately, Konoha had produced someone even more extraordinary during the same era.

"Chiyo," Rasa greeted, stopping a few paces from the pond. "Are you in good health?"

The surrounding Suna ninja had retreated once he arrived.

None of them were foolish enough to stay and "get in the way" with the Kazekage present.

"Thank you for your concern. I'm still alive," Chiyo replied, turning to face him.

Rasa noticed a faintly dazed look on her face—something uncharacteristic for the usually strong-willed elder.

"What has happened?"

"My grandson has returned. The incident at the exam site was his doing."

Currently 80 advance /Malphegor