When Sasori handed over 55,000 ryō, he suddenly realized he had just spent all the operational funds the diplomatic mission had allotted him. This amount was actually one-twentieth of the entire travel budget.
The Sand Village delegation had brought a total of one million ryō.
For the impoverished Sunagakure, that was no small sum—this weakest of the Five Great Nations even offered S-rank missions at half the price of others. In Konohagakure, the minimum fee for an S-rank mission was 2 million ryō, but to attract commissions, Sunagakure offered theirs at just 1 million.
The most frustrating part was that even at such a discount, many clients still turned their noses up, claiming Sunagakure's forces were too weak.
The 55,000 ryō Sasori had just spent was supposed to cover his personal expenses for the next ten days or so. But, thanks to the staff member's enthusiastic sales pitch, he had dumped it all into the illusion-based game center.
"What now? Should I ask for a refund?" Sasori hesitated. It wasn't that he couldn't part with the money—he simply realized his stay in the Hidden Leaf would be brief, and he likely wouldn't have time to spend it all before leaving.
Still, the staffer who'd approached him clearly had sharp eyes. The clan crest on his clothing made it obvious he was from the Nara Clan.
Sensing Sasori's concern after paying, the Nara staffer immediately began an enthusiastic explanation of the genjutsu-based games—highlighting how not only could ninja receive training through them, but they also offered unprecedented enjoyment.
"Please look—nearly all our players right now are playing *Path of Survival*. In this game, you'll experience a fantasy version of a post-apocalyptic shinobi world. You and three teammates will face hordes of undead—once humans or animals—along with terrifying mutated creatures."
"You and your team must struggle to survive, uncover the cause of the apocalypse, and escape alive—eventually finding the meaning of life and hope for the future amidst despair and fear."
At those words, Sasori's body trembled slightly.
It wasn't the post-apocalyptic world or the undead creatures that affected him. Those things piqued his curiosity, but didn't shake him.
What struck him was the phrase: "the meaning of life."
After losing his parents in the Second Great Ninja War, Sasori had grown up devoid of love. Beneath his cold exterior, his mind had long become twisted.
That was normal in the shinobi world. Countless people had mental issues—madmen popping up one after another. If there were a magnetic field to contain chaos, the shinobi world would've exploded long ago. Even the Ōtsutsuki would've been caught and kept as pets.
Sasori was just one among many such individuals. The difference was that his madness wasn't loud or showy—it was deeply restrained.
The question of life's meaning had haunted him for years.
At just fifteen years old, such thoughts might seem abstract on Earth, but in the shinobi world, they were sadly ordinary. Sasori had dwelled on the topic for years, twisting further until he developed his infamous belief: "There are limits to being human. I will no longer be human, Third Kazekage."
The staffer's words had struck his most sensitive nerve.
Without further concern for the money, Sasori followed the staffer deeper into the game hall, quickly finding an open spot in a *Path of Survival* room.
"Please enjoy. As a member, you receive a 20% discount—400 ryō per hour of game time. If you need food or drinks, just call a staffer nearby."
"Wishing you a pleasant game experience."
With a smile, the staffer guided Sasori to a plush solo sofa. His three teammates sat in nearby chairs, not being members and therefore excluded from the solo seating. They entered the genjutsu world through a specialized sealing scroll.
The staffer returned to the front of the hall to await more guests.
Another Yamanaka staffer came over and whispered enviously, "I'm so jealous! You landed another full recharge plus membership sale. Ten percent commission—that's 5,500 ryō..."
The Nara chuckled. "Told you—target the ones who look like they're from other villages. They're usually spies. Just tell them more about the games, and they'll most likely max out the recharge."
"Even if they don't, they'll still spend something. Keep an eye out and you'll get your chance."
The Yamanaka staffer frowned. "But aren't we basically handing them intel by doing that?"
The Nara replied with a sly grin. "Why do you think the higher-ups opened this place in the first place? Giving spies an easy way to collect info actually makes them easier to track. It's way better than letting them hide and snoop around."
"Besides, you know how profitable this place is. 500 ryō per hour for non-members, 400 for members. That's steep. Playing for an hour without a membership costs more than two explosive tags. If fools want to give us money, why not take it?"
The Yamanaka staffer paused, then nodded in realization. "But what if they think it's too expensive and try to steal or rob a genjutsu scroll?"
"Don't worry," said the Nara confidently. "The game hall is under constant shinobi guard. The Hokage's office commissioned long-term protection missions. There's always at least a jōnin on duty."
"And the scrolls used in the games are specially bound to staff. They only work inside the hall. Even if someone steals one, it's worthless. If someone tries to force it open, the game self-destructs."
The Yamanaka nodded in understanding. At that moment, new customers arrived, and both quickly moved to greet (and pitch to) them—eager to rack up more commissions.
Meanwhile, inside the game, Sasori found himself transformed into a dark-skinned, muscular man. His profile said he was from the Land of Lightning, with high defense and vitality—ideal for a frontliner. Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩·𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢·𝔫𝔢𝔱
The three other players were veterans—not many hours in, but experienced enough to understand the game. They knew each other and quickly gave Sasori a warm, newbie-friendly rundown.
They explained his role and told him to focus on close-range weapons and tanking monsters.
Honestly, Sasori felt strange.
Becoming someone else, inhabiting this weak-feeling body—it was an odd sensation.
He even wondered if this was what it would feel like to complete the transformation he'd long dreamed of.
But there wasn't time to dwell on it. After equipping his gear, the others urged him to press forward.
Then, as the designated vanguard, Sasori saw hordes of terrifying undead rushing toward him.
His philosophical musings had to be set aside. He drew his katana and began hacking through the undead.
The sensation of slicing flesh, the splatter of blood, the sickening stench of rot and gore—all of it flooded his senses, thanks to the high realism setting.
The undead were relentless, swarming him endlessly. And then came the mutated monsters, each more grotesque than the last. It was a shock to Sasori's worldview.
And it made him think—
If something happened in the real shinobi world, if people and animals really turned into monsters through some kind of spiritual corruption, what would they do?
Could humanity even fight back? The game's shinobi world was already destroyed. Only a few survivors remained, barely clinging to life.
To survive such a calamity, clearly one had to abandon their humanity.
The more he fought, the more certain Sasori became.
"There are limits to being human. To survive a disaster , you need the power to overcome it—and that means not being human."
"Yes... just as I've always thought. Only by becoming eternal art... can I overcome this kind of disaster."
In the midst of these thoughts, Sasori failed to dodge an attack from a massive mutant. He was smashed aside and killed instantly, experiencing simulated death.
It was fake, of course. But with the realism settings maxed out, the shock was very real.
This taste of death only strengthened Sasori's resolve. When he returned to the village, he would finally begin enacting the plan he'd long prepared.
Far away, back in Sunagakure, the Third Kazekage suddenly sneezed several times.