Malphegor
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IPS: Ch. 05
🕑 Added 2025-05-10 15:37:36 +0000 UTCWarning: 8k words
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Trump gasped awake, eyes flying open. The crushing weight of the collapsed building was gone, replaced by the now-familiar surroundings of the alcove.
"Five! Five!" he exclaimed, climbing to his feet and dusting off his clothes.
He paced the small alcove, gesturing animatedly as he processed his latest failure.
"Crushed by a building!" He threw his hands up in exasperation. "What's next? Eaten by a giant snake? This place is ridiculous. Ridiculous!"
Trump stopped pacing, taking several deep breaths to compose himself. His previous approaches clearly weren't working. Trying to warn Konoha had backfired spectacularly, getting him imprisoned and then hunted down by Baki. Fighting alongside his Suna team had been a disaster due to his limited skills. Running away had only led to capture or death.
"I need to be smarter about this," he muttered, tapping his temple thoughtfully. "The best strategy. Nobody strategizes better than me."
He sat down cross-legged, something he would have found uncomfortable in his older, larger body, but which Kazemaru's younger, more flexible frame managed easily.
"Think like a businessman," he said to himself. "Assets, liabilities, opportunities, threats. The best analysis method. Everyone says so."
He counted off on his fingers as he listed his assets: "One, I have basic control over sand techniques now. Not great, but improving. Two, I know about the invasion and how it unfolds. Three, I have a young, physically capable body. Four, I'm a tremendous negotiator with the best instincts."
Moving to liabilities... "One, both sides will try to kill me if they discover I'm playing both sides. Two, I still don't fully understand this world or its rules. Three, my chakra control is amateur at best. Four, my distinctive speech pattern keeps giving me away."
He stood up again, pacing as he continued analyzing.
"Opportunities... I could try to negotiate a deal between Konoha and Suna. I make the best deals. Or I could find a way to expose Orochimaru's deception without getting caught. Maybe use information as leverage."
Finally, threats... "Baki and the Suna jonin are too dangerous to confront directly. The Konoha interrogation team could break into my mind again. And whatever is causing this time loop might have its own agenda. Very suspicious time loop. The most mysterious temporal anomaly."
After completing his analysis, he nodded decisively. "I need more information and better skills before I can make my move. And I need to blend in better. The best disguise is one where nobody notices you're disguised."
He straightened his headband, adjusted his ninja gear, and prepared to face his fifth attempt at surviving this deadly day.
Rather than waiting for Takeshi and Mitsuri to find him, he decided to be proactive. This time, he'd use what he'd learned from previous loops to prepare properly before engaging with anyone else.
He cautiously exited the alcove, glancing in both directions to ensure no one was watching. The street was relatively quiet, most villagers and visitors already at the stadium for the exam finals.
"First, I need a better understanding of my capabilities," he murmured, scanning for a suitable practice location.
He recalled the training ground from his previous loop but decided against returning there. Instead, he spotted a small, secluded garden behind what appeared to be an abandoned shop. Perfect for some quick, private practice before his teammates found him.
Once safely concealed in the garden, he pulled out the pouch of specialized sand. He remembered the lessons he'd gleaned about chakra control from both his practice and from eavesdropping on the Academy class.
"Okay, sand," he said, holding it in his open palm. "Let's work together. I've made tremendous deals with the toughest materials. You sand will be the most cooperative sand in history."
He closed his eyes, focusing on the warm energy in his center that he now recognized as chakra. Slowly, deliberately, he formed the Ram sign, feeling the energy gather and focus.
"Focus... steady flow... emotional control..." he reminded himself, keeping his natural bombastic tendencies in check.
Transitioning to the Bird sign, he directed the chakra outward, into the sand. He opened his eyes to see the grains rising, hovering about six inches above his palm in a roughly spherical shape.
"Beautiful. Just beautiful," he murmured, genuinely impressed with his improvement. "The most beautiful sand control in Suna history."
He experimented with different shapes, creating a cube, a pyramid, and finally attempting a small replica of Trump Tower again. The sand structure held for nearly thirty seconds before collapsing, which was already a significant improvement over his previous attempts.
Next, he practiced defensive applications, creating a small shield and testing its durability by tossing pebbles at it. The shield caught most of them, though the impact of larger stones still caused it to waver.
"Not bad," he muttered. "Totally acceptable for a fifth attempt."
As he continued practicing, he worked on suppressing his distinctive speech pattern. "I need to talk... normally," he said, deliberately avoiding his usual superlatives. "Just regular... ninja talk. No 'tremendous' or 'the best.' Very difficult for me... I mean, somewhat difficult."
He grimaced, finding it harder than expected. His natural inclination toward grandiose expression was deeply ingrained. But it was necessary if he wanted to avoid immediate recognition.
After about twenty minutes of practice, he felt reasonably confident in his basic sand manipulation and had a strategy for moderating his speech. Now it was time to find his teammates before they came looking for him.
---
Trump approached the designated meeting point where he knew Takeshi and Mitsuri would be waiting, based on information from previous loops. As expected, they were there, Takeshi pacing impatiently while Mitsuri checked her equipment.
"There you are!" Takeshi exclaimed when he spotted Trump. "Where have you been?"
Trump carefully modulated his response, fighting his natural impulse for bombastic speech. "Sorry. Was scouting the area. Wanted to be prepared."
Takeshi and Mitsuri exchanged surprised glances, clearly taken aback by this uncharacteristic behavior from their usually reluctant teammate.
"Scouting?" Mitsuri asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's... unusually proactive of you, Kazemaru."
Trump shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Big day. Important mission. Wanted to be ready."
Takeshi studied him suspiciously. "Are you feeling alright? You're talking strangely. Short sentences. Not like you."
Trump realized his over-correction was itself drawing attention. He needed to find a middle ground, less President-like, but not robotic.
"I'm fine," he said, adding a bit more natural flow. "Just focused on the mission. I had... a dream last night. Made me think about how important this is for Suna."
This seemed to satisfy them somewhat, though Takeshi still looked mildly suspicious.
"Well, whatever's gotten into you, keep it up," he said. "As long as you're ready to perform your part of the mission."
"About that," Trump said carefully, seeing an opportunity to gather more information. "I've been thinking about our approach. I wanted to review the plan one more time."
Mitsuri tilted her head. "We've been over this a dozen times, Kazemaru. The eastern watchtower, two guards at the base, two at the top. You take out the top guards simultaneously with your sand techniques once the signal is given."
"Right, right," Trump nodded, trying to appear as though he was simply confirming details he already knew. "And if that fails? What's our backup plan?"
"We don't have time for this," Takeshi said impatiently, checking the position of the sun. "The briefing is about to start, and Baki-sama expects us to be there."
"Just one question," Trump pressed, remembering a crucial detail he needed. "The signal... the feathers falling, that's some kind of sleep technique, right? How do we avoid falling asleep ourselves?"
This finally seemed to trigger genuine concern from his teammates.
"What are you talking about?" Takeshi demanded, grabbing Trump's shoulder. "Everyone on our side was given the counter-seal yesterday! Don't tell me you've forgotten how to activate it!"
Trump realized he'd stumbled onto something important. "No, no. Just checking if you both remembered. Testing team readiness."
"This isn't a game, Kazemaru," Mitsuri said, her voice low and serious. "The counter-seal is the only thing protecting our forces from being affected by the genjutsu. If you've forgotten the activation sequence..."
"I haven't," Trump insisted, though he obviously had no idea what they were talking about. "But maybe we should review it quickly, just to be safe."
Takeshi looked ready to argue further, but Mitsuri intervened. "It's the Snake, followed by Rat, then placing your palm over your heart while channeling chakra. The seal tag is on your left shoulder. Simple enough?"
"Snake, Rat, hand over heart. Got it," Trump repeated, grateful for the information. "Thank you. Very—" He caught himself. "Thanks. Just wanted to be sure."
"Let's go," Takeshi said, still looking suspicious. "We can't keep Baki-sama waiting."
As they headed toward the gathering point for the briefing, Trump felt a small surge of triumph. He'd managed to extract crucial information without giving himself away too badly. The counter-seal could be vital to his survival, especially if he wanted to remain conscious when everyone else fell asleep.
---
The briefing location was the same abandoned storage yard from previous loops. Trump recognized Baki standing at the center, addressing the gathered genin teams. As they joined the group, he discreetly examined his left shoulder, feeling through the fabric for the seal tag Mitsuri had mentioned. Sure enough, he could feel a small paper tag affixed to his skin beneath his clothing.
"Teams Three, Four, and Seven," Baki was saying as they settled into place, "will coordinate their attack on the eastern sector. Team Four will neutralize the watchtower guards while Teams Three and Seven provide diversion and support."
Trump listened attentively, absorbing details he'd missed or forgotten from previous loops. This time, he remained silent, suppressing his urge to ask questions that might reveal his ignorance.
"The signal will come during the third match," Baki continued, his visible eye intense and focused. "When the genjutsu feathers fall, that is your cue to move. Not before. Timing is critical."
Trump observed the reactions of the other teams, noting the expressions on their young faces. None of them seemed to question the morality of their mission, though he detected hints of uncertainty in a few.
"This operation is critical to Suna's future," Baki declared passionately. "For too long, the Wind Daimyō has favored Konoha with missions and resources that should have gone to us. Our village is dying while Konoha prospers. Today, we change that."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the gathered ninjas. Trump remained expressionless, though inwardly he was analyzing every word, looking for leverage he could use later.
When the general briefing concluded, Baki approached their team directly.
"Team Four," he said, his single eye studying each of them in turn. "Your mission is critical. If the eastern watchtower remains operational, they'll be able to signal for reinforcements from the outposts."
"We understand, Baki-sama," Takeshi replied with a respectful bow.
Baki's gaze lingered on Trump. "Kazemaru, you've been unusually quiet. Is there a problem?"
Trump carefully composed his response, avoiding his characteristic speech patterns. "No, Baki-sama. Just focused on the mission."
Baki studied him for another moment, then nodded slightly. "Good. I expect your sand techniques to be utilized effectively. The guards at the tower must be neutralized silently and simultaneously."
"Yes, Baki-sama," Trump replied with a bow, mimicking Takeshi's respectful gesture.
After Baki moved on to speak with the next team, Takeshi turned to Trump with an approving nod. "Much better. Whatever's gotten into you today, keep it up. This focus will serve us well during the mission."
Trump smiled. His modified approach was working. By restraining his natural bombastic tendencies and observing more than speaking, he was avoiding the suspicion that had plagued his previous attempts.
---
After the briefing, the team found a secluded spot to finalize their preparations. Trump watched as Takeshi and Mitsuri checked their weapons, memorizing how they secured kunai holsters and arranged explosive tags for maximum efficiency.
"We should do a final recon of the target," Takeshi suggested, securing the last of his equipment. "Verify the guard positions one more time before the signal."
"Good idea," Trump agreed, seeing an opportunity to better understand their mission. "I want to make sure my sand attacks will reach the upper guards effectively."
Mitsuri nodded approvingly. "Your precision will be crucial. If even one guard has time to sound the alarm, the entire eastern sector will be alerted."
They moved through the village carefully, using back alleys and rooftops to avoid detection. Trump found the roof-jumping easier this time, having gained better control of his chakra through practice. He managed to keep pace with his teammates without the embarrassing mishaps of previous loops.
As they neared the eastern sector, Takeshi signaled for them to stop, crouching behind a water tower on a rooftop with a clear view of their target.
"There it is," he whispered, pointing to the watchtower in the distance. "Four guards, just as expected. Two at the base, two at the top."
Trump studied the tower carefully, measuring the distance with his eyes. It was approximately sixty meters away, well within the range of his specialized sand, according to what he'd learned, but requiring precision he wasn't sure he could maintain.
"I've been thinking about our approach," he said, keeping his voice low. "What if we create a distraction? Draw their attention away from the tower briefly before we strike?"
Takeshi looked at him with surprise. "That's not the plan. We stick to what Baki-sama ordered."
"Hear me out," Trump persisted, falling back on his business negotiation skills. "If we create a small incident, t would increase our chances of success."
Mitsuri looked intrigued. "What kind of distraction did you have in mind?"
Trump pointed to a market stall about a hundred meters from the tower. "A small fire there would draw their attention long enough for us to get closer. We could neutralize them more effectively from a shorter distance."
Takeshi frowned, considering the suggestion. "It's risky. Any deviation from the plan could compromise the entire operation."
"More risky than me trying to precisely control sand from sixty meters away?" Trump asked. "I want this mission to succeed as much as you do. This gives us the best chance."
He was surprised to find he was actually getting invested in the mission's success, despite his moral qualms about the invasion. Perhaps it was the businessman in him, once committed to a project, he hated to fail, regardless of the circumstances.
Mitsuri looked to Takeshi. "He has a point. And it's a relatively small adjustment to the plan, not a complete overhaul."
Takeshi deliberated for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But a small fire only. Nothing that would trigger a village-wide response."
"Perfect," Trump said, feeling a small thrill of victory. He'd successfully influenced the mission parameters, a first step toward taking more control of the situation.
"I can handle the distraction," Mitsuri offered. "I have flame tags that can be set on a delay. The fire will look like an accident, not an attack."
"Good," Takeshi agreed. "Once the guards' attention is drawn to the fire, Kazemaru, you'll neutralize the upper guards with your sand. I'll take the two at the base. Quick, clean, simultaneous."
Trump nodded, already formulating a plan for what he would actually do when the moment came. He had no intention of killing anyone, but he needed to appear committed to the mission until he figured out his next move.
---
As they continued their reconnaissance, moving to examine the tower from different angles, Trump noticed movement on a nearby rooftop. A figure in Konoha gear was watching them, partially concealed behind a chimney.
"We're being observed," he murmured, tilting his head slightly to indicate the direction.
Takeshi glanced casually toward the chimney, then back to Trump. "Good catch. Patrol or ANBU?"
"Regular patrol, I think," Trump replied, noting the standard green vest rather than the black and white mask of ANBU he'd seen in previous loops. "Single observer."
"We can't let them report back," Mitsuri said softly, her hand moving toward her weapon pouch.
Trump felt a chill. They were planning to kill the observer.
"Wait," he said quickly. "If they disappear, it might raise more suspicion. Better to misdirect them."
Takeshi raised an eyebrow. "How?"
"Let me talk to them," Trump suggested. "I'll say we're exploring the village before our match. Tour—" He caught himself, realizing he'd almost said "tourism" which would be an unfamiliar term. "Just sightseeing. Make them think we're harmless genin."
"And if they don't believe you?" Mitsuri asked.
Trump smiled, channeling his old business confidence. "Trust me. I'm very persuasive."
After a moment of hesitation, Takeshi nodded. "Fine. But we'll be ready to intervene if things go wrong."
Trump moved away from his teammates, approaching the Konoha ninja with deliberately casual body language. As he drew closer, he could see it was a young woman, probably a chunin based on her vest.
"Nice view from up here," Trump called out congenially as he approached.
The kunoichi stepped out from behind the chimney, hand hovering near her weapon pouch. "This area is restricted to foreign visitors during the exams. Identify yourself."
Trump raised his hands slightly, showing they were empty. "Kazemaru, Suna. Here for the Chunin Exams. Just exploring a bit before heading to the stadium."
The woman's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "The eastern sector is off-limits to non-Konoha personnel. You should be at the arena or your designated accommodations."
"We didn't know," Trump replied apologetically, gesturing toward his hidden teammates. "My team and I were just taking in the sights. Konoha is very different from Suna. More trees, less sand."
The kunoichi didn't relax her stance. "Where's the rest of your team?"
Trump waved, and after a moment's hesitation, Takeshi and Mitsuri emerged from their hiding spot, moving to join him.
"See? Just the three of us. Completely harmless," Trump insisted with his most disarming smile, one that had closed countless business deals in his previous life.
The Konoha ninja looked slightly less suspicious, but not entirely convinced. "What's your interest in this particular area? The eastern sector has no tourist attractions."
"Architecture," Trump improvised, gesturing toward the watchtower. "That tower has an unusual design. In Suna, our watchtowers are built to withstand sandstorms, so they're more rounded. I was curious about the structural differences."
He could practically feel Takeshi's tension behind him, ready to attack if the conversation went south.
The kunoichi studied them for a moment longer, then seemed to reach a decision. "I'll escort you back to the main thoroughfare. This area is restricted for security reasons during the exams."
"Of course," Trump agreed quickly. "We meant no harm. Just curious about your village."
As they followed the kunoichi across the rooftops toward the main street, he could sense Takeshi and Mitsuri communicating silently behind him, likely planning how to neutralize their escort if necessary.
"Stop," Trump muttered without turning his head. "No need for violence. We'll just come back later."
The kunoichi led them to a busy street near the market district, then stopped. "The stadium is that way. I suggest you head there now if you want good seats for the matches."
"Thank you for your assistance," Trump said with another smile. "Very helpful. We'll head straight there."
As the Konoha ninja departed, Takeshi grabbed Trump's arm, pulling him into a nearby alley.
"What was that?" he demanded in a harsh whisper. "We should have eliminated her. Now we'll have to find another approach route."
"And risk raising the alert level before the operation even begins?" Trump countered. "This way, she thinks we're just here for sightseeing. We can circle back once she's gone."
Mitsuri looked thoughtful. "He's right, Takeshi. Killing a Konoha chunin would have drawn unwanted attention. This way maintains our cover."
Takeshi released Trump's arm with a frustrated sigh. "Fine. But we've lost time. We need to hurry if we're going to get back into position before the signal."
Trump felt a small surge of satisfaction. He'd managed to save a life and gain a bit more credibility with his teammates. The more they trusted his judgment, the more influence he would have over the mission's execution.
---
As they made their way back toward the eastern sector, taking a more circuitous route to avoid the patrol, Trump realized he needed to figure out how to activate the counter-seal Mitsuri had mentioned. When the genjutsu signal came, everyone without protection would fall asleep, leaving him vulnerable.
"About the counter-seal," he said casually as they moved across the rooftops. "I was thinking... should we activate it now, or wait until just before the signal?"
"We activate it as soon as we see the first feathers," Takeshi replied. "The seal only lasts about fifteen minutes once activated. If we do it too early, it could wear off before the genjutsu is deployed."
Trump nodded, filing away this crucial information. "Makes sense. Just wanted to be sure."
"Are you sure you're okay, Kazemaru?" Mitsuri asked, studying him closely. "You've been acting unusual all day. Asking questions about things we've covered repeatedly..."
Trump realized he needed to provide a plausible explanation for his behavior. "I had a strange dream last night," he admitted, mixing truth with fiction. "I was... someone else. From another place. It felt so real that when I woke up, I was confused about who I was."
Mitsuri's eyes widened with interest. "A vision?"
"Maybe," Trump said, seeing an opportunity in her apparent spiritual inclination. "It made me think about our mission differently. About our village's future."
"That explains the odd speech patterns," she said thoughtfully. "Sometimes prophetic dreams can leave residual effects on the dreamer. My grandmother was a seer, and she would often speak strangely after significant visions."
Takeshi rolled his eyes. "Not this spiritual nonsense again. We have a mission to complete. Save the dream interpretation for after we've succeeded."
Trump caught Mitsuri's brief look of hurt at Takeshi's dismissal, noting the dynamic between his teammates. This could be useful later.
"Whether it was a vision or just a dream," Trump said, "it's made me more focused on our mission. On making sure we succeed in the right way."
"There is only one way to succeed," Takeshi stated firmly. "We follow the plan, complete our objectives, and don't hesitate."
Trump nodded, saying nothing more as they continued toward their destination. He'd planted the seed of his "vision" explanation, which might provide cover for any further slips or unusual behavior.
They reached a vantage point overlooking the eastern watchtower once more, confirming that the patrol had moved on and the guard situation remained unchanged.
"Remember the distraction plan," Takeshi said, surveying the area. "Mitsuri, place the flame tag on that market stall. Set it for a two-minute delay. That should give us time to get into position."
Mitsuri nodded, pulling a small paper tag from her pouch. It had complex symbols drawn on it that Trump assumed were the equivalent of a timer. "I'll be right back," she said, before vanishing in a blur of movement.
While she was gone, Takeshi turned to Trump. "This mission is crucial for Suna's future. Are you prepared to do whatever is necessary?"
Trump met his gaze steadily. "I am. Suna needs this victory."
"Good," Takeshi nodded. "Because there can be no hesitation when the signal comes. The watchtower guards must be neutralized instantly. If even one raises the alarm, our entire sector's operation could fail."
"I understand," Trump said solemnly, while inwardly planning how he might sabotage the mission without getting caught or killed.
Mitsuri returned moments later, slipping silently onto the rooftop beside them. "Done. The tag is placed. It will ignite in exactly two minutes."
"Good," Takeshi said. "Now we move into our final positions. Kazemaru, you'll take the northwest corner of this rooftop. It gives you the clearest line of sight to the upper guards. Mitsuri and I will position ourselves to rush the base guards as soon as your sand strikes take out the lookouts."
Trump moved to the designated position, mentally calculating distances and angles. From here, he had a perfect view of the tower's upper platform where two Konoha ninjas stood vigilant, scanning the surroundings.
"One minute until the distraction," Mitsuri whispered, checking a small timepiece.
Trump used these precious moments to prepare himself, gathering chakra and focusing his mind. He needed to appear to comply with the mission while actually sabotaging it.
"Thirty seconds," Mitsuri counted down.
Trump removed his specialized sand from its pouch, letting it hover just above his palm, ready to be directed. He'd grown more comfortable with basic manipulation, but he knew his control was still far from masterful.
"Ten seconds... five... four... three... two... one..."
On cue, a small explosion erupted from the market stall Mitsuri had targeted. Flames quickly engulfed the wooden structure, sending black smoke billowing into the air. As expected, the watchtower guards immediately turned their attention toward the disturbance.
"Now!" Takeshi hissed.
Trump sent his sand streaming toward the tower, splitting it into two separate tendrils as it approached the upper platform. The guards, focused on the fire, didn't notice the approaching sand until it was almost upon them.
This was the moment of truth. Instead of wrapping around their throats as he was supposed to, he directed his sand to form tight bindings around their arms and legs, effectively immobilizing them without killing them.
"What are you doing?" Takeshi whispered harshly. "Finish them!"
"They can't move, they can't signal," Trump replied, maintaining his focus on the sand bindings. "This way, no blood trail for others to find."
Before Takeshi could argue further, Trump jerked his hand sideways, causing one of the bound guards to knock his head against the tower railing, rendering him unconscious.
"One down," he reported, repeating the maneuver with the second guard. "Both neutralized. Move on the base guards now."
Takeshi still looked displeased with the deviation but nodded to Mitsuri. They vanished from the rooftop, reappearing seconds later at the base of the tower. The guards there, distracted by both the fire and checking on their suddenly silent colleagues above, never saw the attack coming.
From his vantage point, Trump watched as Takeshi and Mitsuri subdued the lower guards with quick, efficient strikes to pressure points, following his lead in neutralizing rather than killing.
Within moments, all four guards were unconscious but alive, and the eastern watchtower was effectively neutralized.
"Objective complete," Takeshi declared as he and Mitsuri rejoined Trump on the rooftop. "Though not exactly as planned. Why didn't you kill them?"
"Less evidence," Trump explained. "Dead bodies create investigation. Unconscious guards wake up confused, don't know what happened. Creates more chaos, less organized response."
Mitsuri nodded. "It's not a bad strategy. Confusion can be as effective as elimination in the short term."
Takeshi didn't look entirely convinced but accepted the outcome. "We need to move to our secondary position now. The signal could come any minute."
---
They reached their secondary position, a rooftop near the administrative district, just as the distant roar of the stadium crowd indicated another match had concluded.
"That's the second match," Takeshi confirmed. "The signal will come during the third. We need to be ready."
Trump used these moments to mentally review what he knew about the counter-seal. Snake hand sign, then Rat, followed by placing his palm over his heart while channeling chakra. The seal tag was on his left shoulder. He discreetly practiced the hand signs, making sure he could form them quickly when needed.
"What's our objective after the signal?" he asked, wanting to confirm the next phase of their mission.
"We join the main attack force targeting the administrative buildings," Mitsuri explained. "Orochimaru's forces will engage the ANBU, while we secure the council chambers."
Trump nodded, continuing to gather valuable intelligence while appearing to simply review the plan. "And Gaara's role? His transformation is key, right?"
Takeshi shot him a warning look. "We don't discuss that. You know the rules."
"Just making sure everyone understands the timing," Trump said smoothly. "His transformation creates the main distraction while we complete our objectives."
Before Takeshi could respond, a hush seemed to fall over the village, followed by the faint sound of alarmed shouts from the direction of the stadium.
"It's starting," Mitsuri whispered, tensing.
Trump looked up to see white feathers beginning to drift down from the sky, falling gently like snow.
"Counter-seal, now!" Takeshi ordered, quickly forming the Snake sign, followed by Rat, then placing his palm over his heart.
Trump and Mitsuri followed suit. Trump concentrated on channeling chakra through the hand signs, feeling a warm sensation spread from his left shoulder throughout his body. A brief glow emanated from beneath his clothes where the seal tag was attached.
All around them, civilians in the streets below began slumping to the ground, falling into a sleep. A few Konoha ninjas who hadn't been prepared also collapsed, while others remained alert, having detected and dispelled the technique.
"It worked," Trump said with genuine relief, watching the feathers dissolve harmlessly upon touching him.
"Of course it worked," Takeshi replied, already moving toward the edge of the rooftop. "The counter-seals were prepared by Suna's best fuinjutsu specialists."
In the distance, explosions began to erupt around the village perimeter as the coordinated attack commenced. The peaceful village was transforming into a war zone before Trump's eyes.
"We move now," Takeshi commanded. "The council chambers are our primary target."
Trump followed his teammates across the rooftops, as he considered his options. He needed to appear to be participating in the invasion while finding a way to minimize casualties and potentially expose Orochimaru's deception.
As they neared the administrative district, they encountered their first resistance, a squad of Konoha chunin who had avoided the feathers.
"Infiltrators!" one of them shouted, forming hand signs. "Earth Release: Rock Pillar Spears!"
Trump recognized the technique from his first death, instinctively leaping aside as stone spikes erupted from the rooftop toward them. Takeshi and Mitsuri scattered in different directions, already countering with their own attacks.
Mitsuri launched a barrage of poison-tipped senbon at two of the Konoha ninjas, forcing them to dodge rather than complete their jutsu. Takeshi engaged the leader directly, kunai clashing against kunai in a blur of movement.
"Kazemaru, take the one on the left!" Takeshi shouted as he parried a strike aimed at his throat.
Trump faced off against a kunoichi with short brown hair, who was already forming hand signs for another attack. He needed to appear to fight while avoiding lethal force, a delicate balance.
"Water Release: Water Fang Bullet!" the woman called out, shooting a compressed ball of water toward his chest.
Trump channeled chakra to his sand, creating a partial shield that absorbed most of the impact. Still, enough force got through to send him staggering backward.
"Sand techniques," the woman observed, readying another attack. "Why is Suna attacking us? We're allies!"
"Politics," Trump replied, gathering more sand between them. "Your village took our missions."
"So you resort to invasion?" she asked incredulously, dodging a wave of sand Trump sent toward her feet, deliberately missing. "There are diplomatic channels for trade disputes!"
"I agree!" Trump said, seeing an opportunity. "This is Orochimaru's plan, not Suna's true interest. He's manipulating both our villages!"
The kunoichi's eyes widened at the mention of Orochimaru. "What are you talking about? What does he have to do with this?"
Trump saw his opening. While maintaining the appearance of combat by sending waves of sand to force her into defensive movements, he called out, "He's impersonating the Kazekage! This whole invasion is his revenge plot against your Hokage!"
"Kazemaru, shut up!" Takeshi shouted from where he was locked in combat with the Konoha squad leader.
The kunoichi's momentary distraction at Trump's revelation cost her. A tendril of sand wrapped around her ankle, yanking her off balance. He used the opportunity to close the distance, delivering a strike to a pressure point on her neck, enough to render her unconscious without permanent damage.
"What the hell was that?" Takeshi demanded as he finished subduing his own opponent. "Talking to the enemy about our alliance? Have you lost your mind?"
"Psychological warfare," Trump improvised, dusting sand from his hands. "Divide and conquer. Create confusion in their ranks about who to trust."
Mitsuri was checking the fallen Konoha ninjas to ensure they were incapacitated. "It's... not a bad tactic, actually. If they start questioning each other during battle, it creates hesitation."
Takeshi didn't look convinced, but further explosions from the village center drew his attention. "We don't have time for this. The council chambers are just ahead."
As they moved toward their objective, Trump knew he was walking a dangerous line. His revelation to the Konoha kunoichi might spread if she regained consciousness soon enough, potentially disrupting Orochimaru's plans. But it had also raised Takeshi's suspicions about his loyalty.
---
They reached the administrative building that housed Konoha's council chambers with minimal additional resistance. Most of the defending forces had been drawn to the stadium area or the village perimeter where the main assault was taking place.
"This seems too easy," Mitsuri observed as they slipped through a broken window into an empty corridor. "Where are the ANBU guards? A building this important should be heavily defended."
"Perhaps they've been deployed elsewhere," Takeshi suggested, moving cautiously down the hallway. "Or this could be a trap."
Trump ran his hand along the wall, spreading a thin layer of sand that would alert him to vibrations from hidden attackers. "We should proceed carefully. This is exactly the kind of place they'd prioritize defending."
They moved deeper into the building, encountering signs of hasty evacuation.
"The council chambers should be on the top floor," Takeshi whispered as they approached a stairwell. "Our mission is to secure it and hold until Baki-sama's unit arrives."
As they ascended the stairs, Trump's sand detected movement above them. "Someone's up there," he warned. "Multiple chakra signatures, trying to suppress them."
Takeshi nodded, drawing a kunai. "How many?"
"At least four," Trump replied, genuinely impressed with his growing ability to sense through his sand. "Waiting in ambush."
"Change of plans," Takeshi decided after a moment's consideration. "Mitsuri, smoke bombs on my signal. Kazemaru, sand screen immediately after. We'll hit them from three directions simultaneously."
Trump nodded, gathering chakra for a significant sand release. This would be another opportunity to appear to comply while actually minimizing harm.
They reached the final landing before the top floor, and Takeshi gave a silent three-count with his fingers before nodding to Mitsuri. She immediately tossed three smoke bombs into the corridor above them, filling it with thick, obscuring smoke.
"Now!" Takeshi commanded.
Trump sent his sand surging upward, forming not just a screen but a disorienting swirl throughout the smoke-filled corridor. Through his connection to the sand, he could sense the positions of the waiting Konoha ninjas, now coughing and disoriented.
Takeshi and Mitsuri rushed past him into the smoke, engaging the defenders. Trump followed, directing his sand to wrap around the legs and arms of two ninjas on the far side of the corridor, immobilizing them without causing serious injury.
The ambush had been turned against the ambushers. Within moments, the four Konoha ninjas were subdued.
"Clear," Takeshi announced as the smoke began to dissipate. "The council chambers should be just ahead."
They approached a large double door at the end of the corridor, ornately carved with Konoha's leaf symbol. Surprisingly, it was unguarded and unlocked.
"This feels wrong," Mitsuri said, voicing Trump's own concerns. "Where is everyone?"
"Perhaps they evacuated the council members to a secure location," Takeshi suggested, pushing the doors open cautiously.
The chamber beyond was indeed empty, just a large circular room with a round table at its center, surrounded by chairs. Whatever important discussions normally took place here, the participants were long gone.
Mitsuri, check for hidden passages or escape routes. Kazemaru, set up sand sensors at all entrances," Takeshi instructed.
As they carried out these tasks, Trump spread his sand thinly across the floor of the chamber, attuning it to vibrations. To his surprise, he detected movement beneath them.
"There's something below us," he reported, concentrating on the sensation. "An underground level, perhaps. I sense multiple chakra signatures."
Takeshi joined him at the center of the room, kneeling to place his hand against the floor. After a moment of concentration, he nodded. "You're right. There's a hidden bunker beneath the council chambers. That must be where they took the council members."
"Should we try to access it?" Mitsuri asked, returning from her search of the room's perimeter.
Takeshi considered this, then shook his head. "Our orders are to secure this chamber and wait for Baki-sama. We'll report the bunker's existence when he arrives."
Trump felt relief at this decision. The last thing he wanted was to engage in combat with civilians or their protectors in a confined underground space. Every delay in the invasion's progress was a potential opportunity for its ultimate failure.
"We should establish defensive positions," he suggested, moving toward one of the windows overlooking the village. "In case Konoha's forces attempt to retake the building."
As he gazed out at the chaos engulfing the village, he could see battles raging across various sectors. Smoke rose from multiple locations, and the distant sound of explosions and combat echoed through the air. It was a sobering reminder of the real consequences of this invasion, one he hoped to minimize before the day was done.
---
They had been holding the council chambers for perhaps fifteen minutes when a tremendous roar echoed across the village, so powerful it rattled the windows of the building.
"What was that?" Mitsuri asked, moving to the window beside Trump.
In the distance, a massive shape was taking form, a creature of sand rising above the buildings near the stadium, its form was grotesque and monstrous.
"Gaara's transformation has begun," Takeshi said. "Earlier than scheduled."
"Is that... normal?" Trump asked, genuinely shocked by the creature's size and horrific appearance.
"Nothing about Gaara is normal," Mitsuri replied quietly. "But his transformation starting early could indicate something's gone wrong with the primary plan."
No sooner had she spoken than the door to the council chambers burst open. Two Suna jonin stumbled in, one supporting the other who was severely wounded.
"The operation is compromised," the healthier one gasped. "Orochimaru has betrayed us. The Kazekage is dead, has been dead for weeks. The one we've been following was Orochimaru in disguise!"
This confirmed his suspicions from previous loops. So Trump asked, "What about the Hokage?"
"Battling Orochimaru on the stadium roof, inside some kind of barrier. Our forces are in disarray, half are continuing the invasion, half are pulling back in confusion."
Takeshi looked stunned by these revelations. "What are our orders now?"
"Baki-sama says to abort the mission. All Suna ninjas are to regroup at checkpoint alpha and prepare for withdrawal. This was never our battle, it was Orochimaru's revenge plot, and we were just pawns."
"I knew it," Trump muttered, unable to help himself. "A very bad deal. Terrible alliance. Many people were saying it."
Everyone turned to look at him oddly, his momentary slip into President-speak drawing confused attention.
"Kazemaru's been acting strange all day," Takeshi explained to the jonin. "Said he had some kind of vision."
"Whatever," the wounded jonin grunted. "We need to move. Konoha's ANBU are regrouping, and they'll be targeting all foreign ninja indiscriminately now."
Trump stepped forward. "What about Gaara?"
"Out of control," the first jonin replied grimly. "The shock of the betrayal, coupled with the intensive fighting, triggered his transformation prematurely. Temari and Kankurō are trying to contain him, but..." He shook his head.
"We need to help them," Trump declared, surprising himself with his vehemence. "Gaara is a victim in all this too."
Takeshi looked at him in shock. "Are you insane? Nobody goes near him when he's transforming. It's suicide!"
"He's a comrade," Trump argued. "And he might be the key to minimizing casualties on both sides. If we can help get him under control and out of the village, this invasion could end faster."
The jonin exchanged glances. "The kid's right. His transformation is the most destructive element of this disaster. If he fully releases Shukaku inside Konoha, the death toll will be catastrophic, for both sides."
Takeshi still looked deeply reluctant, but Mitsuri spoke up. "I'm with Kazemaru. Gaara may be dangerous, but he's still a Suna ninja. We don't abandon our own."
After a tense moment, Takeshi nodded tersely. "Fine. But we approach with extreme caution. One sign that he's completely lost control, and we focus on our own survival. Understood?"
Trump nodded, a plan forming in his mind. If he could help de-escalate the situation with Gaara, perhaps he could finally break free of this death loop. More importantly, he might save countless lives in the process.
---
They moved swiftly through the embattled village, heading toward the ominous silhouette of Gaara's partially transformed state. The wounded jonin had been left at the designated checkpoint, while the other accompanied their team to provide veteran support.
The scenes of destruction grew worse as they approached the combat zone. Buildings lay in ruins, bodies of both Konoha and Suna ninja scattered across blood-stained streets. It was war in its rawest form, and even Trump, with all his bravado, felt sickened by the carnage.
"This was a terrible mistake," he muttered, stepping over the body of a young Konoha ninja who couldn't have been more than sixteen.
"Save the analysis for later," the jonin accompanying them said grimly. "Right now, we focus on containing Gaara and getting our people out alive."
They paused on a rooftop to assess the situation ahead. Gaara had moved to the edge of the village, his transformation progressing alarmingly. One half of his body had become monstrous, covered in sand that seemed to have a life of its own. Nearby, likely Temari and Kankurō, were trying desperately to communicate with him.
"Gaara, you must control it!" Temari was shouting. "The mission is aborted! We need to withdraw!"
But Gaara seemed beyond reason, clutching his head and howling in pain. "Mother wants blood! She must have blood!"
"This is bad," the jonin murmured. "He's further gone than I've ever seen him. If he fully transforms here..."
"What can we do?" Trump asked, genuinely uncertain. His knowledge of this world's mechanics was still limited, especially regarding something as complex as this strange transformation.
"Temari and Kankurō have the best chance of reaching him," the jonin replied. "They're his siblings, and they've dealt with his episodes before. Our job should be to clear the area of Konoha forces and civilians to minimize casualties."
Trump nodded, relieved to have a clear, humanitarian objective. "Let's split up. Cover more ground that way."
"Agreed," Takeshi said. "Mitsuri and I will take the eastern perimeter. Kazemaru, you and Yashiro-san handle the western approach."
Trump and the jonin moved quickly along the rooftops, warning any Suna ninja they encountered to fall back and directing lost civilians toward evacuation routes.
"You're odd for a genin," Yashiro commented as they paused briefly to help a Suna ninja extract himself from a collapsing building. "Most would be panicking by now."
"I've seen worse," Trump replied honestly, thinking of his multiple deaths. "And panic doesn't help anyone."
Their progress was interrupted by the arrival of an ANBU squad, four masked figures in black appearing suddenly before them on the rooftop.
"Suna ninja," the leader said, voice cold beneath the bird-like mask. "Surrender or die."
Yashiro stepped forward, drawing a kunai. "Get to Gaara," he said quietly to Trump. "I'll handle this."
"Four against one? Very bad odds," Trump replied, moving to stand beside him. "Nobody handles these odds alone. The worst odds possible."
The ANBU attacked without further warning, moving with frightening speed and coordination. Yashiro met the leader head-on, their weapons clashing in a shower of sparks. Trump found himself facing two ANBU simultaneously, their masked faces revealing nothing of their intentions.
"We don't need to fight!" Trump called out, using his sand to create a defensive barrier between them. "The invasion was Orochimaru's deception! Suna's forces are withdrawing!"
"Too late for negotiation," one ANBU replied, forming hand signs. "Lightning Release: Electromagnetic Murder!"
A crackling wave of electricity surged toward Trump's sand shield. He remembered belatedly that lightning was effective against earth-based techniques like his sand, but the realization came too late. The electricity tore through his defense, striking him directly in the chest.
Pain exploded through his body as the voltage coursed through him, sending him crashing backward off the rooftop. He managed to orient himself mid-fall, channeling chakra to his feet to stick to the side of the building rather than plummeting to the street below.
"That really hurt!" he gasped, his muscles spasming from the electrical attack. "Very painful technique! The most shocking jutsu!"
The ANBU pursued him relentlessly, one leaping down to continue the attack while the other maintained position on the rooftop, ready to intercept if he tried to escape upward.
Trump knew he couldn't defeat ANBU-level opponents in direct combat. His only advantage was creativity and unpredictability, traits he had in abundance.
As the ANBU closed in for what would likely be a killing strike, he did something completely unexpected. Instead of defending with sand, he threw a handful directly into the ANBU's mask eyeholes.
"Trump Sand Screen!" he shouted, momentarily forgetting his cover identity in the heat of battle.
The ANBU faltered, temporarily blinded by the sand in their face mask. It was just enough of an opening for him to dart past them, racing along the building wall toward where Gaara and his siblings were engaged in their own struggle.
Behind him, he heard Yashiro cry out in pain, but he couldn't turn back. The jonin had sacrificed himself to give Trump a chance to reach Gaara, this was a chance he couldn't waste.
---
As Trump approached, the situation with Gaara was deteriorating rapidly. The transformation had progressed further, with only his face remaining human, contorted in an expression of agonized rage. His siblings had been joined by Baki, all three trying desperately to contain him.
"We need to get him out of the village!" Baki was shouting above Gaara's inhuman roars. "Into the forest where he can't cause as much destruction!"
"He won't listen!" Kankurō shouted back, using his puppets to create a barrier between Gaara and the nearest buildings. "He's too far gone!"
Trump landed on a nearby rooftop, assessing the situation quickly. Despite having minimal knowledge of this transformation, he recognized that Gaara was in pain.
In that moment, he had an epiphany. Throughout his business career and presidency, his greatest strength had been his ability to recognize what people wanted, what drove them, and how to speak to those desires. Gaara, beneath the monstrous transformation, was still a person, a deeply wounded, lonely person, based on what he had gathered from overheard conversations.
"Let me try something," he called out, approaching cautiously.
Temari turned, shock registering on her face when she recognized him. "Kazemaru? Get back! It's not safe!"
"I know what he needs," Trump insisted, moving closer despite the danger. "He needs acknowledgement. He's been isolated, and treated as a weapon instead of a person. Very bad treatment. The worst way to treat someone with such tremendous power."
Baki stared at him incredulously. "What are you talking about? And why are you speaking so strangely?"
"Trust me," Trump said, stepping forward until he was within range of Gaara's thrashing sand appendages. "I know something about wanting recognition."
He focused on Gaara's face, the only human part visible in the grotesque transformation. Despite the danger, Trump addressed him directly.
"Gaara," he called out firmly. "The invasion has failed. Orochimaru betrayed us. There's no point continuing this destruction."
Gaara's distorted face twisted toward him, eyes wild with rage and pain. "Mother wants blood! She needs to FEED!"
"That's not your mother," Trump replied confidently, drawing on fragments of information he'd gathered, and, well, assumptions. "That's a beast trying to take control. Very manipulative entity. The worst kind of internal voice."
Gaara's transformation seemed to pause momentarily.
"You're more than this," Trump continued, sensing he'd found the right approach. "You're Gaara of the Sand. A tremendous ninja with amazing abilities. The most powerful Suna genin in generations."
"Nobody... nobody recognizes me," Gaara growled, his voice distorted but distinctly more human than moments before. "They only fear..."
"I recognize you," Trump insisted, taking another step closer. "And so do your siblings. They're here, risking their lives, because they care about you. Very dedicated family. The most loyal siblings."
Temari and Kankurō exchanged shocked glances, clearly baffled by Trump's approach and unexpected eloquence.
"Lies!" Gaara snarled, but his transformation seemed to be slowing, the sand slightly receding from portions of his body.
"Not lies," Trump said. "Look around you. What has this destruction accomplished? Nothing. Orochimaru used you, used all of us. Very bad deal. The worst alliance in ninja history. But you can choose to stop now, show everyone that you control the power, not the other way around."
Gaara clutched his head, the internal struggle visible on his face. "The voice... it's so loud..."
"Your voice is louder," Trump insisted. "Nobody has a stronger voice than Gaara of the Sand. The most commanding voice in Suna."
To the amazement of everyone present, the sand began to recede further, Gaara's transformation gradually reversing. His siblings watched in disbelief as more of his human form became visible.
"Keep talking," Baki urged quietly, moving to Trump's side. "Whatever you're doing is working."
Trump nodded, continuing his appeal to Gaara's deep-seated desire for recognition and respect, something he understood intimately from his own lifelong quest for validation.
"When we return to Suna," he said, "people will remember how you controlled the power when it mattered. Very impressive self-control. The most disciplined ninja in history."
Gaara's eyes, still wild but increasingly lucid, fixed on Trump. "Who... are you?"
Trump felt a chill run down his spine. Somehow, perhaps through the unique perceptions granted by the beast within him, Gaara could sense the truth.
"I'm someone who understands what it's like to be misunderstood," he replied carefully. "To have tremendous power and face tremendous criticism. The loneliest combination in the world."
The sand had receded to the point where Gaara was nearly fully human again, though he looked exhausted and drained, barely able to stand.
"We need to leave," Baki declared, seeing an opportunity. "Now, while he's stable. Konoha forces are regrouping, and we're vulnerable here."
Trump nodded in agreement, relieved that his gambit had worked. Not only had he prevented Gaara's full transformation and the devastating destruction it would have caused, but he'd also potentially saved countless lives on both sides by helping to accelerate the invasion's end.
As Temari and Kankurō moved to support their weakened brother, Trump suddenly sensed danger, a thin strand of his sand, still spread across the rooftop, detected incoming attackers.
"Look out!" he shouted, turning to face the new threat.
Too late, he realized his back was exposed to another direction. A searing pain erupted between his shoulder blades as a kunai embedded itself deeply in his spine. He staggered forward, legs immediately going numb.
"Kazemaru!" Mitsuri's voice called out from somewhere nearby. She must have arrived with Takeshi, too late to warn him of the attack.
Trump fell to his knees, then collapsed onto his side. Through dimming vision, he saw a Konoha ANBU standing over him, yanking the kunai from his back.
"These are souvenirs, hehehe," the ANBU chuckled darkly, taking Trump's headband as he had in previous deaths.
