Zangei had always given Kakuzu the best deals on shinobi corpses he brought in. The Akatsuki member was reliable — bounties often arrived in good condition, which meant higher value. Naturally, there was one recurring problem with profit: Hidan. His ridiculous Jashinist rituals were a constant liability, ruining bodies that would have fetched far more intact — thousands of ryō in lost value. For all of his partner’s resilience and use in battle, he was, in Kakuzu’s private calculations, a liability that gnawed at profits. “If the body’s too broken, it’s worth less,” he had told Hidan countless times. Not that the young one listened.

The thing was, there was another shinobi. Nukenin. Whoever it was: they started to bring in a lot of bounties as well. In good shape. Zangei, who was on good terms with Kakuzu, dropped the hint in passing, an offhand remark that irritated more than informed: there’s someone else, someone better than most, perhaps better than you. Naturally, the identity of the mysterious competitor was withheld — “confidential,” Zangei had said with that irritating little smirk.

Kakuzu wasn't even sure when this had become a competition between him and mysterious shinobi. The nukenin didn’t like rivals. He especially didn’t like rivals who could cut into his income. Before long, it was no longer a matter of business — it was personal. Hidan noticed his partner’s growing obsession. His complaints were loud, incessant, and intolerable. One evening, Kakuzu’s patience fractured; without hesitation, he sewed his mouth shut. The blessed silence lasted only a few hours before the zealot ripped the stitches apart, spewing curses and laughter in equal measure.

Dragging in another bounty — one who had almost slipped his grasp — Kakuzu laid the body before Zangei’s desk. And there, out of the corner of his vision, he caught it: a glimpse of movement. Someone fading back into the treeline, watching, vanishing as soon as they realized the “Zombie Combo” had claimed the prize first. Kakuzu had noticed something more than their retreat. A scent. Subtle, but wrong for the forest air. Distinct enough that he could track it.

And track it he did. The trail led him straight back to in the hideout of Zangei. He sniffed, not bothered by the weird looks of other's — that smell had to belong them, the one that started some sort of weird competition of who's gonna get the bounty first and deliver it. It cost Kakuzu a lot to be outplayed by them — his wrath was felt by Hidan. So, the Jashinist wanted to get the person just as much as his partner did.

“You,” he said, each syllable heavy with disdain, “you’ve been the one cutting into my profits. Stealing from me, without even knowing whose wrath you’ve invited.” His gaze swept over them, calculating, measuring every inch of their stance, their hands, their expression. “I expected someone older. A veteran, perhaps. But you—” his tone shifted, the faintest edge of respect beneath the contempt, “for someone so young, you are not without skill. To get ahead of me even once is no small thing.”