As the suited man and Yuuto began to talk among each other, Ginjiro would hone in on what the Raikage was saying. The other men's conversation meant little to nothing to Ginjiro, as it merely pertained to their village's personnel things. He could care less about that. The Raikage's words were all he cared about. His goal, being here in this village, was to convince this man, Hayata Shin, to trust the words that Ginjiro said to him as being true. After all, they were—many people wouldn't trust a village-less shinobi, though. It was Ginjiro's duty to convince them otherwise. The topic was started off with conversation about his arm, which seemed to be the center of attention for all the people in this village. Perhaps they were not yet proficient with the making of prosthetic limbs? Ginjiro was beginning to sense that a trade would be in order: the knowledge of his arm for their knowledge of Kinjutsu. If Ginjiro could help it, he'd rather not have that happen. If it was unavoidable, though, he'd have to figure out what to do. Smiling at the Raikage, Ginjiro looked down at his arm a little sadly. "Yes, it is a fine arm. I can't say I don't miss my own flesh and blood, though. Still, this arm has served me since before the collapse of Leaf City—I suppose I shouldn't complain too much."
Hayata Shin began to dig deeper into the issue, as he should. There were many things that they'd need answering before they would even consider giving the Ayatsuri the knowledge he sought. That was fine, Ginjiro was able to answer questions. Some he disliked answering more than others, but the Ayatsuri would live. He was steadfast in his desire to obtain his goal here. "People speak, even in far away lands, of the knowledge of the shinobi of Kumogakure. They speak of its knowledge of the highest magnitude of shinobi arts, and of its openness of such knowledge. I came here because of those stories and tales." Glancing between the two Kumogakure shinobi and the Raikage that had congregated with him in this room, the young man was starting to think these words were a little off. "Have I perhaps misheard the stories?" Ginjiro was honestly quite surprised. He should have realized something was off with his information when he was having that drink at the bar. The way those two reacted should have been enough to tip him off; however, never underestimate how dense Ginjiro of the Leaf could be! Perhaps he shouldn't be so proud of that, though. "I mentioned it a moment ago, but I never properly said it: I was once a shinobi of the Leaf. I served my village loyally until the day it went up in smoke. Should the day come that it was ever opened again to the world of shinobi, I would immediately head back to those magnificent gates." Ginjiro's emotions were true. He lamented the loss of his beloved village, just as he was sure any of the shinobi in this room would lament the loss of their own homes. Ginjiro hoped they would understand that he was village-less not out of a desire to be so, but rather out of circumstance. He didn't ask to lose his home, nor did he ask to have to wander, village to village, in search of a warm bed, food, and hospitality. Still, one plays the cards dealt to them.
There was more to this, though. As he stared off into space, thinking about his lost home, the young man would continue speaking. "I say that I would return immediately, but that's not quite accurate. Rather, it should be that I can't return. Lord Raikage, this arm of mine isn't the result of battle or infection. This arm is a symbol of my struggle." Ginjiro was now looking the Raikage dead on. His eyes were very serious, and they held back a certain pain. The young man was hoping that old saying about them being windows was true. "Right before Leaf City fell, a man named Ayatsuri Katsu managed to gain access into the village. He was a Leaf Shinobi, who was thought to have been dead for almost a decade. During the night, he murdered the leader of the Ayatsuri Clan, one of the oldest and most powerful clans in all of Leaf City. This man has since subjugated the entirety of the Ayatsuri Clan, for who knows what motive?" Ginjiro's jaw was clenching tightly, his teeth about ready to start scraping against each other. Both of his arms were crossed, his hands gripping them tightly in frustration. He was fighting to hold back all of his anger. "That man, my brother, cut off my arm with a single swipe of a kunai for trying to oppose him. I managed to live, just barely, at nothing more than his mercy. He isn't human, Lord Raikage, and I mean that in the most literal sense." The Ayatsuri had to calm himself, his voice had been getting progressively more heated as he spoke. If this kept up, he would end up shouting at the leader of the Hidden Cloud. That would not go over too well. Taking a few breaths, the Ayatsuri unfolded his arms to try and relax himself. He needed to be composed. "Before entering into your village, I spoke with one of your shinobi—he introduced himself as Keiji—at a tavern just outside your gates. I asked him the same question I'm about to ask you. His response was that, while he did have the knowledge I sought, I would have to request it from you, Lord Raikage. He said he'd be violating the rules of your village if he told me without your approval." Here was the big moment. Ginjiro had traveled so long for this. He had been so patient with it all. He'd done all he could to gain the Raikage's trust, and he could only hope that he'd succeeded. This was the moment of truth. It was to happen now, or not at all. Ginjiro was ready to know the answer. "Lord Raikage, I have come to your village seeking the knowledge of the Art of Hitokugutsu, the secret technique by which a person is able to turn themselves into a living puppet. I believe my brother, Ayatsuri Katsu, has somehow unraveled the secrets of this technique, and has applied that knowledge to himself. I intend to use the knowledge of this technique to bring down my brother and save the people of my clan from his subjugation. Lord Raikage, will you share with me the secrets of this Kinjutsu?"
