Almost the instant Aizen's words faded, Orochimaru's snake-like pupils contracted into two razor-thin slits. Information on the man before him surged through his mind like lightning.
Aizen Sōsuke…
A peer of Hatake Kakashi, his records were painfully ordinary. Decent intellect, but no remarkable talent. Average physique. No notable clan. Graduated the academy at nine, then slipped into Konoha Hospital as a medical genin.
During the Third Shinobi War, he achieved nothing noteworthy—remaining safely in the rear, using his medical-nin status to avoid the front-line slaughter. Promoted to chūnin at twelve, he later transitioned to research work. A few years ago, he reached jōnin rank for his developments with Yin Release-based techniques.
A respectable résumé by Konoha standards, but far too plain for Orochimaru to have paid attention. No kekkei genkai. No pedigree. Forgettable.
Perhaps that was exactly why he had escaped notice.
Orochimaru's pale lips curved faintly, curiosity slipping through his cold expression.
"Just who are you? A spy? A sleeper? A bloodline exile? Or… some obscure man with ambition?"
For someone with such an unremarkable background to orchestrate events of this scale—blocking Root and ANBU, guiding Orochimaru's movements, tampering with Wood Release research—he could only be one of two things: a hidden prodigy like Yakushi Kabuto, or a man who had received secret cultivation in the shadows.
Remarkable, Orochimaru thought, eyelids lowering, his stare equal parts admiration and murderous intent.
"Just a nameless nobody."
The youth's reply was calm, almost deferential. "For someone of your stature to even remember my name… I am honored."
Orochimaru's steps echoed softly as he advanced, voice low, hoarse. "A nobody could not have done this. You discovered my test subjects. You veiled yourself from Root and ANBU. You guided my hand. You covet my research…" His golden eyes gleamed with dark hunger. "A nobody… could not manage all this."
"You flatter me." Aizen smiled modestly, as if embarrassed—like any young man would before praise.
Orochimaru ignored the act, his voice pressing closer, heavier. "When did it begin?"
To achieve such perfect concealment, to manipulate so many threads—it spoke of unfathomable patience and scale. The thought stirred something like exhilaration in him.
"From the beginning," Aizen replied softly, notebook closed in his hand. His smile remained polite, but his words slid like a blade between Orochimaru's thoughts. "Talent. Schemes. Desire. Your failure. Everything was decided long ago."
His eyes lifted, reflecting moonlight. "And you, Orochimaru-sama—you are exactly as I judged. Brilliant, ambitious, willing to sacrifice anything. Yet arrogant. Narrow. Imprisoned by your own emotions."
Orochimaru's pupils constricted. His smile widened unnaturally, fury seething beneath the surface. Yet his voice dropped to a whisper, calmer than ever.
"Then, Aizen-kun…" His final step fell, words climbing like a tide before breaking.
"…why do you—"
The air itself tightened. His killing intent erupted like a tidal wave, a storm lashing the forest.
"…dare to stand before me?"
The murderous pressure of one of the Sannin tore outward. Winds roared, ancient trees cracked and split. The very forest groaned under his fury.
Orochimaru surged forward, the ground exploding beneath his feet. In an instant, the Kusanagi sword flashed from its sheath, carving a gleaming arc toward Aizen's throat with the speed of a sonic boom.
Clang!
Steel shrieked. Sparks burst as the Kusanagi's edge stopped just an inch from Aizen's neck—caught dead against a pitch-black kunai.
For the first time, a flicker of surprise glinted in Orochimaru's eyes.
"Just as I said," Aizen's voice whispered past his ear. "You are too arrogant."
A blur—then a whip-like leg crashed into Orochimaru's ribs. Bone cracked. His body bent unnaturally and was hurled across the clearing.
He struck the ground—but before he could rise, a kunai screamed toward his face. At the last instant, Orochimaru's neck twisted grotesquely to a ninety-degree angle, the blade embedding itself deep into a tree trunk instead.
A thunderous punch followed. He crossed his arms barely in time, the impact rattling through his frame, forcing a rare gasp of pain. His body, though modified countless times, still shuddered.
With a hiss, his grip on the Kusanagi shifted. The blade reversed, cleaving forward at point-blank range, slicing air apart. Aizen slid half a step back, narrowly evading.
But Orochimaru's other arm shot outward—elongating, fingers like hooks. They clamped onto Aizen's shoulder, lifting him like a doll and whipping him through the air.
A kunai flashed. Steel punched into tendons, severing Orochimaru's grip. Aizen twisted free, rebounding off a tree trunk and launching forward like an arrow.
Another clash—clang! Kusanagi and kunai sparked again, moonlight shattering across their locked blades.
For a heartbeat, their eyes met. Both smiled faintly. Then the forest thundered with blows as their forms blurred, positions trading faster than sight could follow.
Each strike cracked trees, split earth, shredded branches. It was less a shinobi duel than two primeval beasts colliding, tearing the land apart around them.
In the underground chamber, the watchers were frozen.
Yakushi Kabuto stared upward, expression dazed. The entire wall-screen blazed with chaos, two figures locked in a storm of impossible speed. Around him, researchers stood wide-eyed, unable to look away.
One assistant hammered desperately at the alarm switch wired directly to Orochimaru-sama's earpiece, the light blinking with each attempt. No response came.
The figure in the footage—Orochimaru—fought with abandon.
Kabuto's lips parted. The words slipped out in disbelief, barely audible.
"Orochimaru-sama… what the hell are you doing?!"