Sarutobi Hiruzen stood in full battle gear before the heavily shadowed entrance of the underground base, the Monkey King's staff gripped firmly in his hand. He drew in a slow breath, steadying himself.
A year ago, he had already received whispers—rumors that Orochimaru intended to resume his Wood Release experiments on human subjects. At the time, whether because the village desperately needed stability after the war, or because of his own indulgence toward his most gifted and beloved disciple, Hiruzen had allowed the research to continue in secret. He had dispatched only a handful of ANBU to keep quiet watch, his choice more leniency than judgment.
At first, it seemed tolerable. Though the research was illicit, it had not yet crossed Hiruzen's final line. Orochimaru's hands had not touched the lives of Konoha's shinobi.
But years of suppressed ambition inevitably erupted with violent force. The bitter fruit of that neglect had ripened.
Four days ago, reports came in: every ANBU on surveillance had been killed. Before Hiruzen could fully investigate, new alarms reached his desk—clansmen and family members of bloodline shinobi were vanishing, as were the kin of several civilian jonin.
Within only days, the pressure became unbearable. The uproar of the clans, the fear of the people, and the political demands converged into one conclusion. He could no longer deliberate. He could only act.
And so, Orochimaru's location had finally been exposed.
The Third Hokage, who had led Konoha through two Great Ninja Wars, now stood at the threshold of his student's lair, his gaze sinking into the black maw of the entrance. His eyelids lowered, heavy with regret.
Orochimaru… why did it have to come to this?
He drew a long breath, pressing down the swell of emotion, and spoke with grim finality to the ANBU assembled at his back.
"Break in. Arrest Orochimaru—dead or alive."
"Yes, Hokage-sama!" The ANBU's voices rang in unison. They broke the door and slipped inside, formation tight, movements precise.
Despite his station, Hiruzen rushed forward at the very front, his staff smashing through barrier after barrier as they carved their way deeper. Perhaps it was to shield the young operatives under his command, or perhaps it was for reasons buried deeper in his heart—reasons he would never voice. Either way, he would not let these children confront Orochimaru head-on.
This, at least, did not escape Hatake Kakashi. Moving alongside the Hokage, the seasoned ANBU captain recognized the truth hidden in every choice the old man made. It was not hard to read. Understanding it, Kakashi's usual sharp focus slackened. His hands slipped almost lazily toward his weapons. He would fight, yes—but more for form than fury. A few Chidori thrown at the right time would be enough to keep up appearances.
But the path remained too quiet. Suspiciously quiet. Corridor after corridor gave no resistance.
Kakashi's instincts stirred uneasily. And he was not the only one to sense it.
From behind, Uchiha Itachi's low voice reached him.
"Kakashi-taichō… something is wrong. Be careful."
Kakashi gave only a terse nod. His single visible eye had already sharpened.
Boom—
The final iron door shattered under the Hokage's staff. Hiruzen stepped into the deepest chamber, his face dark as stone.
Yet instead of a laboratory brimming with cruel experiments, the sight before him was a grave. Corpses lay scattered across the hall, lifeless and long since stilled. Most were clad in white coats—researchers. To one side, a gaping breach in the wall led directly to the outside.
He knew we were coming…
Staring at the death-strewn chamber, Hiruzen felt an odd, guilty relief.
So long as there was no irrefutable evidence, coexistence—however fragile, however false—could still be maintained. It was self-deception, but even that was preferable to what must follow if truth was forced into light. Because as much as he was the Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen was also a weary old man who could not bring himself to cut down the disciple he had raised as a son.
His hair was gray, his body aging, and the compromises he made only seemed to multiply.
But just as he allowed himself a breath of reprieve, his radio earpiece crackled to life.
"Third-sama! Urgent report!" a voice shouted through static. "Genba Town—over three hundred households annihilated! Four ANBU teams and Root squads—all wiped out! Signs of large-scale battle, Wood Release experiments, and seven Hidden Cloud ANBU corpses confirmed! No perpetrator located. Based on the evidence… strongly suspected to be Orochimaru!"
Hiruzen froze, body rigid, his brief illusion shattering.
---
Elsewhere, in a corridor bathed in sterile light, two figures walked slowly side by side.
One was small, hesitant, posture rigid—Yakushi Kabuto. The other walked ahead, calm and unhurried—Aizen Sōsuke. He pushed open the door at the corridor's end with quiet ease.
Inside stood a massive sealed cylinder at the room's center. Within it floated the embryo of a blade—white, unshaped, wavering in unstable form.
What a fascinating world, Aizen mused, gazing upon the not-yet-born Asauchi.
Aizen Sōsuke. Once the Captain of the Fifth Division of the Gotei 13. Once the most reviled criminal in Soul Society, sentenced to twenty thousand years of imprisonment.
Now—Konoha jōnin. Director of the Third Laboratory under the Hokage's jurisdiction.
His present and past identities clashed like two worlds, sometimes leaving him faintly disoriented. By his count, twenty-two years had passed since he awoke in this reality. Yet unlike the life before, where his brilliance had outshone all others, here he was an ordinary shinobi: no bloodline, no divine gifts, no miraculous encounters. His strength was unremarkable, his progress dependent on trickery and careful accumulation.
But he had one advantage—memory. Memory of a vast and dangerous truth. And now, after decades of research, his first goal was finally within reach.
—To reforge a Zanpakutō.
The obstacle was immense: the laws of this world were not the same as those he once mastered. His past existence had revolved around three realms, interwoven through the sacrifice of the Soul King, all entities formed of spirit.
This world was built differently—upon matter and energy. Here, souls lingered but faded quickly, untethered by reapers. He had never once seen a Shinigami. The implication was clear: such entities did not exist here.
And yet… souls and spiritual energy undoubtedly existed. More than that, the heights of power in this world far exceeded the scope of most shinobi imagination. After long years of study, he had drawn a startling conclusion.
There once lived an existence called the Sage of Six Paths. He had shared this energy—chakra—with humanity, and he had not stood alone.
Legends spoke of him and his brother Hamura sealing away a goddess named Kaguya upon the moon. Myths, perhaps. But given the distortions of reality Aizen had already witnessed, the possibility could not be dismissed.
Hamura, in particular, he had confirmed. The Hyūga clan carried his blood, and even now maintained secret ties with those dwelling on the moon.
Nor was that the only hidden truth. Aizen had found hints of powers watching this shinobi world from the shadows, veiled secrets buried in the ocean's depths, mysteries yet unrevealed. Such was the reason he remained concealed, choosing patience over premature action.
His strength was not enough—not yet. Compared to the forces capable of reshaping heaven and earth, the current shinobi nations and their Kage were but shadows.
All the more reason he must regain what he once possessed.