For three relentless years, waves of shinobi—Chūnin, Jōnin, even specialists hired from distant lands—came to kill Orochimaru. Their methods were as varied as they were desperate: subtle poisonings, carefully laid traps, even elaborate disguises as innocent children who might lure him into lowering his guard.
Every attempt failed.
Most assassins were discovered before they even reached Konoha's inner district. Those who slipped through the village's defenses were quickly eliminated by the hidden Iburi Clan, fiercely loyal to Orochimaru. As the months passed and the death toll rose, the frequency of attacks slowed.
By the end of the third year, the attempts had stopped altogether. Even the most stubborn village elders finally understood the truth—Orochimaru was not prey. He was a trap waiting to spring.
He seemed to revel in this dangerous game. Sometimes he strolled through Konoha's streets with no particular purpose, other times he left the village entirely, his movements broadcast as if to taunt his enemies.
Come find me, his actions seemed to say. Test yourselves if you dare.
But none dared. Not anymore.
His speed was the stuff of legend. Whispers spread of his Body Vibration Technique, so fast that even seasoned Jōnin failed to follow his movements. Countless shinobi were sent to end his life; nearly all died instead. Survivors could report only two consistent truths: Orochimaru possessed every chakra nature transformation, and his mastery of that mysterious speed technique was beyond comprehension.
This was not a conflict between nations, and the mounting losses soon outweighed any sense of vengeance. One by one, the hidden villages abandoned their missions.
Orochimaru found their surrender… disappointing. He had enjoyed the thrill of evading death, the challenge of besting clever assassins. The abrupt silence left him restless.
The years of constant pursuit had been strangely entertaining. Now, with no one daring to strike, life felt almost dull.
---
Research in the Shadows
During these quiet years, Orochimaru did not publish a single research paper worth noting. The great snake's mind was as restless as his body, yet many projects remained stubbornly incomplete.
Cloning, for instance, still eluded him. Animal clones suffered congenital defects, most dying the moment they left their nutrient tanks. Human cloning remained a distant goal.
Regenerative medicine, another obsession, faced its own limits. Cell division extended life but also hastened the very aging it sought to undo.
Genetic engineering fared only slightly better. Orochimaru, pioneer of the Chimera Bug, had achieved modest success combining traits from different animals to create new organisms. Yet the process was fickle, and human trials were far too risky—for now.
The one breakthrough came with the Seal Eye Curse Mark. Tested on Hyūga Mio, it proved capable of blocking the Byakugan. To Orochimaru, it was as though a wall now separated him from those all-seeing eyes. His own vision was unaffected, but the Hyūga's signature ability could be neutralized.
For stealth and espionage, it was a triumph.
He also perfected a third generation of liquid invisible contact lenses, this time with chakra-sensitive material. Though untested on Uchiha subjects, he estimated it could resist the genjutsu of a three-tomoe Sharingan—though the fearsome Mangekyō remained beyond its protection.
These lenses quickly entered production under the White Snake Pharmaceutical Technology Company and were distributed to select Iburi Clan members. Kakuzu himself purchased a pair, grumbling at the high price while quietly impressed by their effectiveness.
Chakra bombs, however, lagged behind expectations. Despite countless tests with different materials, the chakra capacity of each explosive barely improved. Research slowed.
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A World of Screens
While his laboratories wrestled with genetics and explosives, Orochimaru's corporate ventures flourished. A year and a half ago, the White Snake Home Appliances plant began selling affordable televisions, placing them within reach of ordinary citizens.
Konoha was the first to erect television towers. Soon the technology spread to the Hidden Cloud of the Land of Lightning, then Iwagakure in the Land of Earth, followed by the Hidden Sand in the Land of Wind, and finally even the isolated Hidden Mist Village.
Mist, as always, was troublesome. Determined to keep its secrets, the village dispatched shinobi to study tower construction, then attempted to replicate the technology without outside help. Their early towers failed to transmit a stable signal, forcing repeated trips across the sea to consult with White Snake engineers.
Their paranoia earned them little more than ridicule. Hidden Mist remained cut off, its citizens starved for the entertainment others now enjoyed freely.
Elsewhere, television spread like wildfire. Every great nation eventually established its own broadcasting station, though ownership was largely nominal. White Snake Pharmaceutical retained complete control of the airwaves and every coin of advertising revenue.
At first, the various daimyō dismissed the money as trivial. By the time they grasped the scale of Orochimaru's profits, it was too late. Contracts had been signed in ink as dark as a summoning seal, and pride prevented them from reneging.
Films once reserved for grand theaters now played in homes. Popular novels and comics were adapted into dramas and animated series. As programming expanded, viewership exploded—and so did White Snake's profits.
The company became a silent empire, its fortunes funding Orochimaru's next experiments, including the elusive chakra bomb.
---
Autumn Rain
Late autumn brought sudden cold to the Land of Fire. Yellowed leaves swirled in the drizzle, a promise that winter approached.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
Wrapped in a beige coat, Tsunade stood outside Orochimaru's modest house, impatiently pressing the doorbell.
Footsteps approached. The door opened to reveal Hyūga Mio, her sleek black hair cascading to her legs. Seventeen now, she had shed her earlier coldness, her gentle beauty accentuated by a graceful, curving figure—one even Tsunade secretly envied.
"Why are you answering?" Tsunade asked, unable to hide her irritation. Her eyes flicked, just for a heartbeat, toward Mio's chest before darting away. "Where's Orochimaru?"
"He's cooking," Mio replied calmly.
Tsunade's lips tightened. She had never liked this girl, especially after learning she lived in Orochimaru's home. Yet because Mio served as his assistant, Tsunade could not openly object. Years had passed, but the irritation never faded.
As Tsunade turned toward the kitchen, Mio's voice cut softly through the air. "Tsunade, do you… like Orochimaru?"
Thud!
The question struck like a thrown kunai. Tsunade stumbled and fell flat on her face.
"You—you—what are you saying?!" she sputtered, scrambling to her feet, cheeks burning crimson.
From the kitchen came the sizzle of oil and Orochimaru's curious voice. "Wash what? What's going on?"
He emerged to find Tsunade glaring at Mio, words tangled in her throat. "I—It's not—don't—"
Orochimaru raised a brow, then stepped closer. "Did you fall again?" He gently moved her hand from her face to inspect her reddened nose. "Honestly, you're always so clumsy. Can't you be more careful?"
"I didn't mean to fall," Tsunade muttered, her voice small but secretly warmed by his concern.
Mio watched silently, remembering the first mission they had shared. Tsunade's barely hidden hostility toward her had never changed.
---
Thoughts of Mortality
Orochimaru's mind drifted as he examined Tsunade's injury. In the original tale of their lives, Tsunade would suffer loss after loss—her brother Nawaki, then Kato Dan, and eventually her beloved grandmother, Uzumaki Mito, whose death came when the Nine-Tails was extracted and sealed into Uzumaki Kushina.
Will Grandma Mito truly die that way?
The thought chilled him. The idea that the gentle matriarch's life might end simply because the beast within her was removed felt wrong. He could accept death by age, even by incurable disease, but not this.
For what? For the so-called good of the village?
The Nine-Tails was a volatile weapon at best, a burden more than a blessing. History proved that Konoha had gained little from possessing it.
As he stroked Tsunade's hair, a quiet resolve settled over him. I won't allow it. I'll find another way.
Tsunade sensed his sudden determination and looked up, puzzled, but said nothing.
A sharp scent of burning interrupted the moment. Smoke curled from the kitchen.
"Orochimaru! The food!" Mio exclaimed, eyes narrowing in exasperation.
"Ah—my meal!" Orochimaru dashed back, cutting the flame and surveying the blackened remains. He rubbed his forehead. "How careless…"
Tsunade peeked in and burst into laughter. "Pffft—Orochimaru, even you can ruin lunch?"
He turned, expression blank. "You're this happy about a late meal?"
"No, no!" She waved both hands, still grinning. "I'll wait outside."
---
Plans Within Plans
At the dining table, Tsunade switched on the television while Orochimaru finished salvaging the meal. A commercial filled the screen: a sunlit beach, a bikini-clad beauty striding across the sand with White Snake Brand sunscreen. A tall, handsome man approached to apply it to her shoulders. The company logo shimmered as the ad ended.
Orochimaru served the food, but his mind wandered. He barely noticed the several quick bites of rice he took.
If a tailed beast is removed, the jinchūriki inevitably dies—except perhaps the Eight-Tails, whose tentacles can be severed to preserve life. Preventing the extraction of the Nine-Tails from Grandma Mito would be ideal. But if that proves impossible, perhaps the answer lies elsewhere.
The Uzumaki Clan…
Masters of sealing, they surely hold knowledge of methods to extract a tailed beast without killing the host.
I must go to the Hidden Whirlpool Village. Somewhere in their archives, a solution must exist. Chigusa will understand. She must.
His eyes fell to a piece of chicken in his bowl, then lifted to Tsunade. A plan—still hazy but taking form—coiled in his mind like a patient serpent.
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