By the time Hayashi left the Academy grounds, the sun had already pushed past the stormy clouds and was sliding toward the western horizon. Its glow painted the rooftops of Konoha in shades of fading gold.
He walked alone, rubbing his shoulder. The apology to Nishimura-sensei with Minato had been exhausting. The teacher had scolded them heavily, lacing his words with genjutsu to drive the point home. Even now, Hayashi's head felt heavy and dull, as though filled with wet clay.
He cursed under his breath. May you stay single forever, Nishimura-sensei… and may your dominant hand break while you're at it.
His stomach growled, urging him forward. He quickened his pace, eager for food.
Then he stopped.
Training had sharpened his instincts. Something was wrong.
"Come out," he called into the shadows.
The street was silent. Even the cicadas had gone quiet.
Two kunai whistled from the darkness, aimed straight at his chest.
"Tch."
Hayashi sighed at the familiarity of it. In my past life, when people met, they asked, 'Have you eaten?' Here, the greeting is a kunai to the ribs.
His hands moved faster than his thoughts. Two shuriken spun through the air, striking the kunai and knocking them aside. The weapons clattered harmlessly to the ground.
Without pause, Hayashi flicked more shuriken toward the source. They buried themselves into a wooden log with a dull thud.
Substitution Jutsu, he thought, narrowing his eyes. His opponent preferred to stay hidden, striking from the dark like a snake waiting for its prey.
The ground bulged beneath him, and pale hands clawed upward toward his ankles. Hayashi formed a seal with one hand, his body bursting into smoke. A splintered log took his place, crushed instantly by the grasping hands.
So, they don't plan on showing themselves easily. Fine. Then I won't either.
Hayashi slipped behind a wide tree, his Sharingan still unawakened but his senses sharp. Both shinobi held their ground, waiting for the other to reveal an opening.
Yet the advantage wasn't his. Whoever this was had been waiting for him here, prepared. Hayashi didn't even know their face, their abilities, or their intent. The lack of information gnawed at him.
Time stretched. Then, from the earth behind him, a shadow emerged. The man used Earth Release to surface silently, kunai in hand. His eyes glinted with cold precision.
Hayashi remained still. To him, the boy before him looked far too unguarded.
The kunai slashed across Hayashi's back—only for his head to twist unnaturally, grinning directly at the attacker.
The man's eyes widened. Genjutsu? When?
He forced his chakra into disruption, breaking the illusion. The image of Hayashi shattered.
Too late.
A kunai came whistling through the air with unnatural speed, tearing the wind apart. It speared straight through his skull, the body collapsing instantly—only to crumble into a mound of mud.
Earth Clone.
Before Hayashi could react, a cold hand rested on his shoulder.
His breath caught, and the kunai in his grip slipped from his fingers.
"Hayashi, you've grown stronger."
The voice was hoarse, unmistakable.
Turning slowly, Hayashi found himself face to face with Orochimaru.
The Sannin wore a simple kimono beneath a flak vest, his pale face framed by straight black hair. Even standing casually, his presence pressed down like a serpent coiling around prey.
Hayashi steadied his breath and managed a smile. "Orochimaru-sama, what brings you here? Surely you're busy with missions."
It had been three years since their last meeting. Back then, Orochimaru still had the sharpness of youth. Now, at nearly twenty, his features had become sharper, colder, his aura unreadable.
"Not bad," Orochimaru said, his golden eyes glinting. "I didn't expect you to come this far in such a short time."
His voice rasped with a strange allure. For an instant, Hayashi almost thought it sounded… attractive. He quickly shook his head. What am I thinking? I'm a straight man.
"Let's walk. I've just returned to the village today. Keep me company for a while."
Without waiting for a reply, Orochimaru released his grip and walked forward.
Hayashi hesitated, then followed. He wasn't foolish enough to refuse a Sannin. At the very least, he could boast later that he'd shared a drink with one of the legendary three.
Still, a chill prickled his spine. Of all people, why seek out a nine-year-old like me the moment you return? You're not trying to lure me with goldfish, are you?
Suppressing a shiver, Hayashi kept pace as Orochimaru led him into a small tavern tucked away on a side street. Relief washed over him. At least it wasn't goldfish. And his stomach reminded him, he hadn't eaten yet.
The tavern was quiet, dimly lit with a handful of patrons scattered across wooden tables. Orochimaru sat, ordering sake and a few side dishes.
He poured himself a drink, glancing at Hayashi. "Want some?"
"Sensei, I'm still a child," Hayashi replied with a polite shake of the head. "I can't drink."
Orochimaru smirked faintly and took a sip. "Tsunade, Jiraiya, and I used to sneak here when we were your age. Tsunade was the one who found this place. The only shop in Konoha that would sell to underage shinobi."
Hayashi blinked. And it still hasn't been shut down? This owner must have serious backing.
Orochimaru's voice lowered, thoughtful. "When I returned this afternoon, I learned the previous owner had died. His son has taken over."
He drank again, the sharp scent of alcohol filling the air.
"Tangible things, Hayashi, wither in time. Places, shops, even people. Everything fades eventually. What do you think?"
Hayashi met his eyes, the weight of the question heavy between them.
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