While Jiraiya struggled with confusion about the future, far away in Konoha, Orochimaru was equally frustrated.
In a secret experimental base outside the Village.
It was dark and damp, filled with the heavy scent of formaldehyde mixed with blood.
Inside a giant glass container, a mass of flesh and tissue squirmed violently, as if it possessed life.
Orochimaru's golden, slit pupils narrowed as he stared intently at it, a twisted fanaticism gleaming in his eyes.
He picked up a syringe filled with a dark green liquid and slowly injected it into the container.
This was his latest creation, an improved fusion extracted from the First Hokage's cells.
"Yes... fuse together..."
Orochimaru's long tongue slid out to lick his cracked lips, his voice hoarse yet trembling with excitement.
However.
The next instant—
The flesh inside the container suddenly expanded, pustules bulging across its surface.
Bang!
The reinforced glass shattered.
Rotting flesh and green fluid splattered across the walls and floor.
The experiment had failed—again.
Orochimaru froze. The feverish light in his eyes dimmed.
He looked at the empty shelves and the few remaining nutrient boxes in the corner, his expression darkening.
That syringe had been the last of the First Hokage's cells.
Once used, there would be no more.
Even the funds for new equipment were nearly gone.
His research had reached its most critical stage, only to halt for the most absurd reason.
He was broke.
Root had been wiped out, Danzō dead, his entire clan eradicated. His biggest source of funding had vanished.
He had already sold off every asset he could, scraping together just enough for this failed experiment.
Now, he was completely trapped.
The experiment could no longer continue.
Which meant his pursuit of immortality had hit a wall.
Should he follow that fool Jiraiya, chasing after some illusion of peace?
Or waste away like Tsunade, drowning herself in sake and gambling dens?
No.
That wasn't his path.
In his mind, a figure surfaced.
The Daimyo of the Land of Fire, Chiba Arashi.
The man who, in mere months, had seized control of Konoha with thunderous precision.
His wealth, his power...
Orochimaru's lips twisted into a thin, sinister smile.
He needed funding.
And the Daimyo lacked everything—except money.
A legendary Sannin, now a scientist obsessed with the mysteries of life...
Wouldn't that make an interesting tool for a ruler who sought control over all things?
He only needed to show his value.
Immortality—what could be more tempting than that?
It seemed it was time to visit the Fire Capital.
At the same time.
In the courtyard of the Daimyo's manor.
After half a month of intense training, the women selected from across the Land of Fire had shed their naivety and resistance.
Now, thirty-six women knelt on silk cushions in identical sheer gowns. Their postures were graceful, their eyes filled with practiced allure.
Their speech, manners, and every motion had been refined to perfection.
But they all knew—the true test was only beginning.
For today, the Daimyo himself would appear before them.
Arashi reclined lazily on a soft couch at the head of the courtyard.
He gazed at the array of beautiful faces below, unmoved.
Etiquette was simply the polishing before the feast.
What truly mattered was the flavor of the dish itself.
"Begin," Arashi said softly. His calm voice carried clearly through the courtyard.
At the old instructor's signal, the sound of strings and flutes filled the air.
A noblewoman rose and began to dance in the center.
Her movements were elegant and proper, adhering perfectly to noble decorum.
But it was too conventional—refined, yet tasteless.
Like plain water.
Several more followed, each beautiful, each flawless, but all lacking soul.
Until Uchiha Ragyō stood.
The moment she stepped forward, the air shifted.
An innate confidence and arrogance radiated from her, setting her apart from the rest like a crane among chickens.
The music began.
Her dance followed the same courtly form, yet every motion she made was precise and alive.
The turn of her wrists, the sway of her skirt, every step in perfect control.
The sheer fabric revealed glimpses of long legs and a slender waist. Each motion carved breathtaking lines into the air.
It was not seduction.
It was declaration.
She danced to tell the man upon the throne.
I, Uchiha Ragyō, am the woman most worthy to stand by your side.
That ambition gave her beauty a living fire.
Arashi's eyes finally glimmered with a spark of interest.
After Ragyō finished, the air in the courtyard grew tense.
Her performance had set a bar no one could easily reach.
Then came Kurenai's turn.
Her body stiffened as she stood, the spark of spirit dimmed from her eyes.
She didn't want to be here.
But her father's pleading and her clan's future left her no choice.
As the music began, she closed her eyes. Her body, guided by years of shinobi discipline, moved with the rhythm.
Her dance was stiff, filled with resistance.
Yet her form was among the finest of all.
Years of training had molded her into the perfect balance of strength and grace.
The tight-fitting dress emphasized her curves, her hips and chest moving with instinctive rhythm.
Even the simplest movement carried a wild, untamed allure.
An unpolished beauty—like a rose still bearing thorns.
That resistance, that unwillingness, only deepened Arashi's intrigue.
When Kurenai finished, she nearly fled back to her seat.
Then it was the turn of Mei, the breathtaking woman who had introduced herself as Shizumi.
She rose gracefully, immediately drawing every gaze.
She lacked Ragyō's proud sharpness and Kurenai's defiance.
Instead, she wore a soft smile, her eyes brimming with charm.
Arashi raised a brow. He had seen her resistance during early training.
Had she changed her mind?
The music began.
She didn't start dancing immediately. Instead, she bowed deeply to Arashi.
That single motion made throats go dry.
Her gown's wide neckline dipped low, her full curves barely contained as she moved.
Her dance flowed with the distinct sensuality of the Land of Water.
Her body moved like water, her waist twisting gracefully, each motion a blend of temptation and rhythm.
Her skirt swirled, revealing flashes of her long, silk-wrapped legs.
Her movements alternated between soft and sultry, gentle and bold.
Every gesture, every glance, every breath was directed at him.
She was using her body as her weapon, challenging his composure.
When the music ended, Mei bowed again, her eyes half-lidded, her chest rising softly with each breath.
The courtyard fell silent.
No one dared breathe, all eyes fixed on Arashi.
Reclining against the couch, his lips curved into a faint, unreadable smile.
He slowly scanned the room, eyes lingering just long enough to make hearts tremble.
Finally, he sat upright, beckoned the etiquette officer, and pointed at the list before saying a few quiet words.
Then, without another glance, he rose and left the courtyard.
(To be continued.)