"I suddenly have a bold idea!" Ryujin Kenichi said, a strange gleam flashing in his eyes as he looked at the trembling kunoichi before him.
Kenichi had studied the basics of the Impure World Reincarnation (Edo Tensei)—a forbidden technique developed by Tobirama Senju and later perfected by his own teacher, Orochimaru. It involved binding a deceased soul to a living vessel. The host body remained the same, but the soul was overwritten.
"But what if I could do the reverse?" he thought. "Alter the soul through the body instead... What kind of being could that create?"
The idea felt radical—perhaps too radical. The soul was still a great unknown. Kenichi himself had only scratched the surface of soul research. If Orochimaru discovered his musings, he'd either laugh—or worse, make him the subject of the next experiment.
He shuddered. Knowing his teacher, the punishment might involve turning him into a woman "for data collection purposes."
Once the experiment ended, the three surviving test subjects were taken away. Kenichi didn't ask where. Orochimaru never explained unnecessary details. He simply followed silently.
"I've noticed you and Hatake Kakashi have grown close lately," Orochimaru said casually, glancing over his shoulder as they walked through the dim corridor.
"Yes," Kenichi replied, unfazed. "I've already mastered the Chidori—the lightning technique he developed."
He was fascinated by Kakashi's jutsu—and even more intrigued by the Sharingan he had inherited from Uchiha Obito. A transplanted dōjutsu, yet Kakashi wielded it like a natural-born Uchiha.
Kenichi had already made plans. The night of the Nine-Tails' attack would be his best opportunity to take Kakashi's eye.
The village would be in chaos. The Fourth Hokage, Minato Namikaze, would be occupied—or dead, depending on how events played out. The Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, would be scrambling to restore order. In the middle of the chaos, a single missing eye might be overlooked... or at least delayed in investigation.
But Kakashi wouldn't go down easily.
He would need to subdue him in one swift move—perhaps via drug, genjutsu, or a precise lightning-based sneak attack.
And Kakashi, as a key Jonin and war veteran, would undoubtedly be guarded during the Nine-Tails' assault. Still... he had to try.
Kenichi briefly glanced at his teacher. Orochimaru's strength was undeniable. Subduing Kakashi would be trivial for him. But involving him came with its own risks. Orochimaru didn't act without purpose, and if he knew of Kenichi's ambitions, he might hijack the plan—or dissect it.
And Kenichi had no clue what role Orochimaru might play in the Nine-Tails incident. If he defected that night, as rumored in the darker corners of the village, then perhaps…
"The Hatake are skilled," Orochimaru said after a pause. "But the Sharingan—while powerful—is still foreign to their bloodline. Kakashi's chakra drains too quickly to sustain its full potential."
His tone dripped with disdain.
"Instead of clinging to a dead Uchiha's eye, he'd be better off refining his kenjutsu. His father, the White Fang, had far more talent."
Kenichi nodded, half-listening, but filed the information away. Orochimaru had once served alongside Kakashi's father. He spoke from personal experience.
"Kakashi values Obito too much," Kenichi muttered. "I tried to convince him to consider a transplant removal for analysis, but he refused. Said it was Obito's legacy."
"Heh. Friendship," Orochimaru sneered.
He didn't elaborate, but Kenichi could guess the memory behind it: Jiraiya and Tsunade, his fellow Sannin. Once inseparable. Now estranged.
Kenichi's mind returned to his plan. He had briefly considered attacking Kakashi before the Nine-Tails incident, but that would be foolish. Too many eyes, too little chaos. It had to be that night.
When the village's top-tier shinobi were drawn away. When confusion reigned.
Kenichi's proximity to Kakashi would let him get close. And if even Uchiha Madara could fall to Black Zetsu's betrayal, then surely so could a tired Kakashi in the middle of a crisis.
(Some fans believed that was just lazy writing. Kenichi secretly agreed.)
Alternatively, he could escape with Orochimaru the night of the attack. If his teacher truly chose that moment to abandon Konoha, then Kenichi could ride his coattails into the unknown.
Either way, he had options.
"Teacher," Kenichi said suddenly, flashing a polite smile, "do we still need to deliver that tobacco to Lord Third today?"
Orochimaru smirked without looking back. "We'll see. Perhaps he's already... occupied."
"Yes, of course we have to deliver it. I feel uncomfortable all over if he doesn't smoke for a day," Orochimaru said with a rare smile tugging at his lips.
Pleasures were few for him these days—experimentation and quiet vengeance being the only constants—but watching his former teacher, Hiruzen Sarutobi, lighting his pipe had become its own small amusement.
Every time Hiruzen puffed on that tobacco, surrounded by the smog and his own obliviousness, Orochimaru felt an odd sense of satisfaction. And when Danzo and the village elders sat nearby, breathing in that secondhand smoke without a care in the world, that satisfaction deepened.
Though Hiruzen remained wary of him, always keeping a cautious eye on his former pupil, the truth was: he lacked crucial information.
Unbeknownst to him, Orochimaru had already gifted his teacher—and several other aging elders—something more than just experimental whispers and subtle contempt.
Early-stage lung cancer.
It was a delicate balance. Too aggressive, and it would be discovered. Too slow, and the game would lose its flavor. But right now? Right now it was perfect. Like tweaking variables in a lab—small, invisible changes, but enough to twist fate over time.
This cigarette must be delivered.
Tobacco in hand, he walked with Ryujin Kenichi toward the Sarutobi clan compound.
"What comes to mind when you look at this place?" Orochimaru asked, folding his arms as they stood before the gates—painted bright vermillion, the symbol of a family that had prospered while others faded.
Ryujin Kenichi narrowed his eyes, his voice quiet.
"Behind the vermillion gates, meat and wine go to waste, while on the roads lie the bones of those who died of cold."
Orochimaru's expression didn't change, but the words resonated. He, too, had thought the same many times. The Sarutobi clan—once part of the idealistic dream that was Konoha—now sat fattened by the power of the Third Hokage, untouched by the sacrifices others had made.
The Senju, once co-founders of the village, had all but vanished. The Uchiha were forced into the shadows, their compound shoved to the periphery. Yet the Sarutobi clan remained entrenched in privilege.
"Yes," Orochimaru murmured, and together they stepped inside.
"My teacher has fallen." The thought settled coldly in his chest. Hiruzen preached the Will of Fire, claimed to act for the good of the village, but in truth? The Sarutobi name mattered more to him than any slogan. He wielded ideals like weapons—brainwashing the younger generation into sacrificing for a dream he no longer truly believed in.
Even the Fourth Hokage—Minato Namikaze—though brilliant and strong, had been little more than a puppet in the system Hiruzen had built. A kind puppetmaster perhaps, but a puppetmaster nonetheless.
A familiar figure appeared at the entrance.
"Orochimaru," Hiruzen greeted calmly, stepping forward. His gaze briefly flicked to Ryujin Kenichi, then returned to his former student.
Orochimaru smiled warmly, too warmly.
"Sensei… It's been a long time. I've missed you dearly."