"Teacher, Elder Danzō doesn't plan to…" Ryujin Kenichi made a slicing motion across his neck with his hand.
Danzō Shimura had always coveted the position of Hokage. If not for Hiruzen Sarutobi keeping him in check for decades, he might have seized power long ago. And now, with the village in a fragile state, the opportunity was ripe.
Kenichi couldn't understand why Danzō wasn't acting.
"Hiruzen may be old, but he's not out of the game yet," Orochimaru chuckled, hands folded into his sleeves. "Losing his arm didn't shake his grip on the village. He's too careful for that."
Kenichi nodded slowly. It was true—Sarutobi Hiruzen's prestige in Konoha remained formidable. Even at today's funeral for the fallen, the old man had stood firm, delivering a powerful speech about the Will of Fire that had stirred the hearts of shinobi and civilians alike.
To make a move against Hiruzen within the village would be political suicide. Only if he were to leave the village—where an "accident" could be arranged—would it be feasible. But Hiruzen clearly had no intention of leaving until his arm was dealt with. Rumor had it he was working with medical-nin to regain functionality and return to active duty as Hokage.
"The reward for assisting in this operation isn't bad," Orochimaru said, his expression brightening with interest. "Helping out isn't a loss."
Kenichi understood then. That's why his teacher agreed—Orochimaru wasn't in it for loyalty or ideology. There was something to gain.
Still, Kenichi had his doubts. Orochimaru wasn't acting like someone with murderous intent toward the Hokage. Did something change later on?
"You came up with the rejection theory, so now you're coming along. Let's go—Sarutobi's impatient," Orochimaru said with a flick of his hand. Despite his words, his tone was calm, calculating.
The truth was, most of Konoha's elite understood the unspoken rule: you didn't strike at Sarutobi Hiruzen while he was in the village. But the timing was almost too perfect. If Danzō wasn't planning to strike, he might instead push to become the Fifth Hokage, capitalizing on Hiruzen's injury and old age.
If that happened, all of Orochimaru's careful maneuvering would be wasted.
And yet, he didn't seem eager to act. He had seen too much. Perhaps he was tired of Konoha's rotting political structure.
"Konoha needs new life," Orochimaru had once said. "And new life often emerges from the ruins of destruction."
"My help?" Kenichi blinked. He assumed he was just tagging along—after all, he'd already explained everything about tissue rejection thoroughly.
But as they arrived at a Konoha hospital annex, Kenichi's eyes widened. Inside the building were dozens of shinobi. Some looked excited, others nervous, a few deeply uneasy. The air was thick with anticipation and tension.
"Teacher, is this about… the arm transplant you mentioned?"
"The bodies from yesterday's battle have already started to decay," Orochimaru said coolly, his eyes glittering with a scientific detachment that sent a chill through Kenichi. "The Sarutobi clan issued a call. Whoever provides a compatible arm for the Hokage will receive a substantial compensation—and a position within the mission assembly."
Kenichi understood now. It was a compatibility screening. The shinobi were volunteers, hoping to be chosen as donors for the Third Hokage's arm transplant. Some were motivated by patriotism, others by poverty. A few might even have believed in the Will of Fire deeply enough to give a limb to the man who embodied it.
"This is just like brainwashing," Kenichi muttered under his breath.
He said nothing more and set to work. There were too many participants to afford delay. ANBU patrolled the perimeter, keeping order. The Third Hokage himself occasionally visited, personally thanking each volunteer. That alone kept spirits high.
The procedure, surprisingly, didn't take long.
Medical ninjutsu in this world was beyond what Kenichi had ever imagined. Complex surgeries and transplants that would take days—or fail entirely—in the modern world were completed with chakra-enhanced precision in a matter of hours.
When the match was found, the selected shinobi's face lit up with pride. Watching Hiruzen clasp the donor's hand in gratitude, Kenichi wiped his hands clean, feeling a strange mixture of awe and discomfort.
This world was truly something else.
"Let's go. There's nothing more for us here," Orochimaru said coolly, turning without another glance.
He had lingered in Konoha only to bide his time—observing, evaluating, searching for the right vessel. But now, the moment had come. At last, he could leave.
Ryujin Kenichi followed, but as they walked away from the Hokage's office, he couldn't help but glance back. Standing in the sun-drenched courtyard, the Third Hokage—Hiruzen Sarutobi—was watching them. For a brief moment, their eyes met.
The aging Hokage was bathed in golden light, surrounded by bustling shinobi who smiled and laughed, their youthful energy filling the air. In contrast, the two who departed walked into the shadowed corridor of the administrative building—silent, cold, and empty.
The sound of celebration faded behind them.
Kenichi opened a side door, and sunlight poured into the hallway. Before stepping out, Orochimaru glanced at him, his golden eyes sharp but unreadable.
"Barbecue, Kenichi?" he asked, a faint, oddly gentle smile on his lips.
Kenichi blinked, surprised. "Barbecue?"
It was a rare invitation. The familiar Akimichi-run restaurant was bustling as always, its smoky scent drifting through the air. But what struck Kenichi most was that Orochimaru had not invited Mitarashi Anko this time—something that puzzled him. Anko, after all, had once been his favored student.
Still, as the meal progressed, Kenichi observed Orochimaru casting the occasional glance toward the entrance—until, finally, Anko arrived, summoned by some unseen signal. She was tense, reserved, but Orochimaru greeted her with unusual calm.
Kenichi watched the interaction closely. Orochimaru's words to her were brief, impersonal to an outsider, but Kenichi knew better. He recognized the subtle shifts—the quiet pause before speaking, the slight softening of his tone.
It felt like… a farewell.
His brow furrowed. But Orochimaru wasn't the type to die—not easily. So if it was a goodbye, there was only one explanation.
He was leaving Konoha.
Kenichi's heart pounded with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. There were too many restrictions here, too many prying eyes. Outside the village, there would be freedom. Freedom for forbidden research. Freedom to pursue the truth unhindered.
He looked at his teacher, and an idea bloomed in his mind—wild, daring, dangerous.
"Sensei…" he whispered, eyes alight. "Are you leaving Konoha?"
Orochimaru did not answer at first. But the faint curve of his lips and the glint in his eyes told Kenichi everything he needed to know.
And Kenichi smiled back.