The forest was silent except for the labored hiss of a wounded serpent. Moonlight cut down in cold shards through the canopy, silvering the blood that trailed like a broken ribbon over the roots. Orochimaru's pale body slipped between trees, his gait unnaturally smooth despite the terrible rent across his side where Itachi's blade had torn through flesh and chakra alike.
Each step was pain wrapped in venom, but he embraced it. Pain reminded him of limits. And limits, to him, were nothing more than walls waiting to be broken.
"Uchiha Itachi…" Orochimaru's tongue flickered across his lips, leaving them glistening. His golden eyes burned not with fear, but with feverish hunger. "Such power… and yet such arrogance."
He remembered the look in Itachi's eyes—cold, unyielding, as if even time itself bowed before his gaze. A boy not yet twenty, yet already carrying a presence that choked even Orochimaru's ambition. And the Sharingan… that cursed mirror of heaven's secrets. When the tomoe had spun into eternity, when Tsukuyomi had dragged him into a realm where moments stretched into lifetimes, Orochimaru had felt something he had not in decades.
Vulnerability.
And that, more than the wound in his side, was intolerable.
The forest seemed to recoil as he vanished in a blur, his body sliding through space like a phantom serpent returning to its den. His retreat was not defeat, not to him—it was molting. The shedding of skin, to reveal what lay beneath.
Far away, beyond borders and villages, in a cavernous chamber where no sunlight ever dared to intrude, nine shadows assembled. They were the Akatsuki—the bringers of storms yet to come.
A great stone table stretched at the chamber's center, carved with ancient seals whose meanings had been long forgotten by men but not by monsters. Upon this dais, nine figures flickered into form, each no more than a ghostly projection, yet each carrying weight enough to smother the air.
At the head sat Pain, his ripple-patterned eyes glowing like twin abysses. His voice, calm yet absolute, cut through the silence.
"Orochimaru. You have failed."
The serpent's image appeared among them, coiled and composed. His lips curved into a mocking smile, though his inner fury coiled tight.
"Failed? I would hardly call surviving Itachi's… enthusiasm… a failure. I merely tested the waters."
A scoff echoed—Deidara, the artist of clay and flame, sneering with boyish arrogance.
"Hah! More like you tested how fast you could run with your tail between your legs, un. Some 'legendary Sannin' you are."
Kisame leaned forward, his shark-like grin wide and dripping menace.
"Run or not, living through Itachi's blade is no small feat. Most men don't get to scream twice." He chuckled darkly. "Though I'd have enjoyed watching him carve you apart."
Orochimaru's smile widened, though the flicker in his golden eyes betrayed the hatred he swallowed.
"One must know when to strike, and when to wait. Impatience is the luxury of children."
From the shadows, Sasori spoke, his voice as hollow as the puppets he commanded.
"Excuses. The Uchiha boy humiliated you. You'll find no comfort in this room."
Only Konan remained silent, her paper wings folded, eyes unreadable as she glanced at Pain.
And then, the voice that always slithered under skin—Zetsu, half black and half white, speaking in discordant harmony.
"He smelled fear. He reeked of it. Orochimaru isn't hungry for missions anymore… he's hungry for something else. The Sharingan, perhaps?"
For the first time, the mocking curve of Orochimaru's mouth cracked into something raw and unguarded—desire.
Pain's gaze locked on him, unblinking, merciless.
"You joined Akatsuki with purpose. If your ambition strays from ours, you will be erased."
The threat hung, sharper than any blade. And yet Orochimaru, ever the snake, only bowed his head with mock humility.
"Purpose is fluid, like water, like venom. I will serve. For now."
One by one, the figures flickered, their presence fading until only echoes of their malice remained. The chamber grew quiet, though the weight of their disdain lingered.
Orochimaru stood alone in his fading projection, his golden eyes narrowing into slits.
"For now…" he whispered.
---
The Lair of Serpents
Deep beneath the earth, in a cavern where stone bled moisture and the air was thick with decay, Orochimaru sat upon his throne of bone and scales. Candle flames sputtered, bending as though repulsed by his presence.
He was silent for a long while, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, golden eyes reflecting the weak light. Kabuto lingered at the edge of the shadows, dutiful and silent, though the tremor in his hands betrayed unease.
Orochimaru's thoughts, however, were far from his servant.
"Itachi…" he hissed softly, savoring the name like a forbidden fruit. "Such perfection of blood. Such symmetry of power. The Uchiha are vessels—no, chalices—overflowing with what I seek."
His tongue slid out, tasting the damp air. Every fiber of his being pulsed with a single, insatiable desire. The Sharingan had not just repelled him. It had seduced him. He had peered into its abyss and seen not rejection, but a door barred only by his own unworthiness.
And he would not remain unworthy.
"They think I retreated," he whispered, voice curling like smoke. "They think I bend. But I am only preparing. Molting."
He leaned back against the throne, the shadows wrapping him in a lover's embrace. His smile spread, grotesque and beautiful, the smile of a predator who had found new prey worth bleeding.
"One day, Itachi… that gaze will be mine. Those eyes will look out from my skull. And then… then even gods will tremble."
Kabuto shivered at the sound of his master's voice, a chill racing down his spine. He had served Orochimaru long enough to know the signs—the hunger had deepened. And when Orochimaru hungered, entire worlds shook.
The candles guttered, one by one, until only darkness remained.
And in that darkness, the whisper of serpents echoed like a prophecy.
The moon still lingered high when Orochimaru finally stopped moving.
He stood at the edge of a dense forest, shadows coiling around his pale form like serpents. The air was damp, thick with the smell of moss and decay, but he seemed to breathe it in as if savoring poison made sweet. His golden eyes, slitted like a predator's, glimmered with something far more dangerous than mere hunger.
"Itachi…" His voice was a whisper, yet it carried like venom on the wind. "…so young, yet already beyond my reach. Your eyes see through layers of reality I cannot yet peel back. That Sharingan… no… that presence—as if death itself bows to you."
Orochimaru's thin tongue flickered, tasting the air. His hand curled, nails digging into his palm, the pain feeding his obsession rather than curbing it.
"How delightful… how agonizing."
For a moment, his mind drifted back to the clash. Itachi's gaze, calm yet merciless, had left a brand deeper than fire across his pride. The way the boy dismantled his killing intent with a glance—that was not strength of body, nor even of skill. It was a sovereignty of soul.
Orochimaru trembled. Not with fear, but exhilaration.
The stronger the prey, the sweeter the pursuit.
"Power like that…" he hissed, "I must have it. This vessel, this body—it is imperfect. My jutsu, endless though they may seem, are shackled to decay. But with eyes like his… with that body, with that bloodline… immortality will not just be mine—it will submit to me."
Yet Itachi was not the only image burned into his mind.
Another boy's face, younger, less guarded, yet brimming with something terrifyingly vast—Gojo. Orochimaru remembered the spark of Wood Release, the unnatural golden eyes of a mutated Sharingan, the Sage Body hidden beneath childish skin.
The pale sannin chuckled low, his voice vibrating with madness.
"Konoha births such monsters in secret… Senju, Uchiha, Uzumaki. They converge like streams into a flood. That boy… Gojo. An untapped well. And Itachi—already a storm."
The laughter stopped abruptly. Orochimaru's eyes hardened, thin lines of fury cutting across his face.
"Konoha… you will not keep them. I will peel the scales from your pride, one by one. The bodies of your children… the souls of your heirs… they will be mine. Both of them."
The forest seemed to recoil at his vow. A crow, startled from its perch, flapped violently into the night sky. Orochimaru turned away, robes brushing against dead leaves as he vanished into the trees, his mind already crafting webs of schemes and experiments.
The obsession had taken root. And roots, once seeded, only grew deeper.
Days bled into weeks. The Hidden Leaf moved on as if nothing had shifted, yet tension thrummed beneath its surface like an unstruck chord. The Hokage kept a wary eye on shadows. Danzo whispered with his Root operatives. And in silence, Orochimaru prepared.
But within the Academy's sunlit walls, life flowed with a strange mix of normalcy and quiet storms.
Iruka's voice carried across the classroom, steady and patient, though already strained by the ceaseless antics of his students. Yet what unfolded today was not his lesson, but the tangled chaos of bonds, rivalries, and jealousies that sparked whenever certain names collided.
---
Classroom Scene
Naruto slammed the sliding door open with a bang, sunlight spilling across his wild blond hair. His eyes immediately locked onto Sasuke, who sat coolly by the window, chin resting on his hand, face turned slightly away.
"You bastard!" Naruto shouted, dashing forward with fists clenched.
Sasuke's eyes flicked to him, dark and sharp. "Tch. What now, dobe?"
The collision was immediate. Naruto lunged, tackling Sasuke in a messy heap. Sasuke fell back, chair skidding against the floor. Dust scattered as the two tumbled, fists swinging.
"I'll wipe that smug face off you, teme!" Naruto growled, throwing a punch that grazed Sasuke's jaw.
Sasuke's lips curled into a cold smirk even as he countered with a sharp elbow. "You can't even land a proper hit. Pathetic."
"Say that again!" Naruto roared, tackling harder.
The classroom erupted with noise, students leaping from their seats. Iruka nearly toppled his chalk in frustration. "Naruto! Sasuke! Knock it off!"
But the two boys were deaf to him. Their scuffle grew louder, blows exchanged with raw childish energy, more pride than precision. The floor shook beneath their struggle, and the others watched with a mix of awe, annoyance, and secret amusement.
---
Meanwhile, Shizuka had just entered. Her sharp eyes instantly caught sight of the scene—but she didn't spare it a thought. Her gaze slid across the room like a blade until it landed on what mattered: Gojo.
Gojo sat slouched, as usual, at his bench. His eyes half-lidded, his entire posture screamed disinterest, as though the world's noise failed to pierce his cocoon. But someone else was already clinging to him—Karin.
Her crimson hair spilled over his arm as she held it tightly, cheeks faintly flushed, eyes glowing with a mix of relief and smugness.
Shizuka's jaw tightened. A spark of heat shot through her chest, sharp and consuming. She gritted her teeth hard enough that her lips curled.
"Move."
The word wasn't spoken aloud. It was breathed, venomous, through the glare she leveled at Karin. The pressure in her eyes was enough to make Karin stiffen.
Karin blinked, discomfort flashing across her face. Gojo turned his head lazily, finally acknowledging Shizuka. And in that instant, Shizuka transformed.
The storm vanished.
A beautiful, innocent smile bloomed on her lips.
"Gojo~," she cooed sweetly, her voice soft as silk. She slipped gracefully to his side, her body pressing close. Then, without hesitation, she latched onto his other arm, mirroring Karin.
Karin stiffened further, a ripple of unease flashing through her eyes. Gojo only sighed quietly, his face unreadable, as though such things were beneath his concern.
But the ripples had only begun.
From the doorway entered Ino, Sakura, and Hinata together. Their steps faltered when their eyes fell on the sight: Gojo, trapped between two girls, one smiling radiantly, the other flushed with stubborn pride.
Ino's lips parted in disbelief. Sakura clenched her fists instinctively. Hinata's soft gasp barely escaped her lips.
Shizuka's eyes flicked toward them. The innocent smile vanished. What replaced it was darker—her aura sharpened, an unspoken killing intent spilling from her like a suffocating mist.
Ino froze mid-step. Sakura swallowed hard. Hinata trembled, her hands clenching at her sides. The invisible weight pressed on them, heavy, suffocating, as though Shizuka dared them to take another step closer.
Gojo, as if immune, simply exhaled and leaned back against his bench. His eyes drifted shut. Within moments, his breathing evened out. He had fallen asleep under Iruka's lecture, untouched by the storm of tension around him.
Shizuka, now seated firmly at his side, allowed the faintest smile to return—soft, but triumphant. Her hand lingered on his sleeve.
Her gaze, however, never softened. She cut her eyes toward Ino, Sakura, Hinata, and Karin in turn, each glare a sharpened dagger.
The message was clear: Mine.
The girls flinched, their hearts pounding beneath the invisible blade of her will.
And as Naruto and Sasuke continued their quarrel across the floor, trading shouts and glares of their own, the classroom became a battlefield of invisible wars—jealousy, rivalry, obsession, and pride, all swirling quietly beneath the monotony of Iruka's lesson.
And at the heart of it all, Gojo slept soundly, as though the storms of the world would always bend and break before touching him.
---
End of Chapter
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