Outside Konoha Village, in the abandoned Uchiha Clan district.
The once-proud land of a great clan now lay in silence, its streets cold and empty. Wind swept through the desolate courtyards, carrying with it the faint rattle of broken shutters and the dry whisper of fallen leaves.
The massacre had reduced the district to little more than a ghost town. Houses stood untouched yet hollow, their walls holding the scent of memory and blood. The proud fan crest that once adorned every gate now seemed like a mocking reminder of a clan erased.
Because the district was distant from Konoha's heart, it had been spared the devastation of the Wood Release firestorm. Unlike other parts of the village, its main residence still stood intact, preserved like a mausoleum of the Uchiha name.
This grand estate had since been repurposed into a provisional Hokage Office—a base where Konoha's surviving leaders could quietly confer away from the center of the village.
But one house remained sealed tighter than all the rest.
The residence of Uchiha Gen.
The sealing squad had layered the place with barrier upon barrier, isolating it completely. No ordinary shinobi could even hope to approach its interior.
Senju Tobirama now stood before that very threshold. His sharp gaze studied the glowing lattice of the barrier, his expression grave. Slowly, his hands moved through a rapid sequence of signs. The seals trembled, loosened, and finally unraveled like threads being cut.
The barrier fell away with a faint hum, and the door creaked open.
A cool, still draft brushed against Tobirama's face as he stepped inside.
The house was striking in its simplicity. There was no luxury, no ostentation—only an austere orderliness that spoke of discipline. A single Go board sat in the center, its black and white stones locked in a frozen battle. The pieces seemed placed with such precision that the unfinished game itself felt like a silent riddle left behind by the owner.
A black robe, embroidered with the Uchiha fan crest, was cast carelessly across a low table, as though abandoned in haste.
Near the board stood two objects: an ink painting scroll mounted upon the wall and, beside it, a small wooden doll. Their quiet presence filled the room with an almost unsettling intimacy, as though the shadows of the past refused to depart.
Tobirama's gaze lingered on the Go board. He picked up a black piece between two fingers. For a moment his hand trembled—not from weakness, but from the weight of thought. After a long hesitation, he replaced the piece exactly where it had been, his brow furrowed in grim reflection.
At last, he murmured a single word:
"Orochimaru."
From the corner of the room, shadows stirred. A serpentine presence uncoiled itself, and Orochimaru emerged, his golden eyes gleaming with sly amusement.
"Lord Second," he said smoothly, bowing his head in mock respect.
Tobirama's gaze hardened. "The situation grows more complicated by the day. Hand over the sacrifices you used for Edo Tensei."
A faint smile tugged at Orochimaru's lips. He had already anticipated this. The Second Hokage sought to raise his brother, the First Hokage, Senju Hashirama, once more.
It made sense. The Ninja World teetered on the brink of collapse—foreign daimyo clamored for war, rival villages sharpened their blades, and Gen's shadow still loomed like a curse. If there was one card that could silence every faction in a single stroke, it was Hashirama Senju, the God of Shinobi.
Without a word, Orochimaru slipped a sealed scroll from his sleeve and offered it. Within lay one of the White Zetsu corpses, the perfect vessel for resurrection.
Tobirama accepted it silently. In return, he handed Orochimaru another scroll, its parchment inked with intricate formulas.
"This is a new teleportation array for the Flying Thunder God," Tobirama said, his tone clipped. "With it, you will move as freely as the space-time jutsu allows. Use it well."
Orochimaru's eyes gleamed with rare appreciation as he examined the seal. "Exquisite… To push even your own signature technique into new territory in a matter of days… truly, Lord Second, you remain unrivaled."
But Tobirama's mind had already moved on. His voice grew heavier.
"What of Uchiha Sasuke? How far has his training advanced?"
Orochimaru's tongue flicked against his lip, his smile curling with intrigue. "Rapidly. His growth exceeds even my expectations. But as for what you fear… no. Not yet."
Tobirama's eyes narrowed. "You mean—Gen's dōjutsu."
Orochimaru chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Thus far, Sasuke shows no sign of infection. His will is remarkably resilient… or perhaps stubborn beyond reason. Still, whether he can remain untouched forever… that will take more time to know."
The room fell silent for a long breath. Tobirama's gaze lowered, and his voice dropped.
"Itachi has already returned."
The words made Orochimaru's smile falter. "Itachi…? He set foot in Konoha? For what purpose?"
Tobirama's eyes glimmered with faint disdain, though his tone was heavy with gravity.
"He attempted to free himself from Gen's dōjutsu. He used Izanami—risking everything. But in the end, he failed. The curse recoiled against him."
Listening quietly, Orochimaru meticulously recorded every detail Tobirama revealed, his quill scratching faintly across the parchment. When the Second Hokage finished, Orochimaru leaned back, his expression unusually solemn.
"Even Itachi," he began slowly, voice low and silken, "using Izanami… failed to break through Uchiha Gen's dōjutsu. That alone speaks volumes. It suggests Gen's dōjutsu has not only grown stronger—it may have undergone an exceedingly rare mutation."
The word mutation lingered in the air like a poison. Orochimaru's golden eyes lit with a dangerous gleam, his tone shifting into something deep and magnetic.
"In fact… the Wood Release fire that consumed Konoha days ago is likely undeniable proof of such a change. Flames that cannot be extinguished, burning in tandem with the vitality of Wood Release—surely that is no ordinary ninjutsu. No, those flames were the manifestation of Gen's mutated dōjutsu, reshaping elements themselves."
Tobirama did not contradict him. He too had drawn that conclusion, though hearing it aloud made the implications heavier.
Orochimaru leaned forward, his voice hushed yet feverish."Lord Second, this mutation does not merely amplify power—it represents a paradigm shift. His Sharingan may no longer be bound by illusion or perception. Instead, it might be stepping into a realm where genjutsu, ninjutsu, and reality itself begin to blur. A dōjutsu capable of rewriting rules themselves."
Tobirama's gaze darkened. His mind flashed to the sealed scrolls, the painting scroll, the small wooden doll left in Gen's home—symbols that hinted at a deeper, more unsettling purpose.
Orochimaru's eyes, by now, shone with a mixture of greed and fanaticism. If Gen had reached the point of bending reality itself, then his dōjutsu was no longer just a weapon. It was a law unto itself.
After a long silence, Tobirama finally spoke, his voice cutting sharply through the tension: "Regarding the planetary destruction Gen set in motion… and the curse that seems tied to the Uchiha's very existence… I have considered one possible countermeasure."
At those words, Orochimaru's pupils contracted slightly. A crooked smile pulled at his lips, as though he had already anticipated what Tobirama would say.
"What a coincidence, Lord Second," he murmured, almost amused. "I too have reached a very similar conclusion. And that method is…"
Their gazes locked.
In the next breath, they spoke in unison: "Edo Tensei—Uchiha Shisui."
"Reverse Uchiha Gen's conceptual cognition," Tobirama continued, his tone cold and deliberate. "Force a second wish."
The room fell into a suffocating silence. Even Orochimaru, for once, said nothing.
Finally, Tobirama broke the quiet."If Shisui is brought back, his Kotoamatsukami can reassert control over the wish for peace. Unlike Gen, his intent was not corrupted by despair. With precision, he may overwrite the conceptual framework of Gen's 'peace,' correcting the path before it leads to planetary annihilation."
Orochimaru tapped a finger on the Go board beside him, his smile widening into something serpentine."A contest of wills between the dead and the damned… Shisui, the clan's prodigy, pitted against Gen, the anomaly. Hmhmhm… how poetic."
And yet, beneath that mocking tone, unease coiled like a snake in his gut.
Could Edo Tensei truly bring back Shisui so easily?Could even his unparalleled genjutsu survive the mutated depths of Gen's dōjutsu?
For the first time in years, Orochimaru felt a sliver of doubt gnawing at him.