"Hiruzen-sensei, don't you feel a little cramped?"
Orochimaru's golden snake-like eyes narrowed slightly, glinting with playful reproach. Her voice was calm and slow, but the undertone carried that usual blend of mockery and curiosity that always made Hiruzen uneasy. She was young, but her sharpness was that of someone who had seen far too much already.
Hiruzen Sarutobi coughed lightly, scratching his cheek. Standing beside him was his own Shadow Clone, and it was indeed a bit crowded inside Orochimaru's dimly lit room. Shelves packed with jars, scrolls, and strange specimens lined the walls, their contents swimming in preservation liquid. The flickering candlelight made the room seem alive, as if dozens of eyes were watching them.
"Y-Yes… perhaps a little," Hiruzen admitted with an awkward laugh. "Ha ha ha!"
He waved his hand and dispelled the clone in a puff of smoke.
Orochimaru's smile widened, thin lips curving into an expression that was neither warm nor cold. She did not mock him further but instead leaned back, waiting. Hiruzen seized the opportunity.
"Then, Orochimaru, regarding the price of the soldier pill…"
He hesitated. As Hokage, he had to consider both the village's needs and its clans. If the price of Orochimaru's new pill was too high, ordinary shinobi—especially Genin and Chunin—would never afford it. Yet if it was reasonably priced, the market would shift drastically.
Just one pill had already restored some of his stamina and chakra, and Hiruzen knew—deep in his heart—that Orochimaru's work was revolutionary. If mass produced, it would render the Akimichi Clan's traditional soldier pills obsolete.
The Akimichi Clan had supplied Konoha for generations. To the ordinary shinobi, soldier pills were not a luxury but a necessity. They restored chakra, suppressed hunger, and could save a life in battle. They were as common in a ninja's pouch as kunai and shuriken.
If Orochimaru's improved version were released, the Akimichi's lifeline would be cut.
Orochimaru folded her arms, speaking with deliberate calm. "The cost is… higher than ordinary soldier pills. You see, to neutralize and reduce the dangerous side effects, I require a rare medicinal ingredient. At present, production cost is about fifty percent higher than the Akimichi version."
Hiruzen frowned, already preparing to calculate how disastrous that would be for distribution. But Orochimaru raised her hand, cutting off his thoughts.
"However," she continued smoothly, "after refining the manufacturing process, the cost can be reduced significantly. At its best, it should only be about twenty percent higher than the common soldier pill."
"Twenty percent?" Hiruzen's brows shot up.
He had expected the cost to double, even triple, considering the complexity of Orochimaru's research. But just twenty percent? That was nothing compared to the improved effectiveness. A shinobi facing life and death would gladly pay a little more for a pill with fewer drawbacks.
This meant only one thing—the Akimichi Clan's soldier pills were finished.
Hiruzen exhaled slowly. His mind conjured an image of the Akimichi Clan—large men and women with hearty laughter, always seen eating or sharing food with comrades. Their plump figures were not simply indulgence; they were tied to their unique body-expansion techniques. The Akimichi appetite was legendary, a stereotype that outsiders mocked but that everyone in Konoha accepted as part of who they were.
And yet… if they lost their monopoly on soldier pills, if their wealth evaporated overnight…
Hiruzen imagined a group of Akimichi looking lean, gaunt even. The picture was so absurd that he almost chuckled, but the gravity of the situation pressed down on him.
No longer would they be called "fat pigs" behind their backs. No longer would they be jovial gluttons. Without soldier pills, they might not even remain one of Konoha's great clans.
He raised a hand to his forehead, suddenly weary.
If he allowed Orochimaru's pill to dominate the market, it would destroy the Akimichi. But if he stopped her… he would be smothering the brilliance of his disciple, denying her the credit she had worked so hard for.
And worse—if he denied her, would she still remain loyal to him?
"Orochimaru," he said softly, "you seem very troubled. Has my research… caused you difficulty?"
Orochimaru tilted her head, feigning innocence. She already knew what was going through Hiruzen's mind. It was always the same—politics, clans, balance. "You're worried about the Akimichi, aren't you, sensei? Their income. Their monopoly. My work threatens them."
Her voice was blunt. If there was a superior product, who would cling to the inferior one? That was the natural law.
The Akimichi's formula was crude, primitive even. Orochimaru could not believe they had never once thought to improve it in generations. Did they not care? Or were they simply too lazy, too content to eat and sleep, letting tradition sustain them?
Side effects? Weaknesses? So what? Pills were for emergencies, not snacks. If people abused them, that was their fault.
"Yes," Hiruzen admitted reluctantly. "Konoha's soldier pills have always been supplied by the Akimichi Clan. If your improved version spreads, they will lose their greatest source of wealth."
Orochimaru's eyes gleamed with something unreadable. She lowered her head, voice quiet yet deliberate. "Hiruzen-sensei… the funds for this research came from Danzo-sama."
"What?!"
The pipe slipped from Hiruzen's fingers, clattering against the wooden floor. He froze.
Danzo Shimura. His oldest comrade, his most troublesome friend, his perpetual rival. That man had been whispering in Orochimaru's ear? Funding her? Even with all of Hiruzen's surveillance, Danzo had still managed to sink his claws in.
Orochimaru looked almost puzzled at his reaction. "Danzo-sama is the Assistant Hokage. He assists you, doesn't he? Surely he understands the importance of my work. Why would you look so troubled?"
Hiruzen bent down, retrieved his pipe, and sighed heavily. He had tried so hard to protect Orochimaru from Danzo's influence, and yet, here it was.
"I will… talk to Danzo about this," he muttered, massaging his temple.
He looked at Orochimaru—so young, so brilliant, so alien at times. A flicker of guilt passed through him. "Orochimaru, you have nothing to apologize for. Your achievements are extraordinary. This research is a gift to Konoha. Don't feel guilty."
Orochimaru smiled faintly. "I understand, sensei."
But as Hiruzen left her house, his robes swishing behind him, her lips curled upward, sharper now, carrying a serpent's cunning.
From the beginning, her goal had been clear. Danzo was her angel investor, her silent partner. With his funds, she could experiment freely. And if, in the process, the Akimichi Clan collapsed? All the better.
The soldier pill was their lifeline. Cut it off, and they would wither.
Orochimaru licked her lips. For her, it was not cruelty—it was inevitability.
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