Akimichi Torifu's expression was unusually grave. His broad, steady hands rested on his knees as he leaned forward, eyes fixed on Orochimaru. For the clan head of the Akimichi, known for his hearty laughter and easygoing personality, such seriousness carried a weight of its own.
He was not concerned with money, nor with prestige. His mind was burdened by something far heavier—the cost of life.
The Red Chili Pill was a proud inheritance of the Akimichi Clan, the ultimate key to unleashing their hidden strength. Yet, that very key also bore the chains of destruction.
Torifu's heart remembered clearly the stories passed down from generation to generation.
During the Warring States Period, before the founding of Konohagakure, before the Senju and Uchiha had ever signed a truce, the Akimichi had fought endless battles. On the battlefield, they consumed Red Chili Pills again and again. Warriors transformed into butterflies of blazing chakra, radiant wings unfurling against the night sky. Their strength would multiply dozens of times over, enough to crush any foe in front of them.
But when the radiance of those butterflies faded, their wielders collapsed, never to rise again.
It was like watching fireworks in summer—stunningly bright, a spectacle that made all who witnessed them gasp in awe, only to vanish in an instant, leaving nothing but darkness behind.
That was the price of victory.
Torifu clenched his fists quietly. He had no desire to see his clansmen wither away like fireworks again.
"Orochimaru," he said in a low, steady voice, "I am most concerned about the side effects. If your improvements can truly suppress them, then the Red Chili Pill will no longer be a desperate weapon… but a medicine that could be used even by common shinobi."
His chubby face curved into a smile that was both heavy and sincere. "If that happens, you will not only become a friend of the Akimichi. No—it would not be an exaggeration to call you a great benefactor of the entire clan."
Orochimaru met his gaze. His golden eyes did not flicker; there was no childish boastfulness, no feigned modesty, only calm determination.
"Uncle Torifu," Orochimaru replied, his voice silky yet resolute, "I need more time. To preserve the Red Chili Pill's effectiveness while reducing its burden on the body—such balance cannot be achieved overnight. But I will try."
He did not mention research funds. All the ingredients of the Red Chili Pill were purchased by the Akimichi and supplied through the Nara Clan's herbal stores. On paper, there was nothing lacking. Yet, in practice, medicines were often "accidentally wasted" in experiments, and those accidents were enough to cover many of Orochimaru's personal expenses.
Still, he knew that such an undertaking would drain resources faster than he could replenish them.
Torifu gave a booming laugh. "Developing a secret drug cannot be rushed. I understand that much." He clapped his large hands together, and the sound echoed like a drumbeat through the room.
At his signal, three Akimichi clansmen entered, each broad-shouldered and carrying two heavy suitcases. They placed them before Orochimaru with a solemn bow.
"This," Torifu declared, "is my small contribution to your research."
Orochimaru's eyes flickered with surprise. He had expected perhaps a handful of ingredients or some additional facilities—not this. When the suitcases clicked open, the sight nearly made even him pause.
Stacks upon stacks of crisp banknotes were neatly packed within. Six cases in total, each brimming to the edge.
The Akimichi Clan had always been wealthy, their prosperity tied to both their farmland and their long-standing service as one of Konoha's great noble clans. Recently, with the sales of Orochimaru's new soldier pills skyrocketing, their income had grown even more. In just one month, profits rivaled the yearly revenue of smaller clans.
Torifu knew the difficulty of creating new medicine. He could not contribute his clan's secret techniques for research, but he could at least ensure Orochimaru's efforts would not fail for lack of funds.
Orochimaru closed the lid of one suitcase with an elegant snap. "I'll do my best."
His tone was calm, but inside he was smiling. Money was the lubricant of research, and here it was, given freely, without strings or constraints.
As Hiruzen-sensei once said, "Orochimaru, you're too mercenary." Perhaps that was true. He was not ashamed of it. He knew better than anyone: love for research, ambition for knowledge—these things cost money.
Torifu studied the boy in front of him, his golden eyes alight with sharp brilliance. Unlike other shinobi who drowned in missions or squandered their wages, Orochimaru treated money as carefully as his own blood.
This child will go far, Torifu thought. Ninja need money, that much is true. But someone like Orochimaru, who knows its worth and spends it on creation, is rarer than diamonds.
When Orochimaru finally left the Akimichi residence, his steps were lighter than usual. He carried the six suitcases back to his home and set them neatly on the floor. One by one, he opened them, letting the sight sink in.
Ten million ryō.
A fortune, more than Danzo Shimura had ever provided.
Orochimaru's thin lips curved into a faint, cold smile. "Much more generous than Danzo," he murmured.
For a moment, his mind conjured the plump figures of the Akimichi, their broad chests and round bellies. With this money in his hands, their image grew almost… cute.
His former angel investor, "Dora Danzo A Dream," as he mockingly thought of him, was already forgotten. Orochimaru had no qualms about replacing sponsors the way one replaced tools.
"Don't get too close," he whispered to the stacks of bills with ironic humor, "or the Akimichi might misunderstand my intentions."
He chuckled to himself and began tidying the suitcases away.
On his worktable lay a different set of experiments—glass jars and ceramic pots filled with creams, lotions, and masks. Skincare products, all crafted from medicinal herbs.
A spreadable face mask that tightened skin.
A sunscreen lotion to protect against harsh sun.
A moisturizing cream for daily use.
A silky body lotion to apply after bathing.
Unlike soldier pills, these were not made for ninja. They were crafted for wealthy women—ladies of merchant houses, noble wives, and refined courtesans who desired youth and beauty.
And Orochimaru, ever pragmatic, knew their vanity was the best market.
With advertising slogans like "Skincare, beauty, health benefits, anti-aging," these products would fly off the shelves. Wealthy women would gladly pay fortunes to preserve their youth, and Orochimaru would be the one to supply it.
He even imagined the adult scenes that might follow—lovers applying body lotion to one another, intimate evenings scented with herbs. In fact, he had already woven such imagery into his promotional books.
To ensure safety, his lotions were entirely natural. "Even if consumed in large quantities," he thought with a sly smile, "it will be beneficial… and perhaps even taste good."
He leaned back, eyes half-lidded. "Forbidden techniques, medical science, biotechnology… all of it requires funds. More and more funds."
Money was the fuel that allowed him to transform ambition into reality.
---
At the Nara Pharmacy, Nara Matsuka was speechless.
"These are… mine? Can I really accept them?" she asked, holding up the bottles and jars Orochimaru had handed her.
She unscrewed the lid of the spreadable face mask and inhaled the faint fragrance of medicinal herbs. Her eyes lit up immediately. For a woman who prized beauty, such products were irresistible.
Orochimaru's voice was polite but firm. "Matsuka-nee, this is a small thank-you for your help. I only ask one thing in return: please tell me your experience after using them. Any flaws, any improvements needed—I need to know."
Matsuka laughed softly. "Alright, I'll write down everything honestly."
She looked at Orochimaru, who, despite his small body, always spoke with the confidence of an adult. Her heart softened. Without thinking, she slipped off her gloves and reached out, intending to pat his head affectionately.
Bang!
Her hand touched only smoke.
"Shadow Clone?" she whispered, watching the puff of chakra disperse.
Could he have predicted that I would do this? She smiled mischievously. Next time, I'll caress it wholeheartedly.
---
Meanwhile, the real Orochimaru stood at the gate of the Senju residence, his face darkening as the memories of the clone returned.
As expected, Nara Matsuka had patted his head again. The sensation of being treated like a child—unbearable!
Tch!
He pressed the doorbell, and hurried footsteps followed.
"Who's there!" came a voice, sharp with impatience.
Orochimaru raised an eyebrow. Tsunade.
The door swung open, and Tsunade's small face peeked out, flushed crimson. Strips of paper were plastered across her cheeks like a fake beard.
When she saw Orochimaru, her expression transformed instantly, her eyes sparkling. "Orochimaru, you're here!"
"…What's this?" Orochimaru's eyes narrowed. The sight was self-explanatory.
"You're gambling with Grandma Mito again, aren't you, Tsunade?"
"Enough with the questions! Come help me win already!" Tsunade shouted, dragging him inside without explanation.
Orochimaru stumbled forward, dazed. He had not even agreed, yet here he was, enlisted as her reluctant partner in her eternal losing streak.
Perhaps, he thought with weary amusement, I should have checked the calendar before leaving the house.
---
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