Orochimaru still could not forget that day, six years ago.
In Year 48 of the Shinobi World Calendar, the Third Great Ninja War came to an end.
Konoha, besieged on all sides, paid a tragic price, yet finally achieved victory in that war.
But…
"What meaning is there?"
Orochimaru's thin lips moved silently, his calm gaze lifting slightly toward the front.
Lead-gray clouds had already covered the entire sky. The graveyard, already cold and desolate, now seemed even lonelier and more sorrowful. The crowd, like reeds bent under heavy rain, bowed their heads and sobbed, a dense mass of black umbrellas resembling a gathering of crows.
He stood within the dark crowd, staring at the old man at the very front.
That was his esteemed teacher, the Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen.
Hiruzen brushed away the rain on the tombstone. Perhaps moved by his gesture, grief spread like a tide through the crowd.
"..."
Orochimaru's gaze fell upon a child with a watermelon-shaped haircut.
He knew this child, often seeing him running laps around Konoha on his hands alongside his father, a lowly genin. In his memory, the two had always been foolishly optimistic and hot-blooded, indifferent to the mocking and impatient gazes of others.
But now…
This was the first time Orochimaru saw the child cry. Crying in such a stupid way, snot and tears mixing into a muddy mess across his face.
It was said that during a mission, this child had encountered the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist. His father, that so-called "useless" genin, had rushed to protect his son, covering his escape.
In the end, he had slain four of them single-handedly, while the other three escaped in disgrace, dragging their grievous wounds.
But that genin father died as a result.
And then there was that other child…
Orochimaru's snake-like pupils shifted, reflecting a delicate face.
The boy stood in the rain without an umbrella, soaked through.
His sobbing was hoarse and weak, only a low hissing sound as his shoulders trembled, like fabric being torn apart piece by piece.
But the tears did not stop, streaming in rivulets, mixing with the rain as they poured down his cheeks.
Hyūga Kumokawa.
Timid, cowardly, frail, known as the "failure" of the Hyūga clan. While others his age were already practicing Gentle Fist, he had not even awakened the Byakugan.
His father had not died on the battlefield. Instead, after carrying a grievously wounded Hyūga main-family member back to camp at the cost of nearly all his chakra, he was tortured to death by the clan elders through the Caged Bird Seal.
That man, back in the Second Shinobi War, had once earned merit under Orochimaru's command.
And these two children—how old were they?
Nine? Ten?
Heh.
So young, already thrown onto the battlefield. So young, and already stripped of their only family…
Orochimaru looked again at the old man leading the ceremony. A bolt of lightning split the clouds, dyeing the world in shades of gray and white.
The Hokage's hunched figure stretched into a ghastly shadow upon the ground, his grief-stricken face split starkly between light and dark.
Having survived two Shinobi Wars, Orochimaru suddenly felt a disgust so deep he nearly vomited.
These dead—what meaning did their lives hold?
Nothing had changed. Nothing at all.
When the crowd dispersed, only the silent tombstones remained.
Orochimaru stood before Nawaki's grave, a black umbrella shading him as he placed a white chrysanthemum upon the stone. Staring at the familiar name carved there, he felt no stir in his heart.
Sadness?
Anger?
Pity?
None of them.
But he was not calm.
Watching the raindrops slide from the umbrella's edge, sinking into the grooves of the epitaph, he felt a chill rising from deep within.
"Um… excuse me…"
A timid voice squeezed out from behind him.
Orochimaru came back to himself, turned instinctively toward the sound, and met a pair of pale white eyes.
His cold expression seemed to frighten the boy, who flinched and stepped back, but in the end held his ground.
"Y-your face… it looks unwell, so I thought…"
Under Orochimaru's stare, his voice grew smaller and smaller.
Looking down at Hyūga Kumokawa, Orochimaru realized he must have lingered too long at the grave. The child was worried for his physical and mental state.
Kind and timid.
Truly a failure.
That was Orochimaru's judgment. He said nothing, his expression cold as he turned to leave…
"Lord Orochimaru."
The voice halted him, against his own will.
"Do you know what the meaning of life is?"
Orochimaru narrowed his eyes slightly, turning back. The boy still looked timid, but lifted his head, bewildered as he said:
"My father often spoke of you before he died. He said you were Konoha's hero. I thought… someone like you must know many things…"
"There is no meaning."
Before he could finish, Orochimaru interrupted softly:
"Even if there is, it exists only while life endures.
The dead hold no meaning."
Yes—death was the truest equality. No matter what you had done, no matter what you had possessed, death stripped it all away.
Thinking of this, Orochimaru felt a bone-deep chill, colder even than the wind seeping through his collar.
His hand tightened on the umbrella until his knuckles turned white.
Yes. Dead.
Like blood disappearing into river.
Death meant losing everything.
He did not want to lose everything.
He wanted to possess everything.
So he would not die. He could not die.
"Lord Orochimaru," Kumokawa suddenly lifted his head. "Do you believe gods exist in this world?"
Orochimaru glanced at him, almost amused.
Just like how he mocked Jiraiya, who never stopped talking about a "Child of Prophecy" destined to change the world.
In Orochimaru's eyes, whether prophecy or gods, such things were illusions weak people clung to.
An all-knowing, all-powerful god did not exist. And if it did, it was nothing more than a stronger being.
"What if… what if such a god possessed eternal life?"
Seeing the mockery in Orochimaru's eyes, Kumokawa hastily explained:
"My father gave me a scroll and a body before he died. He said the scroll recorded secrets of the Hyūga clan, but I've never been able to open it. The body… it belonged to one of our ancestors. He said it neither lived nor died, only its soul had departed…"
Though Kumokawa's voice grew smaller, as if even he doubted his words, Orochimaru's pupils trembled.
In the shinobi world, no one knew more about the soul than he did.
To most, it was intangible, impossible to separate from the body.
But to him, obsessed with studying the essence of life, it was entirely possible.
And the Hyūga—one of the oldest clans in existence…
"..."
Staring at the boy, whose forehead was already beaded with cold sweat, Orochimaru strangely felt inclined to believe him.
Perhaps… it would not hurt to take a look?
The boy, head lowered, suddenly felt the rain above him stop, shadowed by an umbrella.
"Can you tell me why you're saying this to me?"
Kumokawa raised his head blankly, meeting Orochimaru's narrow eyes.
Orochimaru held the umbrella over him, crouching slightly so their eyes met.
"This must be a Hyūga clan secret, right? Why not tell the elders?" His pale face carried a faint smile, adding an unexpected charm.
"My father told me… if he died, I could use the scroll and body to trade with the clan for better treatment."
Kumokawa's timid face flushed slightly as he lowered his head. "But… I don't trust them. My father was killed by them."
His trembling voice carried a hint of resentment. Orochimaru glanced at the boy's clenched fists, surprised that he held even that much spirit.
"You want me to avenge you?" Orochimaru narrowed his eyes, smiling. "Aren't you afraid I'll tell the Hyūga elders?"
"I don't think you're that kind of person. And even if you did…" Kumokawa shook his head, lifting his gaze to Orochimaru.
"I wouldn't lose much.
Only myself."
"..."
Facing those resolute white eyes, Orochimaru fell briefly silent.
Then he suddenly smiled, placing a hand atop the boy's head.
Yes—living might not always hold meaning.
But only by living could one find interesting people and things.
Later, Kumokawa handed him the scroll and the body.
Orochimaru broke part of the seal, enough to read the first pages. There, he learned of the existence of the Ōtsutsuki clan at the dawn of the shinobi world.
Aliens or "celestial beings". Each born with overwhelming power, without the need for training. Using something called "Karma," they could reincarnate, transcending death itself.
They traveled in pairs to different worlds, planting the God Tree to devour all life on a planet.
The main family returned to their homeworld, while the branch remained behind to oversee the process, ensuring the God Tree bore its fruit.
And that soulless body in Orochimaru's possession was, according to the scroll, one such branch member.
He had spread chakra throughout the shinobi world, leaving descendants. The Hyūga clan.
Though Orochimaru had not yet broken the seals on the later sections, even this knowledge thrilled him.
Such intricate chakra pathways. Such a perfect body.
Compared to humans of the shinobi world, they were an entirely different species!
Eternal life was real. Physical bodies might perish, but the soul could exist forever.
If he could master the Ōtsutsuki secrets, one day, he too would understand all the truths of the world.
Six years passed since Orochimaru obtained that scroll and body.
In that time, he believed he had completely mastered Kumokawa. The boy looked at him with pure admiration.
He obeyed every experiment without complaint.
Even when asked to approach the Third, or to deliver messages to Shimura Danzō, he complied despite his fear.
And though he had little talent as a ninja, he displayed a rare curiosity and intuition in research. From trivial details, he often sparked inspiration in Orochimaru.
Such a thing was rare.
Even Tsunade, famed for her medical skills, saw medicine only as a tool for healing, never caring to probe the essence of life.
Because of this, Orochimaru even felt a faint kinship, reluctant to destroy the boy's soul.
But in the end, his greed for truth and immortality outweighed that fleeting recognition.
Until now.
Watching the boy suddenly strike, watching the corpse without its head, Orochimaru felt the scene surreal.
As if the past six years had all been an illusion.
"You…"
The surge of emotion shook even his calm heart, forcing out a foolish question.
"What are you doing?"
Kumokawa, however, only smiled.
"Thank you, Lord Orochimaru.
Just as you told me—true ignorance is not lacking knowledge, but refusing to learn."
"I want to tell you too: weakness and ignorance are not barriers to survival.
Arrogance is."
Yes. Out of arrogance, Orochimaru had never regarded a "failure," a mere child, as anything worth his attention.
Out of arrogance, he had focused only on the Ōtsutsuki corpse, ignoring all the anomalies before him.
After all, what could a timid child of ten do?
What could a failure without even the Byakugan accomplish?
Kumokawa was like a closed island.
Orochimaru saw only its unremarkable surface forest, never the bottomless swamp within.
Until things slipped from his control, waking him from his dream.
From beginning to end, it had never been Orochimaru who chose Kumokawa.
It was Kumokawa who had chosen him.
He, had been played by a child?
Realizing this, Orochimaru almost laughed in fury, a twisted grin spreading across his pale face.
"You think you can escape from me?"
The moment he spoke, Orochimaru vanished.
A suffocating killing intent burst forth, like an ice river shattering, a flood roaring forth from beneath.
Buzz!!
A sharp sound split the air—a sonic boom.
Too fast.
The kunai blurred, speed beyond perception.
Of course, even drained of chakra, Orochimaru was still far beyond him.
The manifested Ōtsutsuki body, born of thousands of "Truth Points," was still incomplete—bestowing talent, not strength.
Even so, Kumokawa's pale-blue eyes, reflecting the kunai's gleam, remained calm.
And to Orochimaru's shock, instead of dodging, he leaned into its edge.
Squelch!
Blood sprayed scarlet, flowing onto the ground.
The slash carved halfway through his neck, from vocal cords and throat to bone. Within seconds, blood would choke his lungs, fatal to any ordinary man.
"Just as I thought."
Kumokawa's smile remained, lips moving silently:
"Even now, you still can't bring yourself to pierce the heart?"
If so, then I've won.
Boom!
A deafening roar shook the room.
Orochimaru instinctively turned into the furious gaze of an old man.
"Orochimaru! What are you doing?!"
The enraged cry echoed.
Kumokawa slowly closed his eyes, collapsing onto the operating table, his final thought surfacing.
Heh. A caged-bird failure.
Fate truly gave me the worst "script."
But it doesn't matter.
I was born the best "actor."