Chapter 44: Recognition and Return
Inside the Indigo Painting Studio.
It was the first time Aizen had ever received a guest who came seeking conversation of their own accord.
For once, he didn't maintain his usual air of distant civility. Instead, he welcomed his visitor warmly, arranging a modest table filled with side dishes and tea.
Outside, Tsunade, Kato Dan, and Hatake Sakumo waited in the courtyard. Only Orochimaru was granted entry into the writing room to speak with Aizen directly. Yet none of the three outside seemed upset. After all, Orochimaru was the one who had first taken the initiative to approach Aizen Sosuke.
"Contacting Aizen"—the phrase itself carried a kind of weight. From the common villagers to the Hokage and even the village elders, it seemed that anyone could talk with Aizen. But they all knew the truth: what they were speaking to wasn't him—it was the version of Aizen that he allowed them to see.
A reflection of their ideal.
Not the man himself.
Orochimaru, however, sought more than reflection. He sought understanding. He wanted to see the true Aizen—the shadow behind the light.
To Tsunade and Kato Dan, this made him a man who had already abandoned the Will of Fire. To them, Orochimaru had become a potential traitor, just like Aizen.
But in the current state of Konoha, no one seemed particularly interested in questioning that anymore.
After her separation from Kato, Tsunade herself had grown disillusioned. She no longer pursued the ideals she once held dear. Instead, she drifted into small, quiet hobbies that helped her forget her hemophobia and the burden of loss.
At this moment, she, Kato, and Hatake Sakumo were crouched by a small pond, watching as Sakumo tossed breadcrumbs into the water and teased the koi.
They didn't speak. They didn't move. They simply existed in a fragile peace.
If they didn't want to face the strangeness of Aizen and Orochimaru's meeting, they could simply choose not to see it.
The shinobi world had always been like this—when faced with the unknown, people either turned a blind eye or stared blankly, unable to comprehend what they saw.
Aizen was both of those things combined.
---
In contrast, Orochimaru sat across from him in silence, struggling to comprehend what he had just heard.
"Life and death… are an illusion?" he repeated slowly, his golden eyes narrowing.
Aizen smiled faintly, pouring another cup of tea. "Yes, I believe so."
"Because the concepts of life and death are definitions, not absolutes. With the technology and knowledge available today, the line between them is blurred beyond recognition. You of all people should understand this."
He set his cup down gently, his tone calm and almost indulgent.
"So tell me, Orochimaru—are you chasing immortality… or truth?"
Orochimaru's breath caught.
"If immortality is all you seek, there are countless ways to achieve it," Aizen continued. "If you abandon your narrow definitions, you'll see them everywhere. Spirit-transfer techniques that preserve memories and consciousness. Reincarnation methods that merge chakra and will into the natural order. Rituals that shed the body but preserve the mind. Even techniques that transform the soul into a new vessel entirely."
He leaned back slightly, his expression serene.
"For people like us, a narrow understanding of life and death is meaningless. We are researchers—scientists, in a way. Tell me, can a cluster of cells that replicates infinitely but lacks awareness be considered alive? Or can a sentient existence without a physical body truly be called dead? Life and death are not truth—they're moral illusions, built to comfort the ignorant."
His words flowed like silk—gentle, dangerous, intoxicating.
"Ordinary people cannot accept the death of those they love," Aizen went on. "They fear what they can't recall, what they can't reach. So they created this moral divide—this false boundary—to protect their hearts."
He raised his eyes, his smile deepening.
"But for us, is that really the case?"
Orochimaru said nothing. He could feel the conflict twisting inside him.
Morally, he should have condemned such heresy.
And yet… deep down, he agreed.
The question of life and death had haunted him ever since he'd first learned of the Impure World Reincarnation technique—Tobirama's forbidden creation.
As one of the Legendary Sannin, Orochimaru had long been granted access to countless sealing scrolls and secret arts. Among them, none disturbed him more than that jutsu.
To summon the souls of the dead from the Pure Land, binding them into vessels of flesh or clay—to make them move again, to think again… was that truly resurrection? Were they alive—or still dead?
The world said the dead should not be disturbed. But was binding a soul truly more sacrilegious than the endless wars that fed the dead with new corpses every day?
The Impure World Reincarnation brought forth the dead as they once were—mind, power, and memory intact. They could even be released willingly by their summoner.
When combined with Kato Dan's Spirit Transformation Technique, the implications became even greater. Orochimaru realized, perhaps for the first time, that the very essence of a soul could be rewritten.
And now, as he listened to Aizen's calm explanation, the pieces fell into place.
Life and death—these words were nothing but illusions. A deception of language and belief.
For researchers like them, the question was no longer what is life? or what is death?
It was—who gets to decide?
---
Aizen poured another cup of tea, the faint aroma of the leaves mingling with ink and silence within the studio.
"Objectively speaking," Aizen began softly, his tone as calm as ever, "life and death in this world are merely the separation of soul and vessel. The body decays, the soul drifts, and people call that death. But to us—"
He looked up, eyes glinting beneath the lamplight.
"—it is simply another form of transformation."
He paused, then added, "But has the will truly dissipated? I don't think so. Reincarnation is already a natural law. So tell me—can the shift from one state to another truly be called death?"
A faint smile crossed his lips. "In some ways, if viewed from a higher perspective, it's much like a butterfly. Breaking free from its cocoon, it soars into the sky—something a larva could never imagine."
Orochimaru lowered his gaze, his expression dark with contemplation. Aizen's eyes softened slightly; a rare flicker of approval appeared in them.
"If you look beyond the human definition of life and death," Aizen continued, "you'll discover that what people call 'death' may actually be a transformation—from chrysalis to butterfly. We cannot deny the existence of the Pure Land, but we know nothing of it. It's like an insect trying to comprehend the flight of a butterfly."
He leaned forward slightly. "So, I ask you again—are you pursuing immortality for its own sake, or are you seeking a greater truth? If it's the former, then you need only shed your body and your definition of life to find what you call eternity. It's a convenient path… but I don't think you're that shallow."
Aizen's voice remained gentle, almost fatherly. "Life and death are terrifying only because people fear what they do not understand. Once you realize that death is not a crisis, not a danger, then your true thoughts will surface."
He placed his cup down. "So tell me, Orochimaru-kun. What is your truest desire? I believe you already know the answer."
"…Thank you for clearing my confusion, Aizen-san."
Orochimaru's tone carried genuine respect.
If not for the undeniable proof before him, he would have dismissed Aizen's words as empty heresy. But the evidence was there—undeniable and absolute.
The deceased Kato Dan stood once more, body and soul intact. The same with Hatake Sakumo.
Both appeared no different from living shinobi. Their bodies, their souls—their very essence—were whole. Orochimaru could even sense that their strength surpassed what they once possessed in life.
Aizen's countless research reports corroborated the phenomenon perfectly. His theories were flawless. His techniques could strengthen souls, pull them from the Pure Land, and anchor them again within the mortal plane.
When combined with Orochimaru's own experiments, the truth became evident.
His anguish—his doubts, his obsession with mortality—had always been the illusion of a limited mind.
From a higher perspective, the suffering of humans was just the growing pain of a species still evolving.
Now, unbound by fear, Orochimaru's imagination surged. The paths to immortality unfolded endlessly before him.
Previously, he had rejected each one for fear of losing the self—of facing an existential void. But now, he understood. Humanity itself was a life form caught in metamorphosis. True maturity, perhaps, was the very essence of the Pure Land.
Souls that emerged from that realm bore boundless chakra, perfect memory, sharpened intellect, and bodies refined to their peak. From any perspective, they were the perfected form of existence.
Yet Orochimaru didn't want to arrive there. He wanted to understand it.
"What I seek," he said quietly, "is the truth of this world. I wish to study more."
"Then we are companions, Orochimaru-kun."
Aizen's expression softened into a knowing smile.
"I know you have your own path. I won't recruit you as a subordinate. Let's simply share knowledge and exchange insights when the time comes."
"Oh?" Orochimaru arched a brow. "You're not going to recruit me? I thought you'd be eager to."
"Of course not," Aizen said, amused.
"A genius cannot exist beneath another. If guided by mediocrity, a genius is shackled. And if guided by another genius, they are fated to live in his shadow. Only under unobstructed sunlight can a true sapling grow."
He smiled faintly. "So I won't recruit you. This is my acknowledgment of you."
"…I'm honored, Aizen."
The two shared a glance—and, for once, their smiles were genuine.
In that fleeting moment, there was mutual understanding. They walked the same path, even if their destinations differed.
Aizen had walked farther, yes—but Orochimaru would not remain behind forever.
Guided geniuses often wither into reflections of their masters. But those who bloom in the wild—unrestrained—create colors never seen before.
Orochimaru watched Aizen's serene smile, a thousand emotions stirring within him.
Before he could speak, a sudden pulse of energy rippled through the air.
Every heart in the room seemed to skip a beat.
They turned their gaze upward instinctively.
A blinding white light tore through the sky.
Aizen rose from his seat, his smile widening as he looked through the window.
"…He's returned—looking rather divine, hasn't he, Kagami?"
He closed his eyes briefly, his tone filled with quiet satisfaction.
"I'm relieved."
Above, descending through the gray clouds, stood a figure clothed in radiant white—his very presence like that of a god.
Aizen's expression softened, his lips curving into a smile that was equal parts pride and anticipation.
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