Chapter 2 – What on Earth Are You Doing?!
The instant the words fell, Orochimaru's slit-pupiled eyes narrowed into two razor-thin lines.
At the same time, a flurry of information about the man standing before him flashed through his mind.
'Aizen Sōsuke…'
He'd been in the same class as Kakashi, but aside from having decent learning ability, his talent, physique, and background were all unremarkable. He graduated from the Academy at nine and entered Konoha Hospital as a medical-type genin.
During the Third Shinobi World War, he earned no particular military merit, surviving the meat grinder of the frontlines purely thanks to his role as a medic stationed in the rear. At twelve, he was promoted to chūnin.
When the war ended, he transitioned into research work, and a few years ago, thanks to pioneering studies in Yin Release-related bloodline techniques, he was promoted to jōnin.
Among his generation, that résumé might have been considered above average — but to someone like Orochimaru, it was painfully ordinary. Worse yet, he didn't even possess a bloodline limit, making him wholly unworthy of notice.
And yet… was that why he slipped past my attention until now?
Orochimaru's thoughts turned over like coiling snakes, but his expression betrayed only a flicker of curiosity.
"Just what are you?"
"A spy? A sleeper agent? A defector from some bloodline clan? Or…"
"A nameless little schemer with great ambition?"
A man with such an unremarkable past had no business pulling off what had just occurred — which could only mean he was someone like Kabuto, someone who had discovered his own extraordinary talents and perceptiveness from a young age, perhaps secretly cultivated, and had managed to hide from every watching eye.
Remarkable. Truly remarkable.
Orochimaru's eyelids lowered, and a trace of admiration flickered in his gaze — along with something far darker, far deadlier.
"I am but a nobody,"
Aizen replied, as if oblivious to the venom coiled within Orochimaru's stare. His tone was calm, polite.
"It's an honor that someone of your stature remembers my name."
"You discovered the Wood Release test subjects, guided my movements, blinded the ANBU and Root surveillance, and led me here…"
Orochimaru's voice was as smooth as a stroll through the park, even as he took slow, deliberate steps forward, closing the distance.
"A nobody couldn't have done all that."
"You give me too much credit,"
Aizen said with a faintly shy smile, like a young man modestly downplaying his accomplishments.
But Orochimaru ignored his words and continued, his tone quiet yet probing:
"When did it start?
The Wood Release test subjects I, a direct participant, failed to notice.
The information blackout on Root and ANBU.
The subtle steering of my actions.
The hunger for my research data — perhaps even more…"
The mere thought of the effort and concealment required to orchestrate it all sent a shiver of excitement down Orochimaru's spine. His curiosity, impossible to suppress, burned brighter and brighter until it became a dangerous thrill.
"From the very beginning."
The man before him smiled as if he were merely stating a fact.
"Your talent, your plans, your ambition… even your eventual failure — all of it was fated from the start, Lord Orochimaru."
He took a step forward of his own, matching Orochimaru's approach. His voice remained level, almost casual — but each word cut like a scalpel, slicing into the silence and laying bare what lay hidden beneath Orochimaru's skin:
"You are exactly as I thought — narrow-minded yet arrogant, passionate yet reclusive, relentless and utterly ruthless in pursuing your path."
"Which is why you followed your suspicions and impulses…"
"And came here in the end."
Orochimaru's pupils shrank at the unprecedented dissection of his character. The smile stretching across his pale face grew sharper, darker — a predator's grin.
And though anger flooded him, his voice only grew calmer.
"Then tell me, Aizen-kun…"
"If you are so skilled at plotting…"
He took one final step, his voice rising, each word a crashing wave building into a storm.
"…why would you dare stand before me?"
With that final note, his killing intent erupted — the terrible, suffocating presence befitting one of the Legendary Sannin, a being who stood at the very summit of the shinobi world.
The killing intent alone tore through the clearing like a hurricane, whipping up a violent gale. It rolled outward like a storm front, the oppressive bloodlust scouring the ancient trees, peeling bark from their trunks as if even the forest itself quailed in terror.
At the very center of that crushing gaze, Aizen Sōsuke's face came into razor-sharp focus.
Step by step, they closed the distance.
An unimaginable force slammed into the soft forest floor, blasting up a spray of dirt and shattered earth.
The rebound of that monstrous impact propelled his lean frame forward, skimming just above the ground — a blur too fast for the naked eye to follow.
Steel sang.
The hand resting at his hip drew its blade with a sharp, metallic chime.
The Kusanagi sword gleamed coldly in the moonlight, describing a perfect, deadly arc. It carried a violent gale in its wake, slicing the air with a faint sonic crack as it swung straight for the man's neck.
CLANG—!
The sound of metal clashing split the silence.
A spray of sparks illuminated the night.
The Kusanagi's edge halted abruptly — no more than an inch from Aizen's throat — caught fast by a single pitch-black kunai that refused to yield even an inch.
For the briefest moment, Orochimaru's slitted pupils widened in surprise.
Then came Aizen's voice, whispering at his ear like a blade of its own.
"Just as I told you,"
"Lord Orochimaru — you are far too arrogant."
The words had barely faded when a whip-like leg, black as a flash of lightning, smashed into Orochimaru's waist. His body bent double under the blow, bones audibly snapping as he was hurled through the air.
Before he could even rise, the chipped kunai followed — screaming through the wind, aimed straight for his face.
At the last possible instant, Orochimaru's head snapped aside, bending at an unnatural right angle.
Thunk.
The kunai buried itself to the hilt in the tree behind him.
But its thrower was already upon him.
A straight punch followed, carrying crushing weight. Orochimaru barely managed to cross his arms in time to block. The impact rang out like stone cracking, and for the first time in years, even his endlessly modified body felt pain.
But that pale face only lit up with growing excitement.
Not bad.
In a flash, his grip on the Kusanagi reversed, the blade swinging forward in a close-quarters slash.
The sound of tearing silk split the night, forcing the young man back half a step. Before he could recover, Orochimaru's other arm elongated with terrifying speed, his hooked fingers latching onto Aizen's shoulder.
Caught off guard, the young man was ripped off his footing, his entire body whipped into the air like a ragdoll. Orochimaru swung him in a brutal, lethal arc —
— only for a kunai to stab straight into the center of his extended arm, severing tendons. The grip instantly slackened, and Aizen twisted free, flipping midair to plant both feet on the trunk of a tree.
He pushed off.
In a blink, he became an arrow loosed from the bowstring — closing in again.
Clang!
Kunai and Kusanagi collided once more, sparks showering the forest floor.
In the dim moonlight, their gazes met for the briefest heartbeat.
Both men smiled.
Then came the storm.
A storm of steel and wind, of blows traded so fast they blurred together. The sounds of their clash rolled through the forest like endless thunder. Their figures twisted and shifted, faster than most eyes could follow.
For Orochimaru, this was bliss.
This was a battle — a real battle — one that dragged out the bloodlust he had buried deep for years. It was as though he had returned to the battlefield of the Third Shinobi World War, surrounded by foes who fought to the death.
Speed.
Strength.
Reflexes.
Technique.
Everything about this opponent thrilled him.
To possess such power at such a young age — just what kind of secret was hidden inside this man's body?
The thought alone made Orochimaru's pupils blaze with greed.
It made him want more.
His blade swung faster, his strikes heavier, the wind shrieking as the sword carved through the space between them.
Ancient trees exploded under stray blows, bark splitting open in savage scars. The very earth was torn and uprooted as though two wild beasts were locked in a death struggle, tearing apart the forest itself.
Far away, in the monitoring room, the others could only stare.
…
Kabuto Yakushi remained frozen, his head tilted back, his hand pressed white-knuckled on the emergency button linked to Orochimaru's headset. He had been pressing it for what felt like an eternity — and there had been no response.
The man on the screen continued to fight as though lost in a trance, clashing with Orochimaru again and again.
Almost without realizing it, a whisper escaped Kabuto's lips — disbelieving, horrified:
"Lord Orochimaru…"
"What on earth are you doing?!"