Orochimaru agreed to the southeast mission with deceptive ease, and Ryusei grinned inwardly.

This was exactly why he had dangled the Sharingan prematurely, while he didn’t even have a proper plan on how exactly to acquire it yet.

Yet, it was enough to excite Orochimaru.

After all, no matter how cordial their relationship might appear on the surface, he knew precisely what Orochimaru was at his core.

A man who had severed ties with humanity long ago.

Who saw bodies as vessels, people as tools, experiments as amusements.

A man capable of compassion one moment and cruelty the next, an ally today and an enemy tomorrow.

Unpredictable, elusive, always hiding the true hunger behind his smile.

Some in his old world, fans reading the story, or even characters within this one, like Jiraiya or Hiruzen, had tried to explain Orochimaru with low-effort logic.

A tragic figure, they said.

A boy who lost his parents too early, whose heart curdled after Nawaki’s death, who strayed because his teacher denied him in favor of outsiders like Minato.

They thought pain alone had made the monster.

Ryusei scoffed at that kind of reasoning. Pain didn’t create ambition or cruelty; it only sharpened what was already there.

Thousands in this world had lost their parents, their siblings, their clans. Most did not become Orochimaru.

The truth was simpler, colder. Orochimaru’s nature had always been there, sleeping beneath the skin.

Each ‘milestone’, his parents’ death, Nawaki’s death, endless wars, Minato’s rise over him, only peeled away another layer of disguise.

It was no coincidence that the serpents of Ryūchi Cave chose him.

Just as toads had chosen Jiraiya and Naruto, for example, the snakes had recognized in Orochimaru a mirror of their own essence.

What did snakes traditionally represent after all?

Immortality, rebirth, and infinity. Shedding skin = renewal, freedom from time.

Orochimaru embodied this symbolism perfectly: constant reinvention, endless survival.

Unrelenting, undying. Creepy, twisted, relentless.

The difference was that he lacked the strength to claim their full power. 

And Ryusei, for all his caution, couldn’t help but feel a sliver of recognition.

Perhaps he, too, had been born with a piece of that same disposition.

Not only in their general view of human life, but in their unyielding, relentless mindsets as well.

Maybe that was why Orochimaru hadn’t bothered to ‘test’ him the way he once did with Sasuke in the original story.

There had been no trial period before the acknowledgement.

Instead, they had simply ‘clicked’, as if recognizing something familiar in each other from the start.

Meanwhile, Orochimaru reasoned that it was still worth agreeing if it brought him closer to the Sharingan.

After all, he had already coaxed a sample of Hashirama’s cells from Danzo in the last three months, ahead of the plans, then cultivated them and begun laying the groundwork for his first proto-experiments here.

What was given cannot be taken away from him easily, anyhow.

In that light, Danzo’s value had already dipped.

The only real reason Orochimaru still tolerated him was because Danzo could smooth the path to the Hokage’s seat.

But even that crown was losing its shine.

Why had he wanted to become Hokage? For resources, access, legitimacy, and tools to push his research deeper.

For the secret kind of information, the kind of information he already got from the Ryusei already for example.

After what Ryusei had revealed months ago, and what Orochimaru had quietly partially already verified since, through his own ways, he realized the title wasn’t that essential.

Hokage was always just one possible route, for him, not the destination.

What mattered now was the other half of that ultimate bloodline Ryusei spoke of: a high-quality Sharingan, and with it Uchiha DNA.

With Senju and Uchiha united in his grasp, the door to the gods’ dōjutsu, the Rinnegan, would stand open.

He had already begun to dream of awakening it himself.

Danzo, for all his reach, hadn’t delivered so much as a single ordinary Sharingan already, even with Root slithering across every battlefield.

The Uchiha’s wariness of him and his organization was extreme, which explained why no opportunity had arisen, even though the clan lacked anything like the Hyūga’s cursed seal to protect their eyes. The fact spoke volumes for him.

Orochimaru, however, had his own logistics in place now fully, so if he didn’t need to move again due to a Kumo attack, Danzo’s value dropped again.

Their partnership, sharing research, resources, logistics, positions, and presenting results to Hiruzen for more funding, had been useful, yes.

The Hokage plan tied them together further.

But in truth, the possibility of obtaining a single Sharingan was increasingly worth more to Orochimaru than the entire agreement, and Danzo looked like he would fail on that test.

And strangely enough, he trusted Ryusei’s schemes more than Danzo’s entire apparatus.

Ryusei obviously didn’t have Root’s manpower, yes, but he also had something subtler.

Orochimaru had read the intelligence reports from Root itself about him: the boy had a curious relationship with the Uchiha’s brightest rising star on the battlefield, heir-apparent to the hardliner faction strong enough to rival the clan patriarch.

If Ryusei meant to use that connection to pry loose a Sharingan in some unconventional kind of way, that was very typical of him… then it might really succeed where Danzo had failed for all these years, even before Orochimaru’s recent urgings.

Orochimaru let out a low chuckle, the sound curling like smoke. “You’d better bring me something that even I wouldn’t expect. In that case, whatever you want in trade, if it’s in my reach, it won’t be out of the question. But, remember, Danzo… he isn’t so easily cast aside.”

His golden eyes narrowed playfully, but there was an edge of warning there.

Ryusei smirked faintly, tilting his head. “You give him too much credit. Danzo isn’t nearly as useful as you think. Even if you want the Hokage’s seat, he can be circumvented entirely.”

Orochimaru’s brows rose slightly. “Oh? And here I thought you were wise enough not to underestimate him.”

“I’m not underestimating him,” Ryusei said smoothly. “I’m putting him where he belongs, in the shadows, where he has influence, but never legitimacy. The Hokage isn’t chosen among shadow ops circles. Not really. It’s decided, in the open, by fame, by reputation, and by the core circle you build around yourself. A man’s own faction, that’s the true foundation. Without it, you’re just a puppet dancing on another’s strings.”

Orochimaru’s tongue flicked briefly across his lips, thoughtful.

Ryusei pressed on, voice calm but steady. “Right now, you’re tied too closely to Danzo. Both in reality and in people’s perception. If you became Hokage like this, everyone would assume you were under his thumb, even if you truly weren’t. At best, you’d look weak, even if you somehow circumvent that control. At worst, on top of it, you’d be hated by association. Danzo is the most despised figure in Konoha because of his business. Do you really want to wear that chain around your neck?”

Orochimaru’s smile twitched, sharp and humorless.

“Chains can be useful if you’re the one holding them.”

“Chains also drag you down,” Ryusei countered evenly. “You’re younger, stronger, and in your prime. You have Kage-level power and potential and more promise than Danzo ever had. Why not strip him piece by piece? Poach the majority of the Root directly. You’re already halfway there, if I might guess.”

Orochimaru tilted his head, intrigued. “Poach the entire Root? More than I already have?”

“Why not?” Ryusei spread his hands. “Root shinobi are conditioned to be tools. So treat them like tools, but give them something Danzo never will. A taste of freedom. A sliver of status. The promise of rising higher if they serve well. Keep the leash, but change the flavor. They’ll flock to you. And if you earn great merit here, if you stand shoulder to shoulder with Tsunade and crush Kumo’s elites, your face alone will outshine his. Why would anyone cling to Danzo’s gloom when they could follow someone who actually wins? So, Danzo is your rival in a sense, because his organization is actually the most logical source of subordinates you might have, alongside perhaps those regular shinobi on this front that would witness your achievements.”

Orochimaru let out a soft, sibilant laugh, his shoulders shaking.

“And here I thought I was the manipulator.” His eyes gleamed as he studied the boy before him. “You’re telling me to become… more like Hiruzen.”

Ryusei smiled faintly. “In a way. Hiruzen’s greatest weapon wasn’t his jutsu. It was his image. The sanctimonious old sage, patient and benevolent. Everyone trusted him, admired him, even those he betrayed. That’s why he held power so long. That’s why no one dared to challenge him openly.”

Orochimaru’s smile thinned, a flicker of bitterness passing through.

“And yet he denied me. Pushed Minato forward instead. My… dear sensei.”

“Exactly,” Ryusei said. “He cultivated that appearance carefully, but he still chose. And it wasn’t you. If you want to surpass him, you’ll have to do what he did, but better. You already have what he never did. Intelligence sharper than most alive. The fluid mind to adapt, to twist every situation in your favor. But you look down too much, Orochimaru. For example, there are rumors that you dismiss the lower ranks as ants. You sneer too openly. No one likes a man who looks like he’s hiding poison behind his smile and looks like he has some darker ulterior motives constantly up his sleeve.”

For once, Orochimaru didn’t retort immediately.

He sat back, golden eyes unblinking, studying the boy like some rare specimen.

A slow, fascinated grin crept across his face.

“Perhaps I underestimated you, Ryusei-kun,” he murmured. “Not in strength or shinobi talent, but in… vision. Political vision. You’re right. My sensei’s mask kept him in power far longer than his jutsu. And perhaps I’ve been too eager to discard such masks before, I admit that. You really opened my eyes a little with this.”

His smile curved sharply. “But tell me… where does a boy your age learn to see the world so clearly? To speak of people, of factions, of power, as though you’ve lived through decades of it?” The question hung in the air, genuine curiosity woven through the hiss of his own voice.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep