Both of them knew that during this large continental war, the Hokage wouldn’t be changed.

It was a logical consensus that a strong leader had to remain in place, no matter what.

But the fact that Hiruzen would have to step down afterward was obvious, and not only to them, but to anyone with even a decent foresight.

However, past that, everything that Ryusei said was obviously not surface-level.

They were not insights you could just “pick up” randomly.

Meanwhile, internally, Ryusei knew he wasn’t giving Orochimaru all this precious advice out of kindness “for free”.

It was a deliberate move, part of the first fundamental strategy he had crafted against Hiruzen and the higher-ups.

The more divided and chaotic they became, the freer he would be to maneuver, to slip past their notice, and to climb higher.

Wasn’t Tsunade once one of Hiruzen’s firmest supporters?

Now she was gone, and if his long-term plans for her development bore fruit, she might even turn against him soon.

And Orochimaru?

That would make two out of three of Hiruzen’s direct disciples, those who should have been his strongest supporters, already “lost.”

Not merely neutral, but standing in opposition, with all their strength and influence turned against him.

That was why Ryusei didn’t hesitate to feed Orochimaru ideas and concepts, filling in the inadvertent gaps and misconceptions in his thinking.

Whether Orochimaru listened or not was his own problem, but Ryusei had already seen that he was the type who could accept valuable insight when it served him. For Ryusei, it was perfect.

It cost him nothing, yet in the future it would hammer the village’s upper echelons, while also laying the groundwork for the emergence of a Hokage who was the most “friendly” to him.

Ryusei, meanwhile, didn’t flinch at his last question, as he instantly prepared another answer.

His slit-eyed look sharpened, and he let the silence stretch before he answered, almost as though he was weighing the weight of his own words.

“Tell me, Orochimaru,” he said, voice even, “if you had to spend every second of your childhood with death hanging over your head, wouldn’t you learn the same? When every day was combing through scraps of knowledge, just to see if you could find one thing to latch onto and survive another day… wouldn’t you know all this too?”

He leaned forward slightly, that faint grin tugging at his lips. “In the end, it doesn’t matter if it’s jutsu, bloodlines, or the way people play at power. Everything becomes survival training. And if you’re the kind of person who refuses to die, you keep learning, and you keep piecing it together, until eventually…”

He let it hang there, as though daring Orochimaru to finish the thought.

Orochimaru’s tongue flicked out across his lips, the golden of his eyes gleaming with something sharp.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Inside, he recognized it; the clarity of desperation crystallized into wisdom.

That ruthless, unyielding way of thinking was something he had only seen in himself, in fragments, after decades of clawing through corpses and failures.

Yet here it was, in the eyes of a boy barely past adolescence.

A low chuckle slipped from his throat. “Fascinating…” he murmured, not quite hiding the weight in his tone. “So the fear of death forged you into this… It seems we are more alike than I first thought.”

But in his mind, Orochimaru was more than amused. He was impressed.

This wasn’t borrowed wisdom, nor rote memorization.

This was the kind of perspective that came only from walking too close to the edge, too many times, and surviving. It made Ryusei all the more dangerous, and all the more useful.

Eventually, Orochimaru chuckled low in his throat, the sound slipping into the air like a hiss.

He rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his uniform with that slow, deliberate elegance he always carried.

“Your words have given me much to think on,” he said, voice smooth, almost courteous. “I’ll see how far they can carry me. But don’t mistake me, Ryusei-kun, even if I plan to follow them, in the future, to an extent, I still can’t cast Danzo aside so easily. Not yet. For now, his usefulness remains… though I look forward to the day your worth outshines his completely. Then we won’t need him between us. We’ll walk as true allies, whether in politics or in other realms far above it.”

His golden eyes gleamed, and his smile curved into something sharper. “But for now, please focus on the matter at hand. Convince Tsunade as we agreed first. Without her, everything we discussed just now becomes meaningless, and it clearly won’t be optimal for both of us.”

Ryusei smirked faintly, unshaken. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve never failed to deliver when it mattered. You’ll see her strength on the field soon enough.”

Orochimaru studied him for a long heartbeat, then gave a thin nod before turning away.

His footsteps echoed lightly in the shrine as his pale form receded into the darkness.

Ryusei stayed seated, watching until the last trace of that serpent’s presence slipped away.

“This time,” he thought, the grin tugging at his lips, “I hope I created enough problems for the Hokage’s faction… and Minato.”

His eyes narrowed with amusement. “Orochimaru, whether you rise as Hokage and spit in the faces of all those hypocrites depends on you. But I sincerely hope you do.”

The memory flickered back, unbidden, the sting of Minato and Kushina dismissing him in that fuinjutsu shop. Only a few months had passed since then, and already he had moved pieces into place to cut off Minato’s road before the man even spread his wings.

The Flying Raijin wouldn’t save him if the train had already passed.

Ryusei laughed under his breath, shaking his head, then finally stood. Straightening his cloak, he left the shrine behind and set his steps back toward camp. Tsunade was waiting.

And convincing her, unlike Orochimaru, wouldn’t take half as much effort in his opinion.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep