Even now, Orochimaru couldn't forget that day, two years ago.
It was Year 48 of the Shinobi World Calendar. The Third Great Ninja War had finally come to a brutal, grinding halt.
Konoha, besieged on all sides, had clawed its way to a pyrrhic victory—bathed in blood, loss, and the ghost of triumph.
But…
"What was the point?"
Orochimaru's pale, thin lips moved soundlessly as he muttered to himself, his gaze calm and hollow as it stared straight ahead.
The sky was choked with leaden clouds, casting a gray pall over the graveyard. Already bleak, the atmosphere now felt utterly desolate. Mourners, bowed like reeds in a storm, sobbed quietly beneath a swarm of black umbrellas that looked like a murder of crows had gathered to mourn.
Standing among the dark-clad crowd, Orochimaru's eyes lingered on the old man at the front.
His once-beloved teacher—Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage.
The elderly Hokage was gently wiping rain off a gravestone with his hand. Something about the gesture stirred a collective sorrow, rippling silently through the mourners.
"…"
Orochimaru's attention drifted to the side, to a boy with a bowl-cut and tear-streaked face.
He recognized the kid. He'd often seen the boy and his low-ranking ninja father running laps around Konoha on their hands—yes, their hands—cheerfully yelling about youth and determination, utterly oblivious to the annoyed, bewildered stares of everyone else.
But today…
Today was the first time Orochimaru had seen the boy cry. And not just any crying—this was ugly, snot-and-tears-mixing-into-a-mudslide-on-your-face kind of crying.
Word had it the kid had encountered the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist during a mission. His father—infamously branded as a "useless Genin"—had appeared at the last moment, shielding his son.
Somehow, the man had single-handedly killed four of them. The other three fled, dragging their mangled bodies behind them.
And the father? Dead.
Then there was another child…
Orochimaru's snake-like pupils shifted to a skinny boy standing nearby, unmoving as rain soaked him to the bone.
He wasn't even crying properly—just making a hoarse, wheezing sound, shoulders trembling like a broken puppet. But the tears kept falling, silent streams mixing with the rain, as if the skies themselves wept for him.
Hyuga Unkawa. Timid. Frail. A known weakling even among the Hyuga clan. While other children his age had already started practicing Gentle Fist techniques, he hadn't even awakened his Byakugan. Within the clan, he was the poster child for the word failure.
And unlike the other boy's father, Unkawa's father hadn't died in glory on the battlefield. No—after carrying a wounded member of the main family back to base, nearly drained of chakra, he'd been punished. Killed by the cursed seal known as Caged Bird, at the command of the clan elders.
Ironically, the man had once fought under Orochimaru during the Second Great Ninja War and had earned his praise.
How old were these two kids again?
Twelve?
Heh.
Twelve years old—sent to war.
Twelve years old—branded with the Caged Bird Seal.
Twelve years old—and already orphans.
Another flash of lightning cracked across the sky. Thunder rolled like judgment. Orochimaru's gaze returned to the hunchbacked figure of Hiruzen Sarutobi.
A flash of white split the world in two—light and shadow, compassion and cruelty, reflected on the Third's aged face.
In that moment, something ancient and bitter twisted in Orochimaru's gut. The nausea clawed up his throat, almost gagging him.
All these dead.
All these sacrifices.
And for what?
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Even after the crowd dispersed and the rain thinned to a whisper, the graveyard remained silent.
Orochimaru stood alone before a gravestone marked Kushina's Tree—a code name, a memory, a tomb. He placed a white chrysanthemum at its base. Despite the familiarity of the name etched into the stone, he felt…nothing.
No grief. No anger. No pity.
Just…emptiness.
And fear.
He watched the rain drip from the edge of his umbrella, sliding down the grooves of the engraved stone, disappearing into its crevices.
There it was—the cold claw of true fear. Not the kind that grips your heart during battle. The kind that creeps up on you when you realize something fundamental:
Death takes everything.
Then—
"A-Ano…"
A timid voice called out from behind him, barely more than a rasp pushed from a nervous throat.
Orochimaru turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing as they met a pair of pale white Byakugan.
Unkawa flinched, visibly shaken by the coldness in Orochimaru's gaze, but to the boy's credit—he didn't run.
"I-I noticed you didn't look well, so… I thought maybe…"
The words trailed off under the weight of Orochimaru's stare.
He recognized what was happening. The kid wasn't trying to be brave—he was just worried. Worried about the strange man who'd been standing in the rain, unmoving, for far too long.
Kind. Timid.
A failure.
Orochimaru came to that conclusion instantly. He had no intention of entertaining the boy further. With a blank expression, he turned to leave.
"Lord Orochimaru."
The voice stopped him cold. For reasons even he couldn't explain, he paused.
"Do you… do you know what the meaning of life is?"
Orochimaru turned back slowly, intrigued despite himself.
The boy's head was tilted upward, lips trembling.
"My father used to say you were a hero of Konoha. I thought… someone like you must know things. Important things."
"There is no meaning," Orochimaru said simply, cutting off the boy's hopeful rambling. "And if there is, it only exists while one is alive."
"The dead have no meaning."
Death is the ultimate equalizer. No matter who you are or what you've done—once you're dead, you're nothing.
A deeper chill settled in Orochimaru's bones. The icy wind crept under his collar, clawing down his spine. His grip tightened on the umbrella handle until his knuckles turned white.
He couldn't die.
He wouldn't die.
He refused to become nothing.
Then—
"Lord Orochimaru," Unkawa said suddenly, lifting his head. "Do you… do you believe in gods?"
That drew a short, almost incredulous laugh from Orochimaru.
Gods?
He had the same opinion of that word as he did of Jiraiya's insufferable talk about some "Child of Prophecy."
To Orochimaru, gods were just fairy tales whispered by the weak to comfort themselves.
Even if such a being existed, it was just a stronger creature—nothing more.
"But what if…" Unkawa continued, trying not to flinch under Orochimaru's gaze. "What if it… lives forever?"
The boy fumbled, rushing to explain, "My father left me a scroll—and a… a body. He said the scroll contained a secret of the Hyuga Clan. I've never been able to open it, but the body… he said it belonged to one of our ancestors. One that never died. Not really. Its soul left, but the body remains. Waiting."
The boy's voice grew softer with each word, almost as if even he didn't believe what he was saying.
But Orochimaru's eyes… they widened, just a fraction.
He, more than anyone, understood the elusive nature of the soul.
To most, the soul was intangible—mythical. But to someone obsessed with life's mechanics, it was a question of when, not if.
And the Hyuga were one of the oldest clans in existence.
He stared at the boy, now drenched in cold sweat.
Was it worth looking into?
...Why not?
Suddenly, Unkawa felt a shadow fall over him. He looked up.
Rain no longer touched him.
Orochimaru was standing in front of him, umbrella tilted overhead.
"Why," the man asked softly, crouching slightly to meet the boy at eye level, "did you tell me all this?"
Unkawa blinked, then looked down again.
"My father said… if he died, I could trade the scroll and the body to the clan elders for a better life."
He hesitated.
"But I don't trust them. They killed him."
His fists clenched at his sides, trembling.
Orochimaru's eyes flicked to the boy's hands—tight, small, yet trembling with genuine anger.
So, the pale man mused, even this little mouse has a trace of venom in his bite.
Interesting.
"You want me to help you get revenge?" Orochimaru narrowed his eyes and smiled. "Aren't you afraid I'll tell the Hyuga clan about this?"
"I don't think someone like you would," Hyuga Unkawa said quietly, slowly shaking his head. "And even if you did…" He looked up at Orochimaru, voice calm. "I wouldn't lose much."
"Just myself."
"…" Faced with those resolute, pale eyes, Orochimaru fell silent.
Moments later, he chuckled and placed a hand atop Unkawa's head.
Of course—life might not always hold meaning. But to live… is the only way to encounter fascinating people and things.
Later, Unkawa handed over the scroll and the body to Orochimaru.
Orochimaru managed to partially decipher the sealing techniques on the scroll and, through the first few pages, discovered an astonishing truth—the existence of the Otsutsuki clan, beings from beyond the stars.
They were celestial beings, born with immense power. Unlike the people of the shinobi world, they had no need to cultivate chakra. Through the use of something called a "Karma" seal, they could resurrect themselves, transcending death.
They traveled in pairs across the cosmos, with one goal—to plant the divine tree, which would devour all life on a planet to bear its fruit.
The "Main Family" would return to their homeworld, while the "Branch Family" remained behind to watch over the divine tree's growth and ensure the fruit ripened.
According to the scroll, the soulless body Unkawa had provided belonged to one such "Branch Family" member.
He had passed down chakra to the shinobi world, and even left behind descendants—what we now know as the Hyuga clan.
Why he abandoned his body remained a mystery, sealed away in the latter part of the scroll. But even this fragment of truth was enough to send a thrill through Orochimaru's body.
Such refined chakra pathways, such a perfect vessel—it was a being entirely distinct from humanity.
Eternal life wasn't just a fantasy. Everything material may perish, but the soul… the soul could persist forever.
As long as he could uncover the mysteries of the Otsutsuki, he would one day understand all the truths of this world.
Three years had passed since Orochimaru received the scroll and the body.
In that time, Orochimaru believed he had completely mastered Unkawa. The boy now looked at him with nothing but admiration.
He cooperated with every experiment without complaint.
Even when sent to get close to the Third Hokage or pass messages to Danzo in the Root division, he obeyed despite his fear.
What's more—Orochimaru discovered that while Unkawa lacked ninja talent, he possessed a peculiar instinct and curiosity when it came to research. He often made casual observations that unexpectedly sparked inspiration.
Such minds were rare.
Even Tsunade, hailed as a miracle healer, only saw medicine and ninjutsu as tools to save lives. She had no interest in the true nature of life itself.
For this reason, Orochimaru developed a strange sense of kinship with the boy. At times, he even hesitated to destroy Unkawa's soul.
But in the end, his greed for truth and immortality won out.
Until now.
Seeing the boy strike without warning—staring at the now-headless corpse—Orochimaru felt as if reality itself had twisted.
These three years… had it all been a dream?
"You…"
Overwhelmed by a rare surge of emotion, Orochimaru—always calm and calculating—blurted out a foolish question.
"What are you doing?"
Luckily, Unkawa seemed to understand what he really meant. He smiled faintly.
"Thank you, Lord Orochimaru."
"Like you once told me—true ignorance isn't the lack of knowledge, but the refusal to acquire it."
"And I want you to know—weakness and ignorance aren't the obstacles to survival."
"Arrogance is."
Yes. Because of his arrogance, Orochimaru never saw this "failure"—this timid fifteen-year-old—as a threat.
Because of that arrogance, he focused only on the Otsutsuki "husk," ignoring the many anomalies unfolding right before his eyes.
After all, what could a cowardly child do?
What could a Hyuga born without even the Byakugan possibly accomplish?
Unkawa had been like an island sealed off from the world. Orochimaru saw only the quiet forest at its edge, never the still, fathomless swamp hidden within.
Only now, when everything spiraled out of control, did Orochimaru awaken to the truth.
He had never chosen Hyuga Unkawa.
Hyuga Unkawa had chosen him.
He'd been played—by a kid.
Realizing this, Orochimaru let out a breathless laugh, fury twisting his pale face into a grotesque smile.
"You really think you can escape from me?"
The words had barely left his lips when Orochimaru vanished from sight.
An overwhelming killing intent burst forth like ice cracking on a frozen river, unleashing a flood of lethal force that had long been building beneath the surface.
Buzz!
A sharp sound split the air—the shriek of a kunai breaking the sound barrier.
Too fast.
The kunai blurred into a streak of deadly silver, its speed defying perception.
Indeed, even with his chakra nearly depleted, Orochimaru was still far beyond what Unkawa could handle now.
The Otsutsuki body Unkawa had manifested with thousands of "Reality points" was ultimately incomplete. It granted him tremendous talent—but not true power.
And yet, though the kunai's deadly glint reflected in his blue-and-white eyes, Unkawa showed no fear.
He didn't dodge.
Instead—he stepped forward to meet the blade.
Shnk!
Blood sprayed through the air, splashing against the floor with a sickening splatter.
The kunai had sliced halfway through Unkawa's neck—cutting into his vocal cords, his trachea, even his spine. The damage was catastrophic. A normal person would be dead in seconds.
"Just as I thought," Unkawa mouthed silently, still smiling, blood trickling from his lips as he looked into Orochimaru's eyes.
"Even now… you still couldn't bring yourself to aim for the heart."
Which means—I win.
Boom!
A deafening crash rang out. Orochimaru instinctively turned.
Behind him stood an enraged, weathered face, eyes blazing.
"Orochimaru! What do you think you're doing?!"
The furious roar echoed through the chamber as Hyuga Unkawa slowly closed his eyes, collapsing onto the operating table.
His last thought surfaced quietly in his fading mind:
A caged bird. A worthless failure.
What a script fate wrote for me. The worst kind.
But that's alright.
Because I was born to play the lead.