The salted fish crackled faintly as Orochimaru took the last bite. He wiped his mouth with a cloth, then spoke with that unnervingly calm voice that never seemed to rise.
"I will be leaving today."
The words cut through the quiet like a scalpel.
Everyone at the table froze. The faint sounds of chewing stopped mid-motion. No one dared to speak right away.
Saeko lowered her chopsticks gently, eyes still on her half-eaten food.
So… this is the last morning like this.
She didn't ask for more time. Didn't beg for answers.
Orochimaru had already warned her. She wouldn't be coming back. Maybe ever.
And after the EMP hit, with the world plunged into darkness and the dead multiplying like insects, what was there left for her to return to?
Maybe this world doesn't need a protector anymore. Just survivors.
Still, the thought of stepping into another world with him made her stomach twist in ways she didn't show.
Vermouth let her chopsticks clink against the ceramic bowl as she set them down.
Finally, she thought, hiding the rush of relief behind a casual sip of tea. The snake's slithering off.
She glanced at Orochimaru from under her lashes. His expression was unreadable as always.
But does he plan to leave us breathing? Or clean up before he goes? After all, that's what people like him did. Just like she used to.
But the irony was bitter. His presence had kept them safe. Now that leash was gone. The shadows outside the door suddenly seemed darker.
Still, she flashed a gentle smile, playing the role of composed elegance.
Shiho sat rigid in her chair, legs dangling slightly. Her childlike body didn't match the sharpness of her mind or the growing dread curdling in her gut.
She kept her expression flat, but inside, everything screamed.
He's leaving? Just like that?
He terrified her. But in a world overrun with walking corpses, power like his meant safety. Protection. Shelter. Being under his control was humiliating, but being abandoned might be fatal.
Her hands curled slightly in her lap.
If he leaves us behind... if he abandons me in this form... She bit her lip.
It wasn't just shame Shiho feared anymore. It was being alone. Powerless. Prey.
And now came another blow.
Orochimaru pulled two slim, sealed folders from the long sleeves of his robe and placed them wordlessly on the table. One in front of Vermouth. One before Shiho.
The documents were thin. But heavy.
Neither woman reached immediately.
Finally, Vermouth flipped hers open with a lazy hand, her eyes scanning the pages without urgency—until they caught on the highlights clearly marked in Orochimaru's neat script.
Her brows lifted slightly. Then drew together.
She couldn't understand half the terms. He might as well have written them in code. Molecular decay. Endocrine response thresholds. Reagent saturation curve. It didn't matter.
She zeroed in on the key notes underlined in red:
Projected viability: 20 years (stabilised)
Ageing: Delayed → Normal post-limit
Untapped potential: High
She blinked.
Twenty years… that's it?
Her lips curled bitterly. She'd survived poison, betrayal, and agency black sites. And now she had an expiry date.
And worse?
She saw it clearly now—what Orochimaru had seen too. She could've become more. Not just a pretty, sharp-tongued manipulator. With this extended life, she could've honed every skill, pushed every physical limit.
But she hadn't.
Wasted potential.
She shut the file gently. It felt like a quiet judgment.
Shiho's hands trembled slightly as she turned the pages of her file. Unlike Vermouth, she understood much. Too much.
She read halfway before her lips parted in a whisper.
"Cellular damage…"
Her voice was numb.
She turned another page. Diagrams of her DNA structure, overlaid with mutation markers. Annotations in Orochimaru's precise, sharp pen.
Genetic instability increasing
Cell division errors observed in neural and cardiac tissues
Projected collapse: 3–5 years without corrective treatment
Probability of cognitive regression: High
The words swam for a moment.
She clenched her jaw. Closed the file. Then reopened it and reread the damage assessment.
No errors. No hope of a misprint.
He was right.
This wasn't a warning. It was a clock ticking inside her skin.
Her breath caught.
Not only had she lost her original body, her old life, her family, her name—but now, she might not even survive in this one.
"I'm going to die."
The thought struck like a hammer. Or worse—maybe she wouldn't die. Maybe her mind would unravel before the end.
Did she fear death?
More than anything.
She had spent her whole life working in the shadows of a black organisation. Lab-coated, brilliant, trapped. She'd lost her parents, her sister. She'd watched colleagues vanish or be eliminated. When she de-aged herself and faked her death, it wasn't just about discovering the truth or taking revenge.
It was about freedom.
For the first time in her life, she thought she could choose something else. Not assignments. Not chemicals. Not surveillance reports or chain-of-command calls.
She dreamed of travel. Of silence. Of cafés and sunlight and foreign books. Of existing without always being observed.
But then the world broke.
The zombie outbreak shattered that fragile hope before it ever took form. She had expected to die in that chaos too. And yet—she'd survived.
Orochimaru had pulled her from the edge. Terrifying, brilliant, manipulative Orochimaru. He was dangerous, yes. But with him, she had space. The illusion of control. The ability to work, contribute, be useful. It was something.
But now this?
She stared at the report.
I don't have time left.
And there's no world left to live in, even if I did.
Her mind spun with calculations. Could she fix this? Could she do anything?
And the answer came, quiet and merciless:
No.
Her knowledge, as impressive as it was, wasn't deep enough to rewrite her own DNA. Even if she had the formula, she had no lab, no equipment, no stable supply chain.
The world outside was fire and rot and ruin. Every day was survival. There was no way to gather resources, run tests, or build prototypes in time.
She was brilliant.
But not enough.
Not now.
Not here.
And for the first time in a long time, Shiho Miyano felt truly… helpless.
But then, something inside her snapped back.
If I can't save myself… what about the others?
Her head jerked up, eyes locking on Orochimaru.
"Can you save me?" she asked.
Her voice cracked—raw, trembling, barely above a whisper.
Saeko and Vermouth turned sharply, confused. They didn't know what had just happened, only that something was very, very wrong with Shiho.
They looked to Orochimaru, expecting something. Anything.
But he didn't show pity.
Did he ever?
He just stared at Shiho, quiet.
He hadn't given them those reports out of kindness. No, this was a reward—one they'd earned by cooperating with his experiments, willingly or otherwise. He understood power, and they'd respected it. That was all.
But now Shiho was asking him for help.
To save her.
His mind ticked. Was it worth it?
Shiho was intelligent. Exceptionally so. Her placement in the Organisation at such a young age hadn't been a fluke. She had talent, grit, and focus. But she was also untrained, emotionally volatile, and would demand time—time he didn't want to waste.
Still…
If she was willing to become a specimen, if she surrendered her body and pride to him, that changed things. That made her useful in another way.
And usefulness was everything.
"It's not impossible," Orochimaru said at last, his voice calm and emotionless. "Yes, I can save you. But I will need time. Research."
Shiho's breath caught.
Hope. A fragile, flickering thing stirred in her chest.
But Orochimaru wasn't finished.
In truth, he had already thought of several methods. Not only could he stabilise her cellular damage, he could potentially return her body to its natural age, fully functional and free of degeneration.
But he didn't say that.
Because hope was a leash. And she had just willingly slipped it around her own neck.
Before she could even process her relief, his next words crushed it.
"But I can't stay here anymore."
Like a bucket of cold water, the words washed over her.
The brief happiness that had begun to glow inside her cracked and crumbled. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
She understood what that meant.
He was leaving.
And he was taking her chance with him.
Taking a deep breath, Shiho looked up once more.
"Then… can you take me with you?"
Her voice was steadier this time, but her eyes said everything—pleading, vulnerable, and burning with the will to survive.
Orochimaru didn't reply right away. His gaze rested on her for a long moment, unreadable.
Did she understand what she was asking?
Yes. She did.
He had never hidden the state of the outside world. Quite the opposite. He'd explained it plainly.
The lands torn by war.
The rise and fall of cities in days.
Factions murdering for resources.
The decay of law, order, and mercy.
A world not just in chaos, but evolving into something far more brutal.
Compared to that, their current shelter was a paradise.
And yet here she was… asking to leave it.
Orochimaru's mind flicked through possibilities. Her motives didn't matter. Fear? Desperation? A gamble? All three?
She knew she would die if she stayed.
And now, she was willing to throw herself into hell for even the chance to live.
A foolish move from a logical girl. But then again, life and death never made anyone more rational.
He finally spoke.
"I don't protect strays."
The words were cold.
Shiho flinched, but didn't back down.
"I don't want protection," she said softly. "Just the chance to be useful."
Useful, he repeated inwardly.
At least she understood the only currency he valued.
And in truth…
A second pair of capable hands wouldn't hurt.
He could discard her later if needed.
Or reshape her entirely.
Remove every weakness. Every limitation. Make her into something else. Something more.
That was always the plan, wasn't it?
Orochimaru studied her for another long moment, then gave the smallest tilt of his head. Approval? Amusement? Even Saeko couldn't read it.
Then came his reply.
"Fine. You'll come."
Shiho didn't smile. Didn't breathe out in relief.
Because she understood what it truly meant.
She wasn't saved.
She was claimed.
Vermouth let out a long, quiet exhale.
So the little one gambled… and won.
Or at least, got to keep playing the game a little longer.
But her lips curled bitterly.
She didn't envy Shiho.
Not even a little.
She could survive in this world—they all could, if they played it smart.
But that other world, the one beyond this broken one…
She didn't dare to gamble there.
Did she long for something more? Of course.
Adventure, new experiences, a world untouched by this rot?
Yes.
But longing wasn't the same as desperation.
And she was far too rational to risk her life for a dream.
Even if she wanted to go, even if she asked—
Orochimaru would say no.
He had already made his choice.
The travel card could only bring two.
Two lives, preserved. Two souls, carried across.
That was the limit.
And he had already picked his candidates.
*************
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