Ryota gazed at Orochimaru's face—hesitation flickering there for the very first time. His tone, however, carried not a shred of aggression. On the contrary, it grew even gentler.
He knew exactly what this man was thinking.
Orochimaru trusted no one but himself. He believed only in the path that led to immortality.
And yet, Ryota understood clearly—Orochimaru had already begun to stall on that path.
His research restricted. His resources dwindling. The fusion of Kekkei Genkai stuck at a bottleneck. The limits of forbidden jutsu already scraped raw…
Worse still, Orochimaru was reduced to prolonging his existence by constantly swapping bodies, like a prisoner exiled in his own cage.
This… was not the evolution he sought.
And that was precisely what Ryota had his eye on.
This man was never a pure madman, nor a villain who sought destruction for its own sake.
He was simply too clever.
Clever enough to know—
in this shinobi world of survival of the fittest, only through mastering all knowledge and power could one truly break free of fate's shackles.
To Ryota, Orochimaru was not incapable of loyalty. He had merely never found someone worthy of it.
And Ryota knew, beyond any doubt—Orochimaru might be cunning, might be ruthless, but he never did "stupid" things.
His defection from Konoha had been a necessary step—for the sake of knowledge and freedom.
But now, faced with a system of power, resources, authority, and freedom that far outstripped anything in the shinobi world…
If Orochimaru still wished to "betray"?
Then he would end up like one of his failed puppets—erased so completely that not even dust remained.
Ryota didn't say another word.
And yet it was as though he had spoken everything.
He simply stood there quietly, watching Orochimaru, his faint smile both offering a choice and pronouncing judgment.
And Orochimaru—
fell into silence.
The night wind rustled through the forest canopy, but to him it was as though the world had gone mute.
His gaze dropped to the ground, pupils narrowing slightly, memories flashing past one after another—
Sarutobi Hiruzen's suspicious eyes.
Danzō's Root operatives shadowing him.
The fracture of the Sannin.
His experiments sealed away, his research forbidden…
The experimental subjects who died on his operating table.
The discarded bodies.
The failed resurrections.
The near-mad pursuit of "perfection."
He suddenly realized—
He was standing at a crossroads of fate.
And this time, it wasn't the fork leading from Konoha to betrayal.
It was—
A crossroads where the wrong choice meant eternal damnation.
If he accepted, he would sever his past completely, step into the role of "Familia," and pledge himself to the banner of this unfathomably powerful black-haired boy.
If he refused… his eyes flicked, almost involuntarily, back to Ryota.
Those Rinnegan still hovered in the torn fabric of space, gazing like the eyes of a god.
He knew—this was not a threat.
It was a fact.
A being who could crush Sasori, wipe out Akatsuki, and suppress Pain himself without stirring—if Orochimaru spoke the word "no" now…
He would die.
Not even leaving behind the value of an experiment. He would simply vanish, like a failed worm, erased from the earth.
Ryota's eyes shifted faintly—now was the time.
He lifted his wrist, turning his palm gently in the air.
Shhhk.
A sharp sound split the night.
The next second, a kunai appeared between his fingers, etched with a special marking.
A black blade engraved with the seal of the Flying Raijin Jutsu.
Orochimaru's pupils shrank sharply!
That presence…
That ripple of space…
That memory carved into his bones—
"…Flying Raijin Jutsu?"
For once, Orochimaru's voice carried genuine disbelief.
Of course he knew what it was—Senju Tobirama's signature technique, the jutsu of the Second Hokage.
And now—
From the kunai in Ryota's hand, he felt that same breath.
No—stronger. More stable. More terrifying than Namikaze Minato's Flying Raijin had ever been.
"You…"
"How can you wield this jutsu?!"
Ryota did not answer. He only gave a soft chuckle, tossing the kunai lightly into the air.
In that instant—space itself shuddered violently!
Whoosh—!
All anyone saw was a blur. The kunai was still spinning mid-air, yet Ryota had already vanished from sight!
Boom!
A heartbeat later, he was atop a hill a hundred meters away, his figure appearing like a ghost, not even rippling the space around him.
Another flicker—he was back before Orochimaru.
It all took no more than three breaths.
This time, Orochimaru was truly shaken.
Not startled—
but that marrow-deep chill of awe and dread.
Ryota calmly caught the kunai, his eyes settling on the stunned Orochimaru.
"That's right. Flying Raijin Jutsu. But mine is an improved version."
His tone was almost casual, as if discussing a trivial matter.
But Orochimaru's chest clenched tight.
This wasn't simply Flying Raijin anymore. That mastery of space, that instantaneous dominance of the battlefield—it had already surpassed Tobirama.
This was the dominion of a master of space itself!
"You… what exactly…"
He was just about to ask when Ryota willed it so—
Vmmm—
Behind him, space ripped open under an unseen force.
Twisting, stretching, fracturing like shattered glass.
And from the rift, a tall figure stepped forth.
"Pain—Deva Path?!"
Orochimaru's pupils contracted violently as he stumbled back a half-step, shock twisting his features.
His first thought—betrayal?!
Why would Pain appear behind Ryota?!
But almost immediately he sensed it was wrong.
This wasn't the same Deva Path he knew.
The face was the same, but it lacked the cold, godlike arrogance.
There was no shared field of vision.
No Rinnegan pressure radiating outward.
This… was a replica?
No—a puppet? A reconstructed corpse?!
Orochimaru's mind spun through possibilities, each one more chilling than the last.
"You're wondering why he doesn't feel like the Pain you know?"
Ryota's smile cut straight through his thoughts.
"Yes, and no."
"To be precise… this is Reanimation: Pain Deva Path."
Orochimaru's slit pupils trembled violently.
"Reanimation… Impossible!!"
"That's a forbidden jutsu! At this stage, no one can perfectly control it!"
To Orochimaru, Reanimation was all too familiar.
In his own hands, it was barely a prototype.
But this Pain—
His thoughts spun wildly, words breaking off—
Shhhk—
Space twisted again behind Ryota.
Another figure stepped out.
A man like a god, sweeping the surroundings before his gaze fell upon Orochimaru.
"You…"
"You're—"
Orochimaru's voice shook uncontrollably.
"Uchiha… Madara?!!"
BOOM!!
His mind exploded.
If Pain alone had unsettled him—
This man's appearance shattered his worldview outright!
"You're supposed to be…"
"No… impossible…"
"Is this truly Reanimation?!"
Madara said nothing. He merely glanced at Orochimaru, then stood silently behind Ryota like a soldier.
In that instant, Orochimaru's mind blanked.
Pain.
Uchiha Madara.
Either one of them alone could shake the foundations of the shinobi world.
And now… both stood behind this boy?!
Ryota chuckled softly.
"This is only the beginning."
"My Reanimation is improved, too."
Orochimaru's lips parted, but no words came out.
He stared at Ryota's calm, steady smile, and suddenly felt as though… he no longer had a choice.
No—not a feeling.
It was fate, rewritten.
For the first time in his life, Orochimaru realized—there exist people whom even betrayal cannot touch.
A sudden realization dawned, his expression growing complicated.
He locked eyes with Ryota and asked:
"You… lack nothing."
"You wield the power to crush Akatsuki, command the forbidden Reanimation, even summon Uchiha Madara himself."
"If that's the case—why not simply kill me outright? Why do you want me back in Konoha?"
"What… are you really after?"
It wasn't a challenge, but a bitter demand for the logic of destiny.
For he already understood—he had no power to resist.
Ryota only laughed softly.
"Because soon… I may move on to another world."
"And this one still needs someone to maintain order."
That was truly how Ryota saw it.
The DanMachi world had Finn and the others to guard it.
The shinobi world, too, required a caretaker—one qualified, ambitious, and above all, wise.
Orochimaru.
He was the perfect candidate.
Calm. Mad. Brilliant. Clear-headed.
And crucially, not greedy for power—only obsessed with research and "evolution."
Such a man—grant him what he desires, and he would become the most loyal executor, not a usurper of ambition.
Orochimaru fell silent.
He understood.
Ryota did not need him.
He had chosen him.
It was both trust—and the passing of authority.
"…Heheheh… hahahahaha…"
He laughed suddenly, a low, sticky laugh like a snake shedding its skin.
But this time, there was no mockery, no scorn.
Instead—something he had not felt in a very long time.
Expectation.
"I see."
He bowed slowly, lowering his head, his tone reverent:
"Orochimaru—willing to join your Familia."
Ryota nodded.
"Very good."