Orochimaru's Research Base
Uchiha Jinzō dumped the three bodies from the ambush onto a test bench without ceremony.
"Jinzō-kun, why'd you drag them back?" Orochimaru's golden eyes gleamed with interest.
"If we use Root operatives as lab rats, Danzo won't take it lightly."
He wasn't wrong. Root had grown huge under Danzo, though plenty of clans still resented both Danzo's shady rise and Hiruzen's grip on power. The political fallout was everywhere.
These three? They weren't scrubs. Special jōnin, handpicked. Danzo wouldn't just let them vanish.
Orochimaru rubbed his chin, amused. "Three special jōnin against one genin. Cautious, isn't he?"
Jinzō caught that hungry look in his sensei's eyes. Orochimaru had once considered joining Root, but now? Looking at Danzo's so-called elites, he seemed utterly unimpressed.
"They're still weaklings," Jinzō thought. "Trash I could trample with my eyes closed."
Aloud, he muttered, "The absorption technique I created should drain chakra, but it doesn't work on them. I tried it on the Aburame and the other one too—no effect at all."
He frowned. If this persisted, even his Liuku Immortal Thief—the crown jewel of his absorption arts—would be crippled.
Orochimaru's brows rose in genuine surprise, as though he couldn't believe Jinzō didn't already understand.
Annoyed, Jinzō rifled through their physical reports. A scroll filled with data as seals recorded the bodies' condition. Then it clicked.
"…So that's it."
The Root shinobi carried two seals.
The first: the cursed Tongue Seal, the infamous gag order that made betrayal impossible. That wasn't the problem.
The second? A seal that locked their chakra flow. At their current level, they weren't even supposed to use ninjutsu—chakra couldn't leave their bodies. Yet here they were, throwing techniques around like it was nothing.
Jinzō skimmed the scroll, and his lip curled.
"Ninjutsu imprinted directly onto the body. The seal hijacks their chakra and force-converts it into the technique."
Basically, they'd turned themselves into living ninja tools.
He let out a low whistle. "That's messed up."
It worked, sure. But just like real ninja tools, the 'material' degraded fast. Every technique used shredded their bodies a little more. Eventually, they'd burn themselves out completely.
"What a cruel method," Jinzō muttered. "Trading your future for a temporary edge… I couldn't do it."
Orochimaru chuckled, voice silken and cold. "There is no future beneath Konoha's roots."
"Future?" Jinzō scoffed. "Danzo's 'roots' are nothing but parasites chewing on the village."
Orochimaru shook his head. "Gen has carried more weight for the village than you realize. The missions too dark for ANBU, the intelligence from outside, even Sarutobi-sensei's spotless reputation… it's all built on Root's shadow."
Even the Hashirama Cell experiments—officially Hokage-backed—had been carried out entirely by Danzo's operatives. ANBU never touched them.
To the world, Danzo was the villain whispering into the Hokage's ear. But Orochimaru knew better.
"Ridiculous, isn't it?" he murmured.
"…Maybe." Jinzō didn't bother to argue. He calmly slipped a paralytic poison into the bodies and turned back to Orochimaru.
"So, sensei—what do we do with them?"
Orochimaru's lips curved into an innocent smile, the kind that looked almost childlike—if you ignored the snake-like hunger beneath it.
"I like realistic kids," he said softly. "From now on, call me Orochimaru-sensei."
His eyes glittered. "And I'll make sure you live long enough to use that mouth of yours on the battlefield."
Four Months Later
Winter had come and gone. Snow melted, roads turned to mud, and the forests sprouted fresh buds.
In a clearing, a young man stood with eyes closed, one hand resting on the hilt of the blade at his waist. His hair hung half over his forehead protector, his dark clothes blending into the trees.
Uchiha Jinzō.
The woods erupted.
"Shhhk—shhhk—shhhk!"
Shuriken screamed through the air, ricocheting mid-flight to rain down from every direction.
Jinzō leapt skyward, weaving through the deadly rain. Steel clashed and changed trajectories again, angling to strike him midair.
The blade at his hip sang free. In a blur of light, a woven net of steel carved through the storm, knocking every weapon away.
He landed smoothly—only to hear the hiss of burning tags.
Kunai with paper bombs streaked in from all sides.
Jinzō's mouth twitched. "Really, Orochimaru? Paper bombs? Rich bastard."
He slammed a one-handed seal.
"Wind Release: Great Breakthrough!"
A gale ripped outward, scattering most of the kunai—BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
—but two slipped through the storm, right in his face.
Cold steel flashed.
Slash!
The bombs split neatly in half, fizzing out before they could detonate.
He touched down, calm, eyes still closed.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Orochimaru emerged from the treeline, smiling like a proud parent. "Jinzō-kun is improving. You could pass for a tokubetsu jōnin now."
Jinzō cracked an eye open. "Not a jōnin, though."
Orochimaru's chuckle was soft and knowing. "You underestimate them. A jōnin isn't just raw skill—it's scars, techniques honed through hundreds of battles. They'll tear apart any weakness you show."
Jinzō's mouth tightened. He knew Orochimaru was right. He had talent, control, technique—but experience? That was another battlefield entirely.
"…Guess I'll just have to work harder." He slid his blade back into its sheath.
(Though seriously—why the hell does everyone call this a 'sword'? It's clearly a knife. World-building error.)
He dropped into a crouch, hands flashing through seals.
Boom!
A puff of smoke, and a snow-white snake wriggled out, wagging its tail like a dog.
Jinzō twitched. "You're a cold-blooded reptile. Stop acting like a pet!"
The snake blinked its dull eyes and slithered over happily.
Orochimaru pinched the bridge of his nose. Of all the contracts in Ryūchi Cave, Jinzō had chosen… this thing.
"Xiaobai, the scroll," Jinzō said, hand out.
The snake tilted its head, confused, then placed its whole head on his palm.
A vein bulged in Jinzō's forehead. "Not you. The thing in your stomach!"
"Oh." Xiaobai coughed up a soggy scroll.
Orochimaru stared. "…Jinzō-kun, are you sure you don't want to switch summons?"
"Nope. I'll train it up. The others were too ugly."
He wiped the scroll clean and handed it to Orochimaru. "Here, sensei. A gift. Thanks for all the… 'training.'"
Orochimaru's smile softened into something dangerously close to fondness. "So gentle, Jinzō-kun."
Jinzō's own smile was sharp as a blade. "Don't get me wrong. I just don't want to feel guilty when I take revenge later."
These four months of hell? He'd pay it back in full.
Orochimaru laughed, delighted. "What a strange child. I'll look forward to it."
He glanced down at the scroll.
"The Immortal Seal…"