The Rain Country Front.
Konoha's forces were in a bad way. Pushed back by both Iwa and Suna, they were barely holding the line outside the Land of Rain. If the Rain ninja hadn't joined the fight to defend their home, Konoha might have already been crushed.
When Orochimaru arrived at the camp straddling the Fire and Rain border, the first thing he felt was the mood: heavy, sluggish, defeated.
They were fighting on three fronts. Numbers were thin, elites even thinner, and with loss after loss piling up, morale had bottomed out.
Sure, Orochimaru's arrival lifted spirits a little, but the reinforcements he'd brought weren't many. If things kept up like this, Konoha would lose the Rain front before the war even really began.
So, naturally, Orochimaru didn't sit around. He grabbed his forces and launched a counterattack straight into the Land of Rain.
The battlefield was chaos. Ninjutsu clashed in the air like storms colliding — fireballs roaring, torrents flooding streets, stone spears ripping up the ground. Whole districts were collapsing into rubble. The Land of Rain, small to begin with, was being ground down into ruins.
Civilians fled under the lead of Ame shinobi. To them, Konoha, Suna, Iwa — they were all the same. Just invaders tearing their home apart.
And at the center of it, Orochimaru was a monster.
One man holding back the elites of three villages, purple snakes crashing through buildings, hundreds of serpentine shadows swallowing enemies whole. His enemies didn't even scream when they died — they just vanished beneath the tide.
"Unreal…"
On a collapsed rooftop, a boy in a green flak jacket crouched low, flanked by two companions with the pale eyes of the Hyūga clan.
"Stay back, Young Master," warned Hyūga Fūtō, the jōnin bodyguard at his side.
"I know, Brother Fūtō," said Hyūga Hizashi, his lips pressed tight, eyes locked on Orochimaru rampaging across the field — and on another figure, a green blur darting among the enemy. Two men turning the tide of an entire war.
Hizashi's chest tightened with envy. Could he ever reach that level?
Hyūga Kiyoshi didn't answer. A Rain shinobi lunged at them, and he moved first.
"Eight Trigrams Air Palm!"
A blast of chakra slammed into the Ame-nin, hurling him lifeless to the dirt.
"Kiyoshi's a rare genius," Fūtō remarked, voice calm. "He'll be your support one day, Young Master."
At eleven, Kiyoshi's mastery of palm strikes already surpassed most Hyūga adults. Hizashi nodded, impressed — until an Iwa-nin charged and he leapt forward himself.
A faint Bagua diagram flared beneath his feet.
"Gentle Fist Art: Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms!"
His hands blurred, striking in rapid succession. The Iwa-nin froze, then collapsed stone-dead as Hizashi walked past without looking back.
Fūtō couldn't help but admire. "As expected of the Main Family… the essence of the Gentle Fist itself."
But Kiyoshi's eyes darkened. That technique — Sixty-Four Palms — was forbidden to Branch Family. If he'd been the one to learn it, he'd already surpass Hizashi. But in the Hyūga clan, his fate was sealed before he was even born. A bird in a cage could never escape. All he could do was grind his teeth and vent his anger on the battlefield.
And then the ground shook.
BOOM.
"Orochimaru!" an Iwa elite roared, hurling himself into the fray. At the same moment, a fireball from Suna split the sky, forcing Maito Dai into a desperate block.
The battlefield escalated in an instant. The Rain shinobi began pulling out, unwilling to stay caught in the middle.
Meanwhile, away from the battlefield, Uchiha Jinzō stepped into the broken remains of a city.
The streets were nearly empty. Only a few shops stubbornly stayed open, waiting for customers that never came.
"War really wrecks a place…" he muttered, stretching his back. After traveling nonstop, he needed food before anything else.
A noodle shop caught his eye.
The owner looked exhausted, face lined with gloom, but he still forced a smile. "Welcome."
Jinzō glanced at the menu plastered behind him. His eyes widened.
"...You're kidding me. These prices are robbery!"
Ten times higher than Konoha. Even instant ramen in the Leaf wasn't this bad.
The owner winced. "Nothing I can do, customer. Prices are up everywhere. I barely make anything myself."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Jinzō sighed, pulling out Fire Country bills and slapping them down. "Give me twenty bowls of your special ramen."
The shopkeeper nearly choked. Twenty? But seeing the cash upfront — and the quiet air of a shinobi about Jinzō — he didn't argue. Better to just serve and pray.
Bowls arrived in a steady stream, but Jinzō tore through them faster than the chef could cook.
The bell jingled.
"Boss, one miso ramen," came a flat, heavy voice.
Jinzō turned lazily — and froze. A man in a black short coat, gray trousers, and wrapped face. But what stood out most were those eerie green eyes, glowing faintly in the gloom.
No way. That's Kakuzu.
Hokage's "first traitor," legendary mercenary, bounty hunter — whatever you called him, he was not the kind of guy you wanted to bump into at a noodle stand.
Kakuzu noticed Jinzō's stare immediately and snapped his gaze back, wary. Jinzō ducked his head and slurped more noodles.
The shop fell silent.
Kakuzu finished his meal in record time, paid, and left without another word.
But when he reached the city gates, he stopped. Slowly, he turned back.
Behind him, hands shoved in his pockets, Uchiha Jinzō was following.