The Land of Fire. Konohagakure.
Sunlight spilled through the trees, scattering golden patches across the quiet village.
Inside a modest house, a young figure stood frozen before a mirror—pale skin, long black hair, and the distinctive purple markings around the eyes.
The reflection stared back in disbelief.
What… is happening to me?
A dozen rapid blinks did nothing to change the image in the glass.
"I… became Orochimaru?"
The name felt strange on the tongue. Testing a theory, the newcomer stuck it out as far as possible, attempting the infamous serpentine lick the legendary Sannin was known for.
Nothing. Just a normal tongue.
"Thank goodness," the stranger muttered with relief. "Creepy party trick avoided."
But that relief was short-lived. The face in the mirror was soft, delicate—even pretty. And something else felt… missing. Dread crept in. Slowly, almost fearfully, the young Orochimaru lifted the hem of the pale robe and tugged at the waistband of the loose pants.
A strangled gasp escaped.
"…No. No way."
Where one thing should have been, there was only smooth skin and a pair of plain underwear.
"The Six Paths Sage's… underwear?!" The voice cracked with panic. "Why am I—why is Orochimaru—a girl?"
Hands trembling, the new Orochimaru stumbled back, nearly tripping over the discarded clothing. Had the legendary scientist already performed the Living Corpse Reincarnation? Was this some horrific side effect?
The room offered no answers—only a glass case on the table, inside it a shed snakeskin gleaming white in the morning light. The sight triggered a sudden flood of memories not entirely his own. Chakra surged wildly, every cell singing with strange, fierce energy.
These memories… they're Orochimaru's. But I'm me. Aren't I?
The headache sharpened. Questions tumbled through the mind: Am I Orochimaru? Did our souls merge? Am I dreaming?
A whisper escaped: "The white snake… shedding its skin."
The words tasted like inevitability.
---
This world—this Ninja World—was madness wrapped in the illusion of order. No special bloodline or eye technique protected Orochimaru. He had clawed his way to power through raw genius and dangerous research, mastering stealth to the point of near-immortality. Not even Itachi's Susanoo blade had ended him in the original timeline.
Compared to him, Voldemort and his fragile Horcruxes were amateurs.
But the world itself? Pathological. Technology hovered around late-19th-century levels, yet warfare remained barbaric. Konoha in particular seemed to breed lunatics like mushrooms after rain.
Uchiha Itachi? Brilliant but broken, capable of slaughtering his entire clan.
Uchiha Obito? A true monster—destroyed his teacher, murdered his teacher's wife, and helped Itachi with the massacre.
Even the so-called heroes, like Naruto with his boundless forgiveness, were disturbingly extreme.
And then there was Black Zetsu: manipulative parasite of millennia, fooling even the mighty Uchiha Madara with a forged stone tablet. How had an entire era fallen for such a cheap trick?
The new Orochimaru pressed fingertips to throbbing temples. "You're all insane."
Staying here was a death sentence. Escape was mandatory.
Thanks to modern knowledge and some foresight, wealth wouldn't be difficult—if he lived long enough to enjoy it. Pain shot through a cheek when pinched. Not a dream. This was reality.
Great. I've actually become a gender-swapped Orochimaru, fresh out of the Academy, and assigned to a team under the Third Hokage. Perfect.
The First Shinobi World War had ended only recently; Konoha was stable for now. Survival meant growing stronger first, escaping later.
Resolve hardened. The glass case with the snakeskin went back on the table as hands came together in a chakra-molding seal. Energy flooded the coils of the body—smooth, powerful, far denser than before. The sheer volume already rivaled a seasoned chūnin's.
Good. No rejection. The soul fits the vessel.
That reassurance mattered. A mismatched body and spirit could cripple ninjutsu or even kill its occupant. For now, everything flowed flawlessly.
A clock ticked. Nearly nine. Hiruzen Sarutobi expected the team at the training grounds by then.
---
The village streets were quiet as Orochimaru moved swiftly beneath the morning sun. Konoha still bore scars of war: empty houses, scorched timbers, a lingering scent of smoke. Yet children's laughter carried faintly from distant yards, proof that life always returned.
The training field lay at the edge of a small forest. Three wooden posts stood in a neat line; in front of them waited a man barely into his thirties, dark hair pulled back, eyes calm but sharp.
"Hiruzen-sensei," Orochimaru greeted softly.
The young Third Hokage smiled warmly. "Orochimaru. Good—you're early."
Footsteps pounded through the underbrush. Jiraiya burst into the clearing, white hair already wild despite his youth. He froze when he spotted Orochimaru beside their teacher.
"What? I thought I'd be first!" He grinned, striking a self-consciously heroic pose. "Guess I was beaten by a rival."
"Introduce yourselves," Hiruzen prompted.
"Name's Jiraiya!" The boy flashed a thumbs-up, eyes sparkling. "Please take good care of me. If you want to send a love letter, send it early—Jiraiya-sama is in high demand!"
Orochimaru's expression remained flat. "…Why would I send you a love letter?"
Before Jiraiya could attempt a comeback, another presence approached: a tall, slender girl with honey-blonde hair tied in a high ponytail, eyes bright with quiet confidence.
"Tsunade," Hiruzen said. "You'll form a three-man squad together."
Jiraiya's jaw dropped. "Beautiful and a teammate? Lucky day!" He strode toward her with a grin that could rival the sun. "Nice to meet you, gorgeous. You can send that love letter later if you like!"
Tsunade's brow twitched. "Why would I—ugh, stop talking!" Her fist shot forward.
Wham!
Jiraiya rocketed backward, arms flailing. Orochimaru watched the perfect arc of his flight, impressed despite himself. So young, and already that kind of raw power…
Hiruzen rubbed his temple but said nothing.
Jiraiya landed in a heap, groaning. Tsunade crossed her arms. "I didn't even hit that hard. He's just weak."
"What did you say?!" Jiraiya leapt up, apparently none the worse for wear.
People in this world really can take a beating, Orochimaru thought, lips twitching.
---
As the team's first morning together settled into a tense silence, Orochimaru exhaled slowly. New world, new body, and now new teammates—two of the strongest future Sannin and a Hokage as mentor.
Step one: survive this insanity. Step two: get stronger. Step three: escape before everyone's madness drags me down.
For now, that would have to be enough.
---