The Academy courtyard smelled faintly of sweat, dust, and excitement. Training had ended, but the children lingered in groups, laughing, boasting, or sulking over their performance. To anyone watching, it was a normal afternoon of young ninja hopefuls.
To Orochimaru, it was a field of test subjects, each one leaking data with every word, gesture, and glance.
He leaned against the shade of a tree, face neutral, while his mind ran at speeds no one could perceive. He mapped chakra fluctuations of the students around him, tagged which ones tired quickly, which ones masked insecurity with arrogance, which ones had natural discipline.
The Uchiha boy, Ren, still fumed over yesterday's humiliation. He trained harder, jaw clenched, sweat dripping down his face as he repeated forms long after others had quit. Orochimaru noted the obsessive streak—dangerous, but predictable.
Tsunade, bold as ever, was roughhousing with two other girls, her laughter echoing across the yard. Jiraiya trailed after her, desperate for attention, only to trip over a stone and eat dirt. The laughter grew louder. Tsunade called him an idiot, but her grin had no malice. Orochimaru filed that away—her strength wasn't just her fists, it was the charisma that made people gravitate toward her.
Nearby, a boy with sleepy eyes—Shikuro Aburame—sat quietly, insects humming beneath his clothes. Orochimaru's golden eyes narrowed. The Aburame clan fascinated him: symbiosis with kikaichū beetles, a natural biological marvel. He would study that someday.
When the bell rang to dismiss them, Hiruzen stepped forward with his usual calm smile. "Good work today, everyone. Remember—discipline now builds the foundation of your shinobi path."
Most kids nodded absently, more interested in racing to dinner than in philosophy. But Orochimaru studied the man's tone, the deliberate balance of warmth and authority. Hiruzen wasn't feared—he was trusted. That, Orochimaru realized, was a rarer and more potent power than fear.
Yet even as the children scattered, Orochimaru felt another gaze prickling at his senses.
Danzo.
The man stood further back, half-hidden beneath the wooden walkway. He said nothing, just observed, his single visible eye narrowing faintly as Orochimaru's eyes flicked toward him.
Cautious. Always cautious.
Orochimaru smirked faintly. Two jōnin, two opposite poles—Hiruzen's trust and Danzo's suspicion. Both were already circling him like hawks around a snake hatchling.
Perfect.
At the orphanage that evening, the younger children crowded around the dinner table. Bowls of rice, pickled vegetables, and thin miso soup. Simple food, but warm.
Genji, the loud sleeper, complained loudly that his portion was too small. Ayame, the timid girl, silently pushed half of hers toward him. He snatched it up with a grin, not noticing her small smile.
Orochimaru watched it all with clinical detachment. Kindness, greed, gratitude, selfishness—they revealed themselves at the table as much as on the battlefield.
A boy across from him tried to strike up conversation. "Hey… uh, Orochimaru, right? You threw those shuriken really good today."
Orochimaru blinked at him, slow and snake-like. The boy wilted under his stare.
But then Orochimaru's lips curved, faint and cold. "Practice. That is all."
The boy nodded nervously and went back to his food.
Orochimaru ate in silence, though his mind was anything but silent. Already, ideas stirred.
That night, when the dormitory had fallen quiet and the soft breathing of children filled the dark, Orochimaru sat cross-legged on his futon.
The [Infinite Knowledge System] flickered to life in his vision, casting pale holographic text only he could see.
--
[STAT UPDATE]
Chakra Control: 58% → 60%
Shurikenjutsu: Intermediate → Advanced Beginner
Observation Skill: Intermediate → Advanced
He exhaled slowly. Incremental progress was satisfying. But more important was the research he had queued.
[Search: Early chemical compounds from herbs]
[Search: Primitive poison recipes]
[Search: Child psychology manipulation methods]
The results poured in. He organized them into neat mental files. Already, plants from the Academy garden and surrounding forests could be brewed into mild sedatives, irritants, even paralysis agents. Nothing deadly—not yet—but enough for "tests."
And as for children? Their fears, desires, and insecurities were easy to exploit. He had already broken Ren's pride with a single sentence.
Yes. The board was set.
The next day brought a new lesson: chakra molding exercises.
The children sat cross-legged on the training mats, palms together, eyes shut, trying to draw chakra evenly. For most, it was like trying to cup water in their hands—it slipped away, uncontrolled.
Sweat dripped down faces. Some groaned in frustration.
Hiruzen walked between them, offering advice. "Steady your breathing. Feel the flow. Do not force it."
When he stopped near Orochimaru, he blinked. The boy's aura shimmered faintly, chakra circulating with unnatural smoothness for his age.
"Orochimaru," Hiruzen said softly, "your control is… remarkable."
Golden eyes cracked open. "It feels natural, sensei."
Ren Uchiha scowled nearby, his own chakra fluctuating wildly. His hands trembled as he forced too much energy at once. Hiruzen had to steady him with a gentle tap on the shoulder.
Orochimaru watched it all, storing data. Ren's flaw wasn't talent—it was impatience. Impatience could be weaponized.
Later, during sparring, Tsunade charged forward with reckless energy, fists swinging. Jiraiya, facing her, yelped and scrambled back, barely dodging. The class howled with laughter as she landed a glancing blow that sent him rolling.
Hiruzen sighed but smiled. "Control, Tsunade. Don't break your classmates."
Tsunade grinned, unrepentant.
Orochimaru observed quietly from the sidelines. The girl had raw strength, even without advanced training. Jiraiya, meanwhile, had clumsy reflexes but surprising resilience—he kept getting up, no matter how many times she flattened him.
When his own turn came, Orochimaru faced Shikuro Aburame. The boy stood calmly, insects buzzing faintly beneath his skin.
The fight was slow, methodical—neither rushed. Orochimaru's strikes were precise, testing. Shikuro's responses were measured, a step back here, a block there.
Then, faintly, kikaichū beetles emerged, hovering at his command.
The other children gasped.
But Orochimaru only smirked. He stepped forward deliberately, letting a beetle land on his arm. His chakra flared in a sudden, controlled pulse. The beetle shrieked in inaudible tones and flew back to Shikuro.
The Aburame boy blinked in surprise.
"I see," Orochimaru murmured, eyes gleaming. "They dislike disruption."
Hiruzen called the match. "Draw. Well done, both of you."
The class murmured, unsettled by how calmly Orochimaru had handled something alien to most children.
Ren Uchiha's glare burned hotter.
That evening, Orochimaru lingered in the training yard alone. The moon hung above, silver light spilling across the ground.
Snakes slithered in the grass around him, drawn to his presence. One coiled up his arm, flicking its tongue.
He whispered softly. "System. Mission check."
[MISSION: Accumulate Wealth]
Progress: 0%
Reward: System Upgrade
Orochimaru's lips curled. Wealth. Power. Influence. He would build it all, piece by piece.
He looked up at the moon, golden eyes reflecting pale light. His classmates laughed and stumbled home, dreaming of glory, of becoming shinobi.
But Orochimaru? He was dreaming of something else.
Not glory. Not recognition.
Control.
The roots beneath Konoha would twist in his grasp before they even knew a serpent had slithered among them.