The morning air in Konoha was crisp, filled with the scent of dew-drenched leaves. The Academy courtyard buzzed with noise as children gathered before classes began. Some traded snacks, others boasted of new techniques they had supposedly learned at home.
Orochimaru walked in silence, hands in his pockets. As usual, the chatter around him dipped when he passed. The pale boy with golden eyes drew glances, whispers.
But today, his mind wasn't on them.
He had spent the night diving through the Infinite Knowledge System, combing through centuries of economic theory, black market strategies, and survival tactics. Patterns began to form in his thoughts, threads of opportunity in a village that had never heard of Wall Street but still had resources ripe for control.
Money. Influence. Access. Research.
That was the path.
Class began with history lessons. The children scribbled notes while Daiki spoke of the founding of Konoha, the pact between Senju and Uchiha, the unification under the First Hokage.
Most of the kids yawned, eyes glazing over. Renji half-listened with arms crossed, his pride still sore. Hikari, ever earnest, wrote diligently. Riku doodled paw prints in the margins while his pup snored.
Orochimaru, meanwhile, analyzed.
The Senju lands were fertile, rich in timber and crops. The Uchiha controlled police authority, wielding influence in law enforcement. The Nara had medicine, the Akimichi food production, the Yamanaka trade routes of information.
Every clan was a monopoly. Every monopoly meant profit—if you knew where to press.
"History," Daiki's voice cut into his thoughts, "is not merely stories. It is the foundation of power. Understand the past, and you will understand the future."
Orochimaru raised his hand.
The instructor blinked, surprised. Orochimaru rarely volunteered. "Yes?"
"If the clans control resources, and resources decide wars, does that not mean the Hokage's power depends more on balancing their greed than on his own strength?"
A hush fell over the class. Children shifted nervously, some glancing toward the door as if Danzō might suddenly appear again.
Daiki hesitated. "That… is a complex question. One that even adults struggle with. But yes, in part, leadership often means balance."
Orochimaru leaned back, satisfied. Information confirmed.
During lunch, he sat beneath a tree with Hikari, who had taken to bringing him small rice balls wrapped neatly in cloth. She claimed he "looked like he forgot to eat sometimes," which wasn't untrue.
"You ask strange questions," she said between bites.
"Strange to you," he replied calmly, "but necessary to me."
Riku bounded over, pup yipping at his heels. "Hey! Pale guy, what's your deal? You don't laugh, you don't play, you don't even fight unless someone makes you. What do you do for fun?"
Orochimaru tilted his head. Fun? A childish concept. But then an idea curled through his thoughts like smoke.
"Experiment," he said simply.
Riku blinked. "Experiment? Like… blowing things up?"
"Sometimes," Orochimaru murmured with a faint smile.
Hikari looked nervous. "That sounds… dangerous."
"It's only dangerous," Orochimaru said softly, "if you fail."
The way he said it made them both uneasy. But curiosity lingered too.
That evening, Orochimaru tested his first step.
Near the orphanage, older kids often gambled with marbles, spinning them in chalk circles, betting snacks or coins. It was harmless fun for most, but to Orochimaru, it was practice.
He watched silently at first, memorizing every flick of fingers, every angle of marble spin. His mind calculated probabilities, physics, hand strength, friction on the dusty ground. Within minutes, he knew the outcome of each throw before it landed.
When he finally stepped forward, the other children looked wary.
"You play?" one boy asked, sneering.
"Of course," Orochimaru said, voice smooth. "But let's make it interesting."
He placed a single coin on the ground. The others scoffed.
By the end of the hour, that coin had multiplied tenfold. His throws were flawless, each marble a calculated strike. The children's cheers turned to groans, their confidence to frustration.
"Cheater!" one boy accused.
Orochimaru's golden eyes narrowed. "I don't cheat. I simply… don't lose."
The others fell silent, unsettled by his tone. But none dared press further.
Days passed. Orochimaru continued winning—sometimes losing deliberately to avoid suspicion, but always ensuring the coins flowed toward him in the end. He used the system's vast archives to calculate gambling strategies, mimic sleight-of-hand tricks, and even manipulate his opponents' moods with well-placed comments.
Soon, he had a small stash hidden beneath his bed: enough coins to matter for a child, not enough to draw adult attention.
But it was only the beginning.
Back at the Academy, whispers followed him more than ever. Not just about his eerie eyes or strange demeanor, but about how "Orochimaru always seems to win."
Renji simmered with jealousy. Riku watched with admiration. Hikari… worried.
"You're drawing too much attention," she whispered one afternoon.
"That's the point," Orochimaru replied.
"No," she said firmly. "You think you're hiding, but people are watching. The wrong people."
Her words echoed uncomfortably in his mind. She wasn't wrong. Danzō's single eye lingered in his memory, sharp as a blade.
And yet, power required risk.
That night, he whispered to the system again.
[STAT UPDATE]
Strategic Foresight: Locked → Unlocked
Passive Ability: Enhanced Probability Calculations
Orochimaru's lips curled into a thin smile. His mind now ran simulations of future outcomes with greater precision, probabilities flashing like sparks whenever he considered a choice.
It wasn't foresight in the mystical sense—no prophecy, no destiny. It was pure calculation.
And with it, he would gamble not just marbles, not just coins, but the very lives and futures of those around him.
The serpent coiled tighter in the shadows.