The weeks rolled on at the Academy, a blur of training drills, scroll lessons, and childhood rivalries.
For most students, it was a time of innocence. Wooden kunai clattered against training posts, laughter echoed during breaks, and even sparring bouts ended with playful grudges.
But for Orochimaru, every moment was calculation. Every word, every glance, every stumble in taijutsu was data to be stored, analyzed, weaponized.
He watched, quietly weaving an invisible web.
Renji, the proud Uchiha boy, grew restless. His loss to Orochimaru during their first spar had become an open wound. He trained furiously after class, determined to reclaim his dignity. Orochimaru noted his desperation. Pride made him reckless.
Riku, the Inuzuka heir, with his boundless energy, sought Orochimaru out often. His pup adored curling against Orochimaru's pale robes despite the boy's protests that "snakes and dogs don't mix." Orochimaru allowed it—not out of kindness, but because loyalty was a resource worth cultivating.
Hikari, quiet and sharp-eyed, hovered close, offering food or gentle reminders. Her compassion was genuine, but Orochimaru could see something else beneath it: fear. She feared what he might become, yet could not look away.
Daiki, their instructor, watched Orochimaru with increasing unease. The boy's answers to questions were too precise, too sharp for his age.
And then there was Danzō. That single eye lingered in the shadows of memory, always watching.
On a crisp autumn day, the Academy gathered for a combined class sparring exercise. The yard buzzed with excitement as instructors paired children off. Wooden weapons gleamed under the sun.
"Renji Uchiha versus Orochimaru."
A collective murmur rippled through the crowd.
Renji's fists tightened. His clan's pride burned in his chest, and this was his chance for redemption.
Orochimaru merely tilted his head.
They stepped into the ring, eyes locked.
Renji struck first, fast and aggressive. His taijutsu was sharper than before—clearly hours of practice had honed him. The children cheered, believing he would overwhelm Orochimaru this time.
But Orochimaru didn't meet force with force. He shifted, parried, redirected. Each movement was efficient, almost lazy in its simplicity, as though his body calculated the minimum effort required to counter.
Renji grew frustrated. His strikes became sloppy, wild. That was when Orochimaru whispered, just loud enough for him to hear:
"Your brother would've already won."
Renji froze for a split second, his guard faltering. Orochimaru swept his leg, sending him crashing into the dirt.
Gasps erupted.
Renji's face burned red—not from pain, but from humiliation.
The instructor hesitated before declaring, "Winner: Orochimaru."
Orochimaru stepped back, expression neutral, but inside he savored the shame twisting in Renji's gut. Guilt, inferiority, resentment—all delicious tools for the future.
Unbeknownst to the children, their spar had an audience beyond Daiki.
From a rooftop overlooking the yard, Hiruzen Sarutobi stood with arms crossed, pipe in hand. His gaze lingered on the pale boy with unsettling golden eyes.
"Unusual," the Hokage murmured.
Beside him, Danzō's single eye narrowed. "Too unusual. That one hides something."
Hiruzen exhaled smoke. "Perhaps. Or perhaps he is simply gifted."
"Gifted children do not speak like old men," Danzō retorted. "Mark my words, Hiruzen. That boy is dangerous."
The Hokage did not reply. His eyes followed Orochimaru, who quietly sat at the edge of the group, neither gloating nor celebrating. Only observing. Always observing.
That evening, Orochimaru retreated to his usual tree, system panels shimmering faintly before his eyes.
[STAT UPDATE]
Psychological Manipulation: 10% → 18%
Probability Threads: Enhanced
He smirked. His encounter with Renji had sharpened his ability to exploit emotions. And it was only the beginning.
A rustle drew his attention. Hikari approached, clutching a bento box.
"You didn't eat lunch again," she said softly. "Here."
He accepted it with a nod, unwrapping neat rice triangles and pickled vegetables.
"You humiliated him," she said after a moment.
"He humiliated himself," Orochimaru replied coolly.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Do you… enjoy making people feel small?"
He paused, then smiled faintly. "Yes."
Her eyes widened. She hadn't expected honesty. She set her jaw but said nothing more, only sitting beside him in silence.
The snake coiled in the grass at his feet, its tiny glasses slipping down its snout again. Orochimaru chuckled quietly, adjusting them.
Even monsters could laugh.
The next day, Daiki gathered the class. "Children, tomorrow we will begin a new exercise—team missions. You will be placed in groups to solve challenges, just as shinobi squads do. Teamwork is as important as individual strength."
Excitement buzzed through the room. Riku cheered. Renji scowled. Hikari smiled nervously.
Orochimaru's mind raced. Teamwork meant exposure, new opportunities to test manipulation.
Daiki began listing names. When he reached, "Orochimaru, Hikari, Renji, Riku," a collective gasp spread.
The pale boy, the prideful rival, the moral compass, and the loyal fool—all bound together.
Orochimaru's lips curled.
Perfect.
That night, beneath the pale moon, he whispered to the system:
[MISSION UNLOCKED]
Objective: Complete Team Trial Exercise with Maximum Advantage
Reward: Tactical Analysis Upgrade
His grin widened.
Tomorrow, the game would shift.