Orochimaru's eyes glimmered.
For a man who had devoted his life to chasing immortality, it wasn't difficult to grasp why Yui Xuanyue would struggle against the pull of the afterlife. Orochimaru had assumed, at most, the old shinobi could extend his time as an Edo Tensei, clinging to this world for a few fleeting years before the binding unraveled.
But when Xuanyue openly sought out Tsunade, demanding the Spirit Transformation Technique, Orochimaru realized he had underestimated his former elder's ambition.
"True resurrection…?" Orochimaru's tongue slid across his lips, the thought sending a thrill through him.
But was such a thing even possible?
Not even he, with all his research, had managed it. At best, he tore pieces of his soul apart, slipping into new vessels with crippling consequences. It was not resurrection—it was survival by technicality.
Could Yui Xuanyue really succeed where no one else ever had?
Orochimaru considered the technique carefully. Spirit Transformation… it severs the soul from flesh. Xuanyue seeks to escape the shackles of Edo Tensei?
He frowned. The bonds of the underworld are far stronger than people imagine. Could this truly work?
And even if it did—what then? Would Xuanyue drift the earth as a disembodied ghost? Or worse, force his way into another body?
Orochimaru knew better than anyone how stubbornly flesh rejected foreign souls. At best, the result was violent rejection. At worst, complete collapse.
His own Living Corpse Reincarnation was proof.
Even for him—a genius among geniuses—it had taken years of obsession to perfect. And even then, the jutsu was shackled by cruel limits: three years between each transfer, bodies that never truly accepted him, a cycle of rebirth without end… and never once, true peace.
Yet he had never heard of Xuanyue dabbling in such forbidden arts. So what, exactly, was the old man relying on?
Orochimaru couldn't know. Not that, before his death, Xuanyue had sealed away his own flesh right under everyone's noses. With Senju Hashirama himself testifying that Xuanyue's body had been obliterated, no one would ever suspect otherwise.
Night fell.
Yui Xuanyue stood atop a tall power line pole, the full moon framing his back. Below, the streets of Tanzaku Town buzzed with life—lanterns glowing, stalls shouting, children laughing.
It was lively. It was warm.
It was not his.
Xuanyue sighed inwardly. He wasn't some deranged killer who wanted to wipe it all away. No, what pained him was the opposite. He longed for it—and could not touch it.
Edo Tensei was a prison. Its "immortality" dulled the senses, wrapping the world in a suffocating haze. Food tasted like ash, sake like water. Even the pleasures were."
If he wanted to live again, to truly reclaim taste, touch, warmth—then he had to cast off this cursed shell.
And if anyone stood in his way? He would cut them down, no matter the cost.
His eyes sharpened. In the distance, one tavern shone brighter than the rest.
Inside sat Tsunade and Shizune, drowning themselves in sake. Jiraiya and Uzumaki Naruto had already found them, and now, the Sannin reunited after years apart. Between drinks and cards, the inevitable topic surfaced: the Fifth Hokage.
Naruto's jaw had nearly hit the table when he realized the next Hokage candidate was this "granny."
But Tsunade scoffed. "Hokage? A fool's dream. Only idiots would want that title."
Her words seared into Naruto, an open insult to his dream—and the boy erupted.
The tavern shook with their shouting. And then, predictably, with their fists.
From the shadows outside, Xuanyue watched.
One blow. That was all it took.
Naruto lay flat on the floor.
Yet even in defeat, when Tsunade sneered and demanded why he clung so tightly to such a worthless dream, the boy shouted back:
"Because being Hokage is my dream!"
Xuanyue's gaze flickered. On Tsunade's face, he saw it—the tremor, the pain, the ghosts of her brother and her lover, and the faintest spark of hope.
There was no need to watch further.
The decision was already made.
Orochimaru's carefully woven deal had collapsed.
Xuanyue turned away with a faint smirk. "So be it. My own plans can proceed. And as for Naruto, his famed silver tongue truly is something else. I'll deal with that little… 'starter quest' soon enough."
His body dissolved into the dark.
Inside, Jiraiya noticed something. Tsunade's face had softened. Her walls were cracking. Good.
But as he glanced at the shadows, his smile faded.
Root?
The faint killing intent, the hidden presences—he knew them well.
Danzo's hounds.
Jiraiya frowned. He'd tolerated their stalking only because Naruto was the Nine-Tails' host. But now, with Hiruzen Sarutobi gone, Danzo's blade was growing harder to restrain.
"Still," Jiraiya muttered, "maybe this fiery woman should take that burden. I was never cut out for politics anyway."
The night deepened. The stage was set.
The inevitable result was already in motion.
(Chapter End)