Leaving the research base, master and disciple returned to the Konoha camp.
By the time they arrived, the Jonin of the Mist front had already gathered outside the command tent. The moment they saw Orochimaru and Uchiha Gen appear, they greeted them with a mixture of respect and enthusiasm.
Orochimaru remained aloof, offering only the slightest nod in acknowledgment. Gen, on the other hand, was far warmer, responding to each one with a faint smile and a word.
Inside the deliberation tent, the two took their seats at the long table. Orochimaru gave his student a small glance, wordless but clear.
Gen nodded, then rose, holding a scroll in hand. His expression carried a hint of reluctance as he spoke in a steady voice:
"Everyone, an order has just arrived from Hokage-sama. My master and I are being transferred to the Kumogakure front line."
He let the words hang for a moment, then continued, "The new commanding officers, Sarutobi Shinnosuke and Nara Shikaku, will arrive shortly. From this day on, you are to follow their commands to the fullest."
The news landed like a thunderclap. For a heartbeat the tent was silent, and then voices broke out everywhere, Jonin murmuring to one another in disbelief.
Neither Orochimaru nor Gen silenced them. They let the stir run its course.
Finally, Inuzuka Gaku raised his voice: "Lord Orochimaru, Lord Gen, Hidden Mist won't last much longer! Victory is at hand, and now of all times..."
Gen's sharp gaze cut him off mid-sentence. He raised a hand, firm and cold.
"Hokage-sama and the village elders have their reasons. Complaining is useless. Orders are to be obeyed."
Gaku froze, realization flashing in his eyes. He bowed quickly, gratitude hidden in his voice as he stammered, "Yes, Lord Gen!"
If he had let the rest of that sentence slip, it would not only have doomed him but dragged the Inuzuka Clan into needless trouble. Among the Jonin present, some were certain to carry tales back to Konoha's high council.
The others fell silent as well, each one sobered, each one suddenly aware of the tightrope they were walking.
Orochimaru's golden eyes swept over them, calm and unreadable. "Though we have seized an advantage," he said quietly, "the war is not yet won. Do not falter now. When next we meet in Konoha, I want all of you present and alive."
The words were gentle, far gentler than anyone expected from Orochimaru. The cold, strict commander had revealed a flicker of warmth, and that fleeting glimpse struck the Jonin deeper than any fiery speech could.
Even after all these years, his charisma bound them.
Gen smiled faintly. "Me too."
He had no intention of letting Suikazan Fuguki cause chaos at this stage. That would only slaughter rank-and-file Konoha shinobi men and women who had followed him faithfully. Shinnosuke, sitting comfortably behind layers of command, would barely be touched.
"Enough of this," Orochimaru said with a dismissive wave. "We are ninja. Parting is common. Don't act like sentimental children."
He let a beat pass, then added, "Tonight, have the logistics corps prepare a few tables of food. Think of it as a farewell banquet."
The Jonin rose as one, bowing deeply before filing out. Whatever the politics, the results that Orochimaru and Gen had won here had earned their respect.
When the tent was empty, Orochimaru stretched lazily. "My experiment still needs finishing. I'll see you tonight." He sank into the earth and vanished.
Gen chuckled. "Alright."
He, too, had work to do. If he was leaving the Land of Whirlpools, he would wring it dry before he went.
Back in his quarters, he sat cross-legged and wove the signs of the Spirit Transformation Technique. His spirit slipped free, hunting through the mist.
That day, every Hidden Mist shinobi who ventured from their fortress met an invisible predator—and not a single one returned. Panic rippled through their ranks, and for days afterward, no one dared to step outside the fortress walls.
By evening, after the banquet and the farewells, preparations for the handover began.
Two days later, Sarutobi Shinnosuke arrived at the Konoha camp with his entourage, weary from travel. His arrival marked the beginning of a new, more complicated chapter for the Jonin already stationed here.
Positions of influence would be stripped away, given instead to Shinnosuke's confidants. Some might scramble to ingratiate themselves, but the numbers would never balance. Dissatisfaction was inevitable.
For Orochimaru and Gen, this suited them just fine. The seeds of discontent would only grow into support for them later.
Notably, Nara Shikaku, Akimichi Choza, and Yamanaka Inoichi were not with Shinnosuke. They would only join later, after Orochimaru completed the transfer of command at the Land of Rice Fields front.
This time, only Orochimaru and Gen were being moved. No other Jonin had been given orders.
But then, Orochimaru had never needed support. No matter where he went, his name alone commanded absolute obedience.
Shinnosuke, by contrast, cut a striking but untested figure, tall, handsome, with the same features that would one day appear in his younger brother Asuma. He carried himself neatly, polished like an elite, though his confidence didn't quite hide his unease.
During the formalities, Gen smiled faintly and said, "Sensei, during the last war, when I had spare time in the Land of Rice Fields, I planted a peach tree. Two years have passed. By now, it should be heavy with fruit. We should hurry before someone else picks it."
His tone was mild, but the barb was obvious.
Shinnosuke's face darkened, and the Sarutobi clan shinobi behind him bristled.
Orochimaru only smiled faintly, offering no rebuke. It was one thing for him to hold back out of respect for his teacher. His disciple, however, was under no such obligation.
The Jonin on both sides stiffened, watching every word, every twitch of expression.
Finally, one Sarutobi clansman snapped. "Uchiha Gen, what do you mean by that? This is Hokage-sama's order, we are only here to execute it!"
Gen's expression iced over.
"No respect," he said coldly. "I was speaking with Lord Orochimaru. This is a conversation between commanders. What right do you have to interrupt? Are all Sarutobi shinobi this uncouth?"
His killing intent exploded outward like a storm. It was not chakra, but pure spiritual pressure, waves crashing, winds howling, an ocean threatening to swallow everything in its path.
The Sarutobi Jonin who had spoken found himself crushed beneath it. Though a veteran of countless battles, his killing intent was like a candle before a roaring blaze.
His body trembled, his face paled, and in that moment he felt like a boat about to capsize on a black sea.