Orochimaru would never forget that day six years ago.
Year 48 of the Shinobi Calendar.
The Third Great Ninja War had ended.
Surrounded by enemies on all sides, Konohagakure had paid a devastating price—but it had won.
But…
"What was the point?"
His thin lips moved soundlessly as he stood among the sea of black umbrellas in the cemetery. The sky was heavy with leaden clouds; mourners bowed like reeds bent by rain.
At the front stood his teacher—
Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage.
Lightning split the sky, casting his hunched shadow long and twisted like a demon upon the ground.
Orochimaru felt a sudden, bone-deep disgust.
So many had died.
And yet—nothing had changed.
His gaze shifted.
A boy with a bowl haircut sobbed uncontrollably—snot and tears mixed together in a pitiful mess. Orochimaru recognized him. He had often seen the boy running around Konoha upside-down with his father, enduring ridicule with foolish optimism.
The boy's father had encountered the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist.
Branded a "genin failure," he had single-handedly slain four of them to protect his child before dying from his wounds.
The boy was Might Guy.
Another child stood nearby—
No umbrella. Rain soaking his frail body. Shoulders trembling silently.
That was Hyuga Yunchuan.
Timid. Weak. Unable even to awaken the Byakugan. A disgrace within the Hyuga clan.
His father had not died on the battlefield—but from severe wounds after returning. Rumors whispered that a main family elder had activated the Caged Bird Seal as punishment.
Two boys. Nine? Ten?
Thrown into war.
Left alone.
Orochimaru looked again at Hiruzen.
The world turned gray and white under lightning's glare.
What was the meaning of life?
Dead lives meant nothing.
Only while alive could meaning exist.
Death was absolute equality.
When it came, everything vanished.
Like water dissolving into water.
He did not want to lose everything.
He wanted everything.
He would not die.
After the funeral, only tombstones remained.
Orochimaru stood before the grave of Nawaki, placing a white chrysanthemum down.
He felt nothing.
No grief. No anger.
Only fear.
A quiet voice came from behind him.
"Um… your complexion looks very bad…"
He turned to meet a pair of pale Byakugan eyes.
Yunchuan trembled slightly but stood his ground.
"Do you know… what the meaning of life is?" the boy asked softly.
"None," Orochimaru replied. "Even if there is, it exists only while alive. The dead have none."
Silence fell.
Then—
"Do you believe in gods?"
Orochimaru almost laughed, much as he mocked Jiraiya for believing in prophecy.
Gods were fantasies of the weak.
"But what if… that god had eternal life?"
Yunchuan spoke of a scroll.
Of an ancestral corpse.
Of a body whose soul had departed but whose vessel remained.
Orochimaru's pupils trembled.
Among all in the shinobi world, none understood the soul better than he.
If what the boy said were true—
It was worth seeing.
He stepped forward, shielding the boy from rain with his umbrella.
"Why tell me this?"
"I don't trust my clan," Yunchuan whispered. "My father was killed by them."
"Are you asking for revenge?" Orochimaru smiled thinly.
"If you betray me," Yunchuan replied quietly, "I won't lose much. Only myself."
That answer amused him.
Perhaps living held meaning after all—if only to meet interesting people.
Yunchuan handed over the scroll and corpse.
Orochimaru deciphered part of its seals.
He learned of the Ōtsutsuki clan—
Celestial beings from another world.
Wielders of chakra.
Users of "Karma" to reincarnate and transcend death.
Planters of the God Tree, devourers of planets.
One branch member had remained behind in the shinobi world.
Its descendants—
The Hyuga.
The corpse without a soul was that branch member.
Eternal life was real.
The body was perfection beyond human limits.
Six years passed.
Yunchuan obeyed him completely. Assisted experiments. Even approached Hiruzen and Danzo when ordered.
Though talentless as a shinobi, the boy possessed uncanny research intuition.
Orochimaru even felt reluctant to kill his soul.
But greed for immortality always won.
Until now.
Back in the laboratory—
The headless corpse lay nearby.
Six years suddenly felt unreal.
"You…" Orochimaru asked, rare agitation breaking through. "What are you doing?"
Yunchuan smiled.
"Thank you, Lord Orochimaru."
"True ignorance is not lack of knowledge—but refusal to seek it."
"And weakness and ignorance are not the greatest obstacles to survival."
"Arrogance is."
Yes.
Because of arrogance, Orochimaru never truly regarded him as a threat.
A timid, useless child.
An unopened Byakugan.
What could he possibly do?
But Yunchuan had been an isolated island—
Calm forests outside. Bottomless swamp within.
From the start, it was not Orochimaru who chose him.
He had chosen Orochimaru.
Realizing this, Orochimaru laughed in fury.
"You think you can escape me?"
He vanished.
Killing intent exploded like a frozen river shattering.
A kunai tore through the air—
Too fast to see clearly.
Even with depleted chakra, Orochimaru was beyond Yunchuan's current strength.
The partially realized Ōtsutsuki body granted talent—not power.
Yunchuan did not dodge.
He stepped forward.
Slash.
Blood erupted.
The blade cut half his neck—through vocal cords and bone. Fatal for any normal human.
Yet he smiled.
"Even now… you still hesitate to strike my heart?"
Then—
A thunderous crash.
Behind Orochimaru stood Hiruzen Sarutobi, face contorted in rage.
"Orochimaru! What are you doing?!"
Yunchuan closed his eyes, collapsing onto the surgical table.
A final thought surfaced.
A caged bird. A useless branch member.
Fate gave me the worst script imaginable.
But it doesn't matter.
I was born to be the greatest actor.