Seiran lay in the hospital bed, propped against pillows as he stared at the white ceiling. Two days of recovery, and already the difference was staggering.
Orochimaru's Cell Activation technique was deceptively elegant. Even bedridden, he could temper his cells through precise chakra circulation. The method wasn't complicated—just methodical, relentless. By the second day, his body felt nearly whole again.
But healing wasn't what occupied his mind. It was the sensation of power coursing through him, vast and hungry. And beneath that—a hollow ache.
Shibi Aburame's words kept circling back.
"Considering your current abilities, we're promoting you to Chunin. A-rank missions and below, you'll handle alone now."
"The Third Hokage wanted to make you Special Jonin, but advancing too fast draws attention from other villages. I couldn't risk it."
"Rin's returning to her clan for training. Anko's taken on as Orochimaru's disciple. As for me... I belong in the shadows again."
"Team 3 has been dissolved."
He'd known this day would come. Logically, it made sense. Ordinary team missions couldn't push him further—the Third Hokage understood that. Solo work would force him to grow faster, sharper. It was the right move.
So why did it feel like losing something?
The door clicked open.
Rin stepped inside, setting a basket of fruit on the cabinet. She looked at him with a soft smile. "You're looking much better."
"Yeah?" He managed a grin, but it felt thin.
She settled on the edge of the bed and picked up an apple, drawing a fruit knife from her pocket. The only sound was the whisper of the blade against the skin, peeling in thin, careful spirals.
The silence stretched.
"Seiran, I might not be able to visit tomorrow." Her voice came quietly, almost reluctant. Her expression was complicated—caught between something like excitement and something like sadness.
"Something come up?"
"My clan arranged special training for me. The clan head personally requested it." She paused, her fingers stilling on the apple. "I couldn't refuse."
Seiran's eyes narrowed slightly. The Uchiha didn't intervene for ordinary clansmen. "The clan head himself?"
"Mm." She nodded, then her cheeks warmed. She turned toward the window, suddenly defensive. "Why are you asking so many questions? It was... it was when you were in danger. Back then."
Her gaze drifted away, seeing something he couldn't. In his mind, he could almost see it—the rain, Anko's trembling steps, blood washing pale against the downpour.
Rin's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "My eyes felt like they were splitting open. When I looked again..."
Two-tomoe Sharingan.
After she left, Seiran closed his eyes and resumed his practice. Cell Activation demanded attention—a constant, meditative flow of chakra through every fiber.
It was genius. Pure, cold genius. Orochimaru had spent three years engineering this technique, and every moment of that investment showed. Cells tempered in waves, vitality surging with each pass, chakra refined like steel in a forge.
His power had climbed steadily. Two days in, and his chakra already brushed against Jonin threshold. The cellular damage from Tyrant Mode's electromagnetic discharge—gone by yesterday.
He exhaled slowly, opening his eyes.
"Cell Activation deserves its reputation," he murmured to the quiet room. "Three years to develop. It takes true mastery of the human body to conceive something this precise."
It was foundational to Orochimaru's arsenal. The Clone Technique, Living Corpse Reincarnation—both built on this. Both needed this.
"A technique worthy of respect."
The voice came from the doorway, amused and unmistakably familiar.
Seiran's expression hardened. "Don't you knock?"
"I assumed your perception would catch me." Orochimaru stepped inside, movements unhurried, casual. "But it seems I was wrong."
A small smile tugged at Seiran's mouth. Around his forearm, hidden beneath his sleeve, a silver serpent coiled—the magnetofluidic Kubikiribōchō, ready to become a weapon at will. Orochimaru posed no true threat here. "What brings you by?"
"The cell samples I collected earlier have yielded results. Quite interesting ones." Orochimaru settled into a chair with the ease of someone completely comfortable in his own workspace. A laboratory, even here. "I thought you'd want to hear them."
Seiran's muscles tensed slightly. "Go on."
"Your cells are unusual." Orochimaru leaned back, fingers steepled. "They're advancing toward a higher form, but..." He paused, his smile sharpening. "Your Byakugan range far exceeds typical clan members, doesn't it?"
"Yes." No point hiding it. "What about it?"
"What you're experiencing isn't random evolution, Seiran. Based on the cellular data... it's atavism. Your bloodline is ascending. The purity of your Byakugan increases with every iteration."
The words hit like ice water.
Bloodline atavism.
Seiran's breath caught. Orochimaru might not know the truth—the origin of the Hyuga clan, the distant celestial bloodline of Kaguya Otsutsuki herself—but Seiran did.
Could he really be evolving toward that? Toward them?
The thought was staggering.