Chiriu banged his forehead against the wooden table with a loud thud.
"Oh my God, Lord Orochimaru, the Iburi Clan will never forget the kindness you have shown us!"
His voice trembled with sincerity. As he raised his head, his thoughts turned inward. He remembered the miserable life his clan had once endured—hiding in the shadows, their strange bloodline tearing their bodies apart, their existence barely clinging to survival. Then he thought of the life that Orochimaru and Chief Qing He had painstakingly cultivated within the scroll of ninjutsu. That contrast alone was enough to make his chest ache with gratitude.
Chiriu knew his clan well. He knew Chief Qing He better than anyone. He also knew—down to the last drop of effort—how much patience, research, and sheer brilliance Orochimaru had poured into their salvation. The Iburi Clan's strange ninjutsu had been nearly uncontrollable, something even Chief Qing He couldn't stabilize no matter how hard he strained his mind. Yet Orochimaru had managed it with apparent ease.
Even if it cost him his life, Chiriu was prepared to repay this debt. He was certain that many of his clan members—perhaps all of them—would willingly sacrifice themselves for Lord Orochimaru if called upon.
"Lord Orochimaru," Chiriu said with a rare fire in his voice, "is there anything we can do for you?"
He was jealous, truly jealous of Chief Qing He and the others who were able to work so closely with Orochimaru. But ever since the Iburi Clan had pledged themselves to Konoha, such opportunities had slipped through his fingers.
"There's no need to rush," Orochimaru replied, standing from his seat with his usual graceful composure. He turned toward the door, his pale hand resting briefly on the wooden frame before he continued. "That day will come, Chiriu. For now, devote yourself to strengthening the Iburi Clan. When the time comes, I will need you."
His words were calm, but Chiriu understood the weight behind them.
For Orochimaru, leaving behind a hidden trump card—an ace tucked away for the uncertain future—was far better than having nothing at all.
As he stepped outside, Orochimaru's golden eyes narrowed faintly. A premonition stirred in him. His research into the Caged Bird Curse Mark was reaching dangerous territory. If successful, it would shake the Hyuga Clan to its core. Whether those ripples would threaten him personally remained unknown. Still, he had no intention of abandoning the research. Progress had been made—progress he intended to test the next time Hyuga Mio visited his laboratory.
Walking through the Iburi Clan's modest settlement, Orochimaru's steps faltered for a moment as the memories of his dispelled shadow clones flooded back. Fatigue tugged at his mind, but he ignored it.
Instead, his thoughts turned toward another of his current projects: the Akimichi Clan's famed Three-Colored Pills.
---
The Three-Colored Pills Reforged
The original formula was crude, almost barbaric. A brute force approach disguised as medicine. Eat it, and if you survive, you gain power. If not… well, at least you'll die dramatically.
To Orochimaru, such recklessness was laughable. And yet, he had to admit—the Akimichi Clan's physiology, bolstered by generations of Yang Release chakra, was astonishingly durable. Any other clan would have been torn apart by the ferocious medicinal energy of the Red Chili Pill before they even managed to swing a kunai.
Now, thanks to his efforts, the pills had been refined:
Red Chili Pill – Still the strongest of the three, now boosting strength about fivefold instead of absurd levels. The cost was weakness after use, but with rest and abundant food, recovery was possible.
Green Spinach Pill – Its side effects had been reduced to little more than chakra exhaustion, easily remedied with soldier pills or a hearty meal.
Yellow Curry Pill – Similarly refined, leaving behind only mild weakness instead of dangerous strain.
Orochimaru was confident—absolutely confident—that no one would die from his Red Chili Pill. The Akimichi's trump card could now be wielded without fatal sacrifice.
But confidence was not proof. Proof required a stage, and subjects.
And so Orochimaru traveled to the Akimichi Clan's territory.
---
A Feast of Giants
A festival atmosphere filled the Akimichi compound. The smell of roasted meats, simmering stews, and freshly fried tempura wafted through the air, carried by bursts of laughter and the rumble of satisfied bellies.
A cooking competition was underway, though for the Akimichi, "competition" seemed to mean "eating as much as possible." Dozens of clan members stood shoulder to shoulder, bowls the size of barrels balanced in their enormous hands.
"Multi-Size Technique!" they shouted in unison. Their bodies swelled like balloons, making more room for more food, more stomachs, more victory.
Orochimaru stood at the edge of the crowd, his slender frame a sharp contrast to the mountain-like figures around him. With his long, pale fingers tucked behind his back and his golden eyes half-lidded, he looked almost delicate—like a porcelain doll among ogres.
Six Paths Sage's eyebrows… are their cooking contests always this insane? he thought, suppressing a rare smile.
It didn't take long for someone to notice the out-of-place figure.
"Orochimaru!" boomed a familiar voice.
Akimichi Torifu—broad as a mountain, his plump cheeks trembling with excitement—strode toward him. "Why are you here, little one?"
"Uncle Torifu," Orochimaru replied evenly, producing a sealed scroll. "The development of the Three-Colored Pills formula has been completed. Here are the final notes, along with experimental samples."
The crowd of Akimichi quieted instantly. Torifu's eyes widened as he carefully unsealed the scroll and retrieved the pills.
"The Green Spinach and Yellow Curry Pills are now twice as effective, with almost no side effects," Orochimaru explained, his voice smooth as silk. "As for the Red Chili Pill—its power has been moderated. Fivefold strength, followed by prolonged weakness. With food and rest, recovery is possible."
"Marvelous… marvelous!" Torifu's booming laugh shook the air. His enormous hand clapped down on Orochimaru's narrow shoulder. The impact nearly knocked him over.
"Uncle Torifu," Orochimaru muttered, sliding two steps aside with a faint scowl. "Are you trying to bury me alive with your applause?"
"Ah… hahaha!" Torifu scratched his cheek sheepishly. "Forgive me, forgive me. I forget how… delicate you are."
Still, no one present mistook delicacy for weakness. Orochimaru's genius was already reshaping clans.
---
The First Test
The eating contest wound to a chaotic end. The victor—Akimichi Tōu—clutched his stomach, burping uncontrollably. His face was pale, but his smile was triumphant.
"I… I won!" he wheezed.
"Perfect." Torifu snapped his fingers. From the scroll, he produced one of Orochimaru's Red Chili Pills and pressed it into Tōu's palm.
The younger Akimichi froze. His victory grin twisted into something like horror. "C-Chief… this is… isn't this…"
"It's Orochimaru's improved formula," Torifu reassured him.
But Tōu's eyes screamed: Why are you sending me to die for winning a cooking contest?!
Orochimaru observed quietly, his golden eyes unreadable.
After a tense pause, Tōu swallowed hard—then popped the pill into his mouth.
The reaction was immediate. Chakra exploded from his body in a violent surge. Air currents whipped through the courtyard, scattering plates and bowls. Behind him, brilliant, butterfly-shaped wings of chakra unfurled—luminous, fragile, and dazzling.
"The Butterfly Mode…" someone whispered.
Excited murmurs spread through the crowd. Tōu himself looked stunned, then overjoyed. He flapped the wings experimentally, each beat kicking up gusts of wind. With a powerful leap, he launched himself into the air, gliding clumsily but triumphantly across the sky.
The Akimichi gasped, shouted, cheered. Their ultimate technique—once a death sentence—was now within reach without sacrifice.
And all of it was thanks to Orochimaru.
---
Celebration and Escape
The courtyard erupted in applause. The giant hands of the Akimichi lifted Orochimaru into the air like a prized trophy.
"You've worked hard, my shadow clone," muttered the real Orochimaru, crouched behind a nearby tree. A rope of stolen dango dangled from his hand as he wiped the sweat from his brow. If he hadn't switched places with a clone, he would have been tossed skyward like a rag doll.
He bit into one of the sweets, grimacing at the sticky texture.
"Orochimaru, is that your shadow clone over there?"
He froze. Turning, he saw Akimichi Harudō smiling down at him warmly.
"Shh." Orochimaru pressed a finger to his lips.
Harudō chuckled, ruffling his silky hair with a hand the size of a frying pan. "Don't worry. I won't betray your little secret. Besides, you like the Three-Colored Pills too, don't you?"
I don't like eating these, Orochimaru thought sourly. But I am curious about the taste…
Still, he let out a faint sigh, enduring the affectionate gesture. Touch me all you want now. When I grow up, you won't dare.
---
Ripples in Konoha
News traveled quickly. Within days, word of Orochimaru's successful refinement of the Three-Colored Pills reached both Hiruzen Sarutobi and Danzō Shimura.
Both were pleased. The Akimichi Clan's Butterfly Mode, now stripped of its suicidal cost, would become one of Konoha's most terrifying battlefield trump cards.
Orochimaru's influence grew quietly, but undeniably.
---
A Different Kind of Secret
Meanwhile, on the bustling streets of Konoha, two women walked arm in arm. One, dressed richly, cradled a sleeping infant. The other—graceful, dignified, with a face softened by years of care—was Sarutobi Biwako, wife of the Third Hokage.
"Biwako, your skin has improved so much since our last meeting!" said Michiko, wife of the Fire Daimyo. Her voice dropped conspiratorially. "Tell me—have you been using it?"
"'It'?" Biwako blinked in confusion.
"That skincare product sweeping the Land of Fire! Especially the lotion…" Michiko giggled behind her hand. "I even spotted it in your forbidden books collection."
"Lotion…?" Biwako's face warmed. Does it really have such effects too?
Their chatter soon drifted toward husbands and marriage. Michiko sighed, gazing at the children playing in the park.
"Since having children, my body has changed. I'm not as beautiful as before… Sometimes, I feel my husband prefers the concubines. But you, Biwako, you and Hiruzen must have no secrets between you, right?"
"Secrets…" Biwako hesitated. Her mind wandered back to the medicinal tea Orochimaru had given Hiruzen—the one that left her husband invigorated, almost youthful. Should she thank Orochimaru for that? Should she even mention it?
But in her moment of weakness, she let the words slip.
Michiko's eyes sparkled. A secret tonic? For… that? She was a notorious gossip among the Fire Country's aristocracy. It wouldn't be long before whispers spread like wildfire.
Biwako's heart sank. Oh no… Soon, the whole Land of Fire will think my husband drinks 'male potency tea.'
When Hiruzen came home that evening, she confessed nervously.
"That kind of thing… doesn't matter," Hiruzen said gruffly, clearing his throat in embarrassment. He was no fool. Men of his age all faced such unspoken troubles. If the nobles gossiped, so be it. Surely their own households were no different.
Still, he couldn't shake the image of Michiko's eager expression.
---
Chapter 62: Nobles Who Want to Become Midnight Warriors
As Biwako feared, events unfolded quickly. Michiko, ever the chatterbox, wasted no time. Within weeks, nobles across the Land of Fire were whispering about a mysterious medicinal tea shared by the wife of the Hokage.
In the capital, curiosity blossomed into obsession. The phrase "midnight warrior" began to circulate in noble circles.
And then came the unexpected summons: Fire Daimyo Keishu formally invited Hiruzen Sarutobi to the estate.
Even for the Third Hokage, it was unusual. And Hiruzen couldn't help but wonder:
Is this really about politics… or about that damn tea?
---
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