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While Jiraiya was troubled by his confusion about the future, Orochimaru, far away in Konoha, was equally troubled!
In a secret experimental base outside the village, it was dark and damp, with the mixed smells of formaldehyde and blood assaulting the nose.
Inside a huge glass container, a mass of flesh and blood tissue seemed to possess life, writhing violently.
Orochimaru's golden vertical pupils constricted as he stared intently at the container, a morbid fanaticism on his face.
He picked up a syringe filled with dark green liquid and carefully injected it into the container.
This was his latest achievement, extracted from the First Hokage's cells and refined dozens of times.
"That's it... fuse..."
Orochimaru extended his long tongue, licked his chapped lips, his voice hoarse and excited.
However, the next second, the flesh and blood tissue inside the container suddenly expanded, and its surface bulged with pustules.
Bang!!!
With a loud bang, the specially made sturdy glass shattered.
Foul-smelling flesh and blood mixed with green liquid splattered all over the walls and floor.
The experiment had failed again.
Orochimaru froze in place, the fanaticism on his face fading.
Looking at the empty shelves and the few remaining boxes of nutrient solution in the corner, his face immediately turned gloomy.
That syringe just now contained the last of the First Hokage's cells.
Once used, there would be no more!
Even the funds for purchasing experimental equipment were running low.
The research had reached its most crucial step, yet he had to stop due to the most ridiculous reason.
He was out of money.
Root had been completely uprooted, Danzo had died and his family annihilated. His biggest source of funding was completely cut off.
These past few days, he had sold off all salable assets, barely managing to gather the materials for this experiment.
Now, he was completely at his wit's end.
The experiment could no longer proceed, which meant his path to eternal life was severed.
Was he to follow that fool Jiraiya, running around for an illusory peace?
Or was he to emulate Tsunade, hiding in casinos and numbing herself with alcohol?
No, that was not Orochimaru's way.
In his mind, a figure emerged—Shin, the daimyo of the Land of Fire.
The man who, with thunderous methods, had manipulated the entire Konoha within a short time.
His wealth, his power... a sinister smile appeared on Orochimaru's face.
He needed funds, and that daimyo had no shortage of money.
A legendary Sannin, now a scientist engrossed in research, would surely be an interesting toy for a monarch who controlled everything, wouldn't he?
As long as he could show his value, eternal life... what could be more attractive than that?
It seemed it was time to make a trip to the capital...
At the same time, in the daimyo manor's scenic courtyard, after more than half a month of rigorous training, the women selected from various parts of the Land of Fire had long shed their youthful shyness or arrogance.
At this moment, thirty-six women, dressed in uniform sheer long dresses, knelt on brocade cushions, each with a graceful figure and eyes brimming with spring.
Their etiquette, speech, and posture had been polished to near perfection.
But they all knew in their hearts that the real test had only just begun.
Because today, the daimyo who would decide their fate would appear before them openly for the first time.
Shin leaned lazily on a soft couch in the main seat of the courtyard, his posture relaxed.
He looked at the various beautiful faces below, his heart unperturbed.
Etiquette was merely the plating process before serving a meal.
What truly decided whether he would taste it depended on the color and aroma of the dish itself.
"Begin," Shin said faintly, his voice not loud, yet it clearly reached everyone's ears.
As the old woman gave the command, melodious music from string and wind instruments began.
A noblewoman rose and entered the center, beginning her dance.
Her dance was standard, elegant, and perfectly conformed to all norms of a noble lady.
Unfortunately, it was too conventional, lacking in allure.
It was like a glass of plain water—thirst-quenching, but tasteless.
Several women danced consecutively, all in the same manner.
They were beautiful and worked hard to present their most perfect side.
But in Shin's eyes, their souls were all cast from the same mold.
Until Kasumi rose.
The moment she appeared, the entire atmosphere of the courtyard changed.
It was an innate arrogance and confidence that made her stand out among the women like a crane among chickens.
The music began.
Kasumi's dance was a standard courtly elegant dance, but performed by her, it had a unique flavor.
Every one of her movements was precise.
The turn of her wrist, the sway of her skirt, each time was perfect.
Her figure was faintly visible beneath the sheer fabric. Her long legs were straight, her waist slender, outlining breathtaking curves with the undulations of her movements.
It was not flattery, nor was it an attempt to please.
It was a display.
With her dance, she was declaring to the monarch on high: "I, Kasumi, am the woman most qualified to stand by your side."
This ambition imbued her dance with a touch of vibrant charm.
Shin's eyes finally showed a hint of desire.
He wondered if she could endure the lash.
After Kasumi stepped down, the atmosphere in the arena was noticeably stagnant.
Her perfection put immense pressure on those who followed.
Just then, Kurenai Yuhi's name was called by the old woman.
Her body stiffened, then she slowly rose, a lack of vitality about her.
She didn't want to dance, but her father's pleas and the family's future weighed heavily on her.
The music began. She closed her eyes, and her body, guided by her long-standing shinobi instincts, began to move with the rhythm.
Her movements were stiff, tinged with resistance.
However, her figure was among the best of all the women.
Years of shinobi training had filled her body with the beauty of strength and flexibility.
The tight dance dress perfectly accentuated her perky bottom and full bosom.
Even the simplest movement, performed by her, carried a wild allure.
It was an unpolished beauty, full of vitality.
She was like a thorny red rose.
And this resistance, this unwillingness, instead made Shin, who was in the high seat, more intrigued.
After Kurenai finished, she almost fled back to her seat.
Next, it was Mei Terumi's turn, the stunning woman who called herself Shizumi.
She rose gracefully.
The moment she appeared, she captivated everyone's attention.
She did not possess Kasumi's sharpness, nor Kurenai's resistance.
On her face, there was actually a charming smile, her eyes seductive.
Shin was somewhat surprised. He had witnessed Mei Terumi's resistance during the first training session.
Had she come to her senses?
The music began.
She did not immediately start dancing, but instead bowed gracefully to Shin.
Merely the act of bending over made people's mouths go dry.
Her dance dress had a very large opening, and as she moved, her astonishing fullness and deep cleavage were fully revealed.
Her dance was filled with the unique softness and charm of the Land of Water.
Her body seemed boneless, her waist twisting first, every movement carrying seduction.
As her skirt fluttered, her silk-clad long legs were intermittently revealed.
Her movements were sometimes gentle and lingering, sometimes fiery and passionate.
Shin could feel that her every movement, every breath, was directed at him.
It was an undisguised enticement.
She was using her body as a weapon, attempting to breach his mental defenses.
The dance ended.
Mei Terumi, with seductive eyes, bowed deeply again, the sight of her chest captivating.
Inside the courtyard, there was a deathly silence.
All the women held their breath, awaiting the daimyo's final judgment.
Shin leaned back on the soft couch, his face still bearing that lazy smile.
His gaze swept across the entire scene.
As the women held their breath in anticipation, Shin moved.
He sat up straight, called the etiquette officer, pointed at a list with the women's names on it, and said a few words.
Then he stood up and left without looking back.