Chapter 29: Impossible Candidate
The place was shrouded in fog and shadow. A slender figure stepped out from the darkness, his gaze fixed on the man before him.
Orochimaru looked at Danzo with a faint smile. What might have once been a gentle and refined expression had, under the play of light and time, become something dark and sinister.
The great Third Hokage had once again united Konoha, and the village's many clans were celebrating in joy. Jiraiya, one of the Legendary Sannin, had—as always—stirred up his share of chaos. With visiting shinobi mingling and tensions simmering beneath the festivities, Konoha was destined to be restless tonight.
And in times of noise and celebration, some always move in silence.
Hidden in the shadows, hands stretch toward the gleam of the Hokage's monument, grasping for fragments of that light—believing that amidst the brilliance, no one will notice the creeping darkness below.
Such was Konoha tonight.
And such were the two men standing in the mist now.
In the dim corridor, they stood quietly, watching the village from afar—a city that seemed to never sleep.
The lively world outside had nothing to do with them. They were shadows, the roots beneath the radiant tree of Konoha.
Without roots, even the mightiest tree would collapse under the wind—reduced to withered branches and drifting leaves. That was the belief of men like them.
Their existence was unseen, yet real; denied, yet indispensable.
Sarutobi Hiruzen, Shimura Danzo, Koharu, and Homura—each understood this silent pact.
The filth they carried was Konoha's unspoken foundation, the refuse born from its prosperity.
For a peaceful world to exist, someone had to live with the mud.
Those who chose this path were not monsters—they were the ones who bore Konoha's sins out of loyalty.
"From the perspective of the Root," Orochimaru said with a faint smile, "you seem to be doing quite well, Danzo."
"Hmph. Spare me your politeness," Danzo replied coldly. "I never expected you would seek me out, Orochimaru."
In the dim light of the cavern, the bandaged elder regarded the snake-like man before him with wary eyes. He had long been cautious of Orochimaru. After all, the man was one of the Legendary Sannin—Sarutobi's prized disciple—and his interference in Root affairs could easily be seen as overstepping.
Yet the truth was stranger than expected. Despite being Hiruzen's most promising student, Orochimaru had come to him willingly.
He sought something his former master could not give—something only the darkness could provide.
He sought escape from death.
Shimura Danzo understood that fear intimately. The two were alike in that way. No one who had lived through the battlefield could escape it.
The shinobi world was a pit of blood and ruin—where corpses rotted among the rubble, where water ran thick with decay, where flies swarmed over flesh, and beasts fed on the fallen.
Those who had fought in the Great Ninja Wars knew how fragile life truly was.
Even a legend like the Second Hokage had perished there.
This world was merciless. And so Danzo found himself agreeing with Orochimaru's reasoning, if only in part.
"Still," he muttered, "trust takes time to earn."
He folded his hands behind his back and said, "I welcome you to Root, Orochimaru."
Orochimaru's golden eyes glinted. "Hiruzen has become stubborn… unwilling to see the changes around him."
Danzo nodded slightly. "Exactly. Though I am the root that sustains Konoha, even I find it difficult to manage certain matters."
"That's precisely why I came," Orochimaru said softly.
"Then you already understand. Konoha may appear powerful now, but beneath the surface are countless fractures and hidden influences. The reach of Root… is stretched thin."
Danzo turned away, glancing one last time toward the faint light filtering through the mist. Beyond that light lay the lively, naïve world above—a world that knew nothing of the filth below.
He began to walk deeper into the corridor, his shadow stretching long behind him.
This small outer chamber was the only part of Root that had any connection to the outside world.
With each step he took, the air grew colder. The light dimmed, swallowed by the black stone walls. For fear of exposure during inspections, Danzo had long refused to connect Root's underground base to Konoha's power grid. Only a few old generators hummed faintly in the darkness, barely illuminating the hidden heart of the village.
The generators deep within the Root base were meant only to power the laboratories, not to light the corridors.
The hallways were suffocatingly dark—so dark that even Orochimaru could feel faint presences watching them from the shadows.
He could sense the silent movements of Root operatives lurking in the gloom.
These men were not ordinary shinobi. They were puppets—refined through relentless training until they had no will of their own.
For the sake of Konoha, they had stripped away fear, pain, and even individuality.
Their bodies were modified, their emotions erased, their minds reshaped into perfect weapons.
This was Root—Konoha's unseen core, both its greatest mystery and its deepest stain.
"Does this disgust you, Orochimaru?" Danzo's hoarse voice echoed down the corridor.
"No," Orochimaru replied without hesitation, his tone calm and detached. "I find it… necessary."
Danzo gave a low, approving hum. "Good. A man burdened by morals cannot survive here. Those who hesitate don't belong in Root."
Their footsteps echoed softly against the steel floor.
In the darkness, Danzo's outline seemed to fade, visible only when he gestured toward the wall. Each movement was followed by the soft, mechanical clatter of shifting panels and hidden mechanisms.
No one knew how much manpower or how many of Konoha's resources had been consumed to build this place.
Through the slits of the sliding doors that lined the hallway, Orochimaru could glimpse flashes of light and hear the steady hum of expensive machinery—complex devices working tirelessly, deep beneath the earth.
Danzo offered no explanation, and Orochimaru didn't ask.
This meeting was not yet one of trust—it was a cautious exchange, each man testing the other's resolve, confirming whether they could coexist in the same darkness.
But as they walked, something in Orochimaru's indifference made Danzo pause.
"You're different from that man—Aizen Sosuke." Danzo's tone was measured. "He's too upright. He hates filth. He understands that darkness must exist, yet he refuses to step into it. He would never approve of what Root is."
Orochimaru's golden eyes glinted faintly. "Aizen Sosuke?"
"Hmph. He was the one I originally wanted to bring into Root," Danzo said. "Just a Chunin at the time, yet capable of creating so many new jutsu. If someone like him joined us, he could have surpassed even the ANBU in capability."
Danzo's steps slowed as he spoke, his voice lowering as if he were convincing himself as much as Orochimaru.
"But perhaps that kind of man doesn't belong here. He's too pure, too untainted. He's better off staying by Hiruzen's side—far away from the mud. Contacting him directly would only create complications with the Hokage."
Orochimaru gave a small, serpentine smile. "Aizen Sosuke… the genius who crafted his own ninjutsu. I wouldn't mind meeting him someday."
But not now, he thought. I have more pressing matters.
He watched Danzo's back fade deeper into the dark tunnel and instinctively licked the corner of his mouth, though his curiosity quickly faded.
Whether it was because Aizen was part of the advisory circle or simply because he radiated a rare kind of decency, Orochimaru felt no desire to oppose him.
To hate a man like that would be irrational—and Orochimaru, above all else, prided himself on his logic.
He simply sought a path that ensured his own survival.
So, Aizen Sosuke slipped quietly from his mind.
The two continued down the dim corridor toward the experimental sector of Root, where their real conversation would begin.
Yet Orochimaru did not know that, at that very moment, one of his oldest companions was already standing before the man Danzo had just spoken of.
---
Tsunade's breath caught. Her body froze as her mind went blank.
Standing before her, emerging from the thick mist, was a face she hadn't expected to see—gentle, composed, and smiling faintly.
"Aizen… Sosuke…" she whispered.
Why him?
Her thoughts scattered. She had imagined many possibilities—Danzo Shimura, Koharu, Homura, perhaps even her own sensei, the Hokage himself.
She'd considered the hidden factions of Konoha's clans, the secretive Hyuga, or even the unpredictable Uchiha.
But never this man.
He was only twenty, yet his power and influence reached far beyond his age.
He understood the Will of Fire better than anyone, cared more deeply for Konoha's people than most of its elders, and carried himself with the grace of a man untainted by ambition.
He was the moon of Konoha—serene, radiant, untouchable.
Aizen Sosuke.
Wearing his pristine white haori, he stepped out of the mist and regarded her with calm curiosity.
"Good evening, Lady Tsunade," he said softly, his tone as polite as ever. "What a surprising encounter this is."
His usual, gentle smile never wavered as he adjusted his glasses, their lenses glinting faintly in the pale light.
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