Orochimaru could never forget that day, six years ago.
It was Year 48 of the Shinobi Calendar. The Third Great Ninja War had finally ended.
Konoha, besieged on all sides, had paid a bitter price, but ultimately secured victory in the conflict.
And yet...
"What is the point?"
Orochimaru's thin lips moved soundlessly. His gaze was calm, almost detached, as he lowered his head slightly, looking ahead.
A leaden blanket of clouds had smothered the sky, rendering the already bleak cemetery even more desolate and sorrowful. The crowd stood like reeds bent by rain, heads bowed, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. A dense sea of black umbrellas gathered like a murder of crows.
He stood within that black-clad mass, his eyes fixed on the old man at the forefront.
His "good teacher." The Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen.
Hiruzen gently wiped the rain from a headstone. Perhaps moved by his gesture, a wave of grief seemed to wash over the assembled mourners.
"..."
Orochimaru's gaze shifted to a child with a bowl-cut hairstyle standing slightly ahead and to the side.
He recognized the boy. He had often seen this child and his Genin father running around Konoha on their hands, an eternally optimistic, foolishly passionate pair, utterly oblivious to the annoyed or mocking glances around them.
But now…
It was the first time Orochimaru had seen this child cry. He cried with a uniquely foolish intensity, snot and tears mingling into a muddy mess on his face.
He had heard the boy's squad had encountered the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist during a mission. The father—that Genin often mocked as a failure—had rushed in to cover his son's escape.
In the end, that man alone had killed four of the seven. The remaining three had fled, gravely wounded and in disarray.
The father had fallen in battle.
And then there was the other child…
Orochimaru's elongated pupils slid to the side, capturing the image of another young face. This one wasn't using an umbrella, letting the rain soak him completely.
His crying was soft, hoarse. He just kept his head down, shoulders trembling, emitting a faint, hissing sound like cloth being slowly torn.
But the tears flowed without pause, in several distinct streams, merging with the rainwater as they coursed down his cheeks.
Hyūga Kumokawa. Timid, frail. While his peers had already begun learning the Gentle Fist, this child hadn't even awakened his Byakugan. He was famously known as the "failure" within the Hyūga clan.
The boy's father hadn't actually died on the battlefield. He had succumbed to his wounds after returning. But the rumor within the Hyūga clan was that, having "failed" to adequately protect a main family member, a Hyūga elder had activated the "Caged Bird" seal on his already grievously wounded body, causing his death.
Come to think of it, this child's father had served under him during the Second Great Ninja War and had distinguished himself.
How old were these two children?
Nine? Ten?
Heh.
So young, thrown onto the battlefield. So young, losing their only family…
Orochimaru's eyes returned to the old man at the front. A jagged fork of lightning flashed through the skeletal branches of the clouds, bleaching the world momentarily into stark shades of grey and white.
The blinding white light cast his stooped shadow onto the ground, stretching it long and thin like a malevolent spirit. It cleaved Hiruzen's sorrowful face into stark halves of light and dark.
Having lived through two Great Ninja Wars, a wave of profound disgust suddenly rose within Orochimaru, so intense it almost made him retch.
These lives lost in the war… what was their meaning?
Nothing had changed. Absolutely nothing.
As the crowd dispersed, people trickled away, leaving behind only the desolate tombstones.
Orochimaru stood before Nawaki's grave. His black umbrella was a blot of ink against the rain. He placed the white chrysanthemum on the stone, his eyes on the familiar name carved there. He felt, with some surprise, not a flicker of emotion.
Sadness? Anger? Pity?
None.
But he wasn't calm.
He simply watched the raindrops drip from the edge of his umbrella, vanish into the engraved grooves of the epitaph, and felt a deep, primal fear welling up from within.
"U-um…"
A timid voice, sounding as if it were squeezed from a tight throat, came from behind.
Orochimaru snapped back to the present and turned instinctively. He was met with a pair of white eyes.
His face, still etched with a lingering chill, seemed to startle the other. The boy flinched and took a step back, but then steadied himself.
"Y-you… your color doesn't look good, so…"
Under Orochimaru's gaze, the voice grew smaller and smaller until it trailed off.
Orochimaru looked down at the child named Hyūga Kumokawa. Realizing he must have been standing before the grave for too long, he deduced the boy was concerned for his physical or mental state.
Kind-hearted and weak-willed.
A true failure.
Orochimaru made his judgment and saw no reason to engage. His expression cold, he began to walk away.
"Lord Orochimaru."
The voice came from behind. Almost against his will, he stopped.
"Do you know… what is the meaning of life?"
At this, Orochimaru narrowed his eyes slightly. He turned. The boy still wore that timid expression, but he was looking up now, his face filled with confusion. "My father often spoke of you before… before he passed. He said you were a hero of Konoha. I thought… someone like you must know a lot of things…"
"There is no meaning."
Orochimaru cut him off softly, not letting him finish. "If there is, it only exists while one is alive."
"A dead life… holds no meaning at all."
Death was the most equitable, universal fairness in this world.
No matter what you achieved in life, no matter what you possessed, when death arrived, you would have nothing.
With this thought, that bone-deep chill returned to Orochimaru. The sensation of the wind-driven rain seeping into his collar felt even sharper. His fingers tightened on the umbrella handle, knuckles turning white.
Yes. To die was like water disappearing into water.
To die was to lose everything. He did not want to lose everything. He wanted to possess everything.
Therefore, he did not want to die. He could not die!
"Lord Orochimaru." Hyūga Kumokawa suddenly lifted his head higher. "Do you believe… that 'gods' exist in this world?"
Hearing this, Orochimaru focused again on the timid child before him and suddenly felt a flicker of amusement.
It was just like his disdain for Jiraiya, who was always prattling on about a prophesied child who would change the shinobi world.
In his eyes, both the so-called Child of Prophecy and the so-called gods were nothing more than laughable, fictional constructs—wishful thinking conjured by the incompetent to delude themselves.
An omniscient, omnipotent god did not exist. Even if one did, it would merely be a more powerful being.
"But… what if It possessed eternal life?"
Seeing the mockery in Orochimaru's eyes, Kumokawa hurriedly continued. "Before he died, my father gave me a scroll and a… a body. He said the scroll held the Hyūga clan's ancient secrets, but I've never been able to open it. And that body… it's from an ancestor of the Hyūga clan. It isn't dead, and it cannot die. Its soul has simply… left the vessel…"
Though his voice grew fainter, as if he himself hardly believed his own words, Orochimaru's slitted pupils trembled.
In the entire shinobi world, the person who understood the most about the so-called "soul" was undoubtedly Orochimaru himself.
For most people, the soul was an ethereal, intangible concept. No one could possibly achieve a state where the soul existed independently of the body.
But to him, obsessed with unraveling the fundamental nature of life, it seemed entirely plausible. And the Hyūga clan was undoubtedly one of the most ancient shinobi lineages…
"..."
Studying the child before him, whose forehead was now beading with cold sweat, Orochimaru felt an inexplicable flicker of trust in his words.
Perhaps… it wouldn't hurt to look?
The boy, who had hung his head again, suddenly felt a shadow fall over him. The cold rain ceased to fall on his skin.
"Can you tell me… why you are telling me this?"
Hyūga Kumokawa looked up, somewhat dazed, and met a pair of narrow, serpentine eyes.
Orochimaru stood before him, holding the umbrella. He placed one hand on his knee, lowering himself slightly to meet Hyūga Kumokawa's eyes directly.
"These should be the Hyūga clan's most guarded secrets, shouldn't they?" A faint smile played on his pale lips, lending him an unusual, magnetic quality. "Why not tell your clan's elders?"
"F-father told me… if he died, I could use the scroll and the body to barter for better treatment from the clan."
Seemingly reassured by Orochimaru's gentler tone, a touch of color returned to Kumokawa's young face, though he kept his gaze downcast. "But… I don't trust them. My father… they drove him to his death."
A hint of bitterness trembled in his voice. Orochimaru glanced at the boy's slowly clenching fists, mildly surprised this seemingly weak child harbored such resolve.
"You want me to help you take revenge?" Orochimaru's eyes narrowed slightly as he smiled. "Aren't you afraid I might take this news to the Hyūga clan instead?"
"I… I don't think a person like you would do that. And even if you did…" Hyūga Kumokawa shook his head slowly, finally looking up to meet Orochimaru's gaze. "I wouldn't have that much more to lose."
"Only myself."
"..." Meeting those determined white eyes, Orochimaru fell into a brief silence.
A moment later, he suddenly smiled and placed a hand on Hyūga Kumokawa's head.
So it was. Living might not hold inherent meaning, but only by continuing to live could one encounter interesting people and things.
Later, Hyūga Kumokawa delivered the scroll and the body to Orochimaru.
Orochimaru managed to break some of the seals on the scroll, granting him access to the first few pages of its contents. There, he learned of the existence of the Ōtsutsuki clan at the dawn of the shinobi world.
They were "Celestials" from another world. Each member possessed immense innate power, unlike the humans of this world who had to train. Using something called a "Kāma," they could reincarnate and resurrect—beings who transcended death itself.
They explored the cosmos in pairs, with one sole purpose: to plant something called a "Divine Tree" that would consume all life on a planet.
Members of the "Main Family" would return to their homeworld, leaving those of the "Branch Family" behind to monitor, ensuring the tree's "fruit" ripened successfully.
And that soulless vessel, according to the scroll's records, belonged to a member of the Ōtsutsuki Branch Family.
It was he who had passed down chakra in this world and left behind descendants—the modern Hyūga clan.
Since Orochimaru hadn't yet broken the seals on the later portions of the scroll, the reason why this particular Ōtsutsuki had abandoned his vessel remained a mystery. But even this much was enough to send tremors of excitement and awe through him.
Such intricate chakra pathways. Such a flawless vessel. Compared to humans of this world, they were entirely different species!
Eternal life was real. Physical forms would inevitably perish one day, but the "soul" could exist forever!
All he needed was to unravel the mysteries of the Ōtsutsuki. One day, he too would comprehend all the truths of this world!
From the moment Orochimaru obtained that scroll and the body, six full years had now passed.
In those six years, Orochimaru had come to believe he held Hyūga Kumokawa completely in his grasp. The boy's eyes held only reverence and admiration for him.
He obediently cooperated with every experiment.
Even when ordered to approach the Third Hokage, or to carry messages to Shimura Danzō at the Foundation, he never refused, despite his fear.
Moreover, Orochimaru discovered that while this child seemed to lack ninja talent, he possessed a peculiar curiosity and intuition for research. He often provided Orochimaru with unexpected inspiration from the most inconspicuous details.
This was exceedingly rare.
Even Tsunade, hailed as a "Medical Genius," viewed medicine and jutsu merely as tools for healing. She had no interest in probing the secrets and essence of life itself.
Because of this, Orochimaru even felt a flicker of camaraderie and hesitated to extinguish this boy's soul.
But in the end, his greed for truth and immortality overpowered that sliver of recognition.
Until now.
Staring at the boy who had struck so suddenly, at the headless corpse, Orochimaru felt a profound sense of absurdity.
It was as if everything that had transpired over those six years was nothing but an insubstantial dream.
"You…"
The violent surge of emotion shattered his usual composure, leading Orochimaru to ask a foolish question.
"What are you doing?"
Fortunately, Hyūga Kumokawa seemed to understand the true question behind the words. He simply smiled and said, "Thank you, Lord Orochimaru."
"As you told me, true ignorance is not a lack of knowledge, but a refusal to acquire it."
"I'd like to offer you something in return: Weakness and ignorance are not the true obstacles to survival."
"Arrogance is."
Yes. Because of arrogance, Orochimaru had never once taken a "failure," a mere ten-year-old child, seriously.
Because of arrogance, he had kept his gaze fixed solely on that Ōtsutsuki "vessel," blind to every anomaly right before his eyes.
What could a timid ten-year-old possibly accomplish?
What could a failure who couldn't even awaken his Byakugan possibly do?
Hyūga Kumokawa had been an island closed to outsiders. Orochimaru had only seen the unremarkable forest on its shores, never noticing the deep, placid swamp lurking at its heart.
Only now, with control slipping completely from his grasp, was Orochimaru jolted awake.
From the very beginning, it was not he who had chosen Hyūga Kumokawa. It was Hyūga Kumokawa who had chosen him.
He, Orochimaru… had been played by a child?
The realization almost made him laugh in furious disbelief. A savage grin spread across his pale face.
"Do you think… you can escape from me?"
The words left his lips in the same instant he vanished from sight.
A bone-chilling, murderous intent erupted!
It was like a frozen river shattering, the pent-up torrents beneath the ice unleashing a deafening roar as they surged toward Hyūga Kumokawa!
SHWING!!
A sharp, metallic hum pierced the air—the sound of something slicing through the atmosphere at supersonic speed.
Too fast.
The kunai was a blur, its form lost to velocity. It was impossible to see it clearly.
Of course. Even a nearly chakra-depleted Orochimaru was not an opponent he could face head-on now.
The Ōtsutsuki body manifested with thousands of "Fulfillment Points" was, after all, incomplete. It had granted him immense potential, but not the power to match it.
With this thought, Hyūga Kumokawa's blue-white eyes calmly reflected the kunai's cold gleam, utterly undisturbed.
Then, to Orochimaru's shock, he did not dodge. Instead, he moved toward the oncoming blade.
Schlick!
Thick, crimson blood sprayed forth instantly, splattering loudly onto the floor.
The blade had cleaved through half his neck, severing vocal cords, the larynx, all the way to the cervical vertebrae. Blood would flood his lungs with each breath in seconds. For an ordinary person, it would be certain death.
"So that's it."
The smile never left Hyūga Kumokawa's face. He watched Orochimaru, his lips moving soundlessly.
"Even now… you still can't bring yourself to pierce the heart?"
In that case… I win.
BOOM!
A deafening explosion shook the chamber. Instinctively, Orochimaru turned to look behind him.
He was met with a furious, aged face.
"OROCHIMARU! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"
The enraged roar echoed. Hyūga Kumokawa slowly closed his eyes and collapsed onto the operating table, one final thought drifting through his mind.
'Hah. A failure branded with the Caged Bird.'
'Fate truly dealt me the worst possible "script."'
'But, it doesn't matter.'
'I was born to be the finest "actor" of all.'