"Sensei… isn't Danzō going to—"
Kenichi lifted a hand and made a sharp slicing gesture across his own neck.
If anyone should be drooling over the Hokage's seat right now, it was Shimura Danzō.
That guy had been eyeing the position for years. With Hiruzen down an arm, the timing looked perfect.
So why was it so damn quiet?
Orochimaru let out a cold little laugh.
"Hiruzen lost his arm 'for the village.' And he has no intention of leaving Konoha for now."
His tone dripped with sarcasm.
Kenichi understood immediately.
Right now, the Third's reputation was back at an all-time high. He'd stood against the Nine-Tails. He'd bled for the village. His speech at the funeral about the Will of Fire had practically set half the crowd on fire with emotion.
In this atmosphere, if anything happened to Hiruzen inside the village?
That wouldn't be a political move.
That would be sacrilege.
You want to assassinate a freshly re-polished "hero"?
You'd better do it far away from Konoha's walls.
"But the old man clearly doesn't plan to go anywhere," Orochimaru continued lazily. "He just wants that arm fixed. Quickly. Then he can crawl right back into the Hokage's chair."
"So Sensei is… helping him?" Kenichi asked.
"The payment is generous," Orochimaru said, expression easing slightly. "Helping him this once doesn't cost me anything."
Kenichi nodded.
That explained why his teacher hadn't simply walked away.
But it didn't explain the future. Orochimaru's killing intent toward Hiruzen didn't feel as sharp as the Kenichi remembered from the original plot. Something had changed somewhere.
"Anyway," Orochimaru went on, "you're the one who proposed the concept of graft rejection. Now I need your help. Let's go. Hiruzen is getting impatient."
Of course he was.
If Danzō didn't move against Hiruzen, he'd likely use the opportunity to push someone else for the Fifth Hokage.
And that "someone" was very likely…
Orochimaru.
If this were the old days, Orochimaru might've been interested.
But now?
Now he'd already seen the rot inside the system.
He had no desire to throw himself into that festering political swamp again.
Konoha needed rebirth.
And rebirth, in Orochimaru's eyes, usually started from ruins.
"Help?" Kenichi blinked. "You need me?"
He already knew the general direction of their medical plan. With the theory laid out, Orochimaru didn't really need him for the transplant.
So why bring him along?
He got his answer as soon as they stepped into the building.
The large hall was full of shinobi.
Some excited.
Some nervous.
Some pale and sweating.
Some disturbingly calm.
Human emotion, neatly lined up in rows.
"Sensei… this is…?"
Kenichi already had a guess, but he asked anyway.
"Yesterday's dead have already been buried," Orochimaru said mildly. "And decomposition has begun."
Kenichi could feel the chill under those simple words.
"The Sarutobi clan issued a call," Orochimaru continued. "Whoever provides the most suitable arm for the transplant will receive a hefty pension—plus a stable clerical position at the mission assignment office."
Kenichi exhaled slowly.
So that's how it is.
These people weren't being forced.
Some were here because they were desperate—drawn by the promise of money and a safe job far from the front lines.
Others were here with eyes burning, mumbling things like 'to give my arm to the Hokage is my greatest honor' and 'this is my Will of Fire'.
The deal was simple:
You give up your left arm.
The Hero of the Village gets it.
You walk away with money and a cushy position.
In theory, everyone wins.
In practice…
"This is basically organized, large-scale brainwashing," Kenichi thought, lips tightening.
But he didn't say it out loud.
Instead, he quietly did his job—helping Orochimaru run compatibility tests, checking rejection risk, comparing tissue data, cross-checking life signs.
With ANBU maintaining order and Hiruzen occasionally appearing to personally offer "thanks," the entire process moved shockingly fast.
Eventually, a "perfect match" was found.
A sturdy-looking ninja, face flushed with excitement, was led to the front as the chosen donor.
Kenichi wiped his hands with practiced calm.
Fire-style, Wind-style, Lightning-style—
None of that mattered here.
In a world where transplanting organs and limbs was supposed to be cutting-edge, complex, risky work…
Medical ninjutsu turned it into something closer to plug-and-play.
A few seals.
Precise chakra control.
Tissue merging guided by medical chakra.
Something that would've been a medical miracle in his previous life…
Here, it was just a special-level procedure.
As the Third Hokage bowed his head in gratitude, the chosen donor lifted his chin proudly, chest swelling with honor.
Looking at that scene, Kenichi could only think one thing:
"This world is… absurd."
Magical chakra, battlefield surgeries, ideological brainwashing—and all of it wrapped in the warm rhetoric of "the Will of Fire."
Reality, he decided, was way more insane than any light novel.
"Let's go. We're done here."
Orochimaru turned and left without looking back.
Kenichi followed him out of the hall.
As they reached the entrance, he instinctively glanced over his shoulder.
At that exact moment, Hiruzen also turned.
For a brief second, the Third Hokage's gaze met Orochimaru's.
Hiruzen stood bathed in sunlight, surrounded by cheering shinobi and grateful villagers. His figure was straight, his expression grave, his presence warm.
A hero of Konoha, framed in light.
Kenichi looked away first and stepped after Orochimaru.
They walked into a long, dim corridor.
No people.
No voices.
Only the muffled noise of the crowd behind them, growing fainter with each step.
Then—
Click.
The door at the end opened.
Sunlight spilled into the corridor once more.
"Kenichi," Orochimaru turned back, expression relaxed, eyes curved in a slight smile. "Want to get some barbecue?"
For a moment, Kenichi froze.
In his mind, that future "host body" he'd seen in the original timeline overlapped with his teacher—
A beautiful woman with pale skin and golden eyes, that eerily familiar smile on the same face…
If that version of Sensei invited him to yakiniku…
…yeah, that would be dangerous.
"Sure, Sensei."
He grinned.
As usual, it was Akimichi's barbecue place.
But this time, Orochimaru did something rare:
He called Mitarashi Anko along as well.
That alone made Kenichi raise an eyebrow.
What really made his expression go strange, though, was what happened during the meal.
Orochimaru, who normally barely spared Anko a word outside of training, actually checked on her—
From time to time.
Asking small, practical questions.
Correcting her chopstick grip.
Reminding her not to eat too fast.
None of it was overly warm.
If anything, it was still very Orochimaru-like—subtle, restrained, slightly awkward.
But to someone who knew him as well as Kenichi did…
This wasn't normal.
This looked like someone…
finishing unfinished business.
Not a final farewell—Orochimaru wasn't going to die.
But the feeling was unmistakable:
He was getting ready to leave.
"To leave Konoha…?"
Kenichi's heartbeat quickened.
That actually made sense.
In Konoha, every experiment was wrapped in layers of politics, ethics, surveillance, and risk.
Outside the village, it would be harder at first—no cover, no infrastructure, no ready-made test subjects.
But in the long run?
Freedom.
As long as you could survive…
You could research anything.
Kenichi looked at Orochimaru quietly, mind already spinning.
If Sensei was really preparing to go…
Then it was almost time for his new life to begin as well.