Even after the heavy drinking the night before, Gen's body clock dragged him out of bed at the usual time.
No hangover, nor a dull throb behind the eyes.
Youth, good conditioning and more importantly, the fact that last night's bottle was the real thing, not the gut-rot that passed for sake in half the bars in Konoha.
He fixed breakfast for three. Orochimaru, Anko, and Gen ate without ceremony, the quiet broken only by the scrape of chopsticks.
Then Gen set a folded slip of paper and a fat stack of banknotes on the table.
"My equipment list," he said.
Orochimaru scanned it, calculating. "Ninety million ryō." His tone was casual, as if talking about pocket change. "If you went through normal channels, you'd be looking at one-twenty."
"Then it's a deal."
Once the numbers were settled, Gen didn't linger.
Back in the Uchiha compound, every few steps brought another clan member stopping him for a word, condolences, encouragement, harmless small talk. It would've been rude to brush them off, so he smiled, nodded, traded the same phrases again and again.
By the time he reached his own door, Uchiha Fugaku's summons arrived.
Inside Fugaku's office, Shisui and Itachi were already waiting. Gen forced himself to sit straight, put on the polite face again, and endure another round of conversation that said little but took much.
Three days later, the jōnin vote of confidence began.
The Hokage Building's conference room was packed with Konoha's senior ninja.
Gen slipped into his seat, ignoring the sideways glances; pity from some, schadenfreude from others.
Orochimaru was absent. No explanation given.
Yuhi Shinku, Kurenai's father, crossed the floor to speak with him. Gratitude for looking after his daughter during the war, for recognizing her potential.
Gen accepted the thanks with a small smile, amplifying her ability in his praise, something that would travel home to Kurenai and make her day.
When Minato Namikaze and Hiruzen Sarutobi entered, the room quieted.
First came Minato's résumé, read not by a functionary but by the Sandaime himself. Then Minato's own speech, steady, confident, followed immediately by Hiruzen returning to the podium to speak again on his behalf.
With the Third clearing the way in front and backing him from behind, this was as close to a guaranteed victory as the process allowed.
The ballots were cast in secret. No names, no eyes on the slips.
Nearly two-thirds of the jōnin voted in Minato's favor, a strong enough margin to erase any doubt.
Gen marked his paper with a dissenting vote. Not because he opposed Minato, but as a quiet nod to Orochimaru. Even if Orochimaru didn't ask.
The succession ceremony was set for the very next day — an auspicious date, with the Fire Daimyō's envoy already in the village. There would be no invitations to the other great villages; the war was barely over, and peace was only skin-deep.
The next morning, the weather was perfect. A warm autumn sun, clear skies, and a crowd filling the plaza below the Hokage Building.
ANBU on rooftops and Police Force keeping the streets clear.
On the roof, Minato, Hiruzen, Konoha's department heads, and Uzumaki Kushina. However, there was No Orochimaru nor Danzō.
Hiruzen said a few final words, then lifted the Hokage's hat from his own head and placed it in Minato's hands.
Minato — white robes edged with flames over a green jōnin vest and blue tights — accepted it solemnly, vowing, "I am willing to give my life." Then he stepped to the edge of the roof, held the hat aloft, and smiled like the sun itself.
The cheer that rose from the square was deafening.
If fate had been kinder, Minato might have fulfilled those hopes. But the night of the Nine-Tails would come, and with it, loss beyond imagining.
Gen was nowhere near the ceremony.
Instead, he stood in one of Orochimaru's underground labs, sleeves rolled up, assisting with experiments. He had no interest in being stared at in the plaza, and transformation techniques wouldn't fool Konoha's sensor-nin.
By nightfall, the work was done. Before Gen left, Orochimaru handed him two scrolls.
Back home, after dinner, he unrolled them.
One contained advanced snake-style techniques. The other, the one that made his pulse quicken, was the long-sought Spirit Transformation Technique.
The snake jutsu would be a welcome addition. But the Spirit Transformation Technique… that was a game-changer.
An S-rank soul forbidden technique.
The user separates mind from body, becoming pure spirit.
Distance means nothing; the spirit can slip into an enemy, crush their will from within, even seize their body. It can scout, sense other souls, carry messages, confirm life or death, and — in theory — deliver chakra to an ally.
But there were limits. The bond between soul and body was fragile. Stray too far or too long, and brain death would follow. And while the spirit roamed, the body was helpless and defenseless enough that even a child could kill it.
Which was why masters of the art always kept their body hidden, guarded by someone they trusted with their life.
Gen's eyes lingered on the diagrams and notes long into the night.