"Living is about witnessing more wonders and grasping more truths."
Orochimaru repeated Kiyohara's words, letting them roll over his tongue.
He hadn't expected a Chunin to say such a thing.
His teacher, Sarutobi—the "Professor of Shinobi"—was obsessed with the Will of Fire and political stability.
Tsunade, the pinnacle of medicine, was drowning her grief in gambling and alcohol.
Jiraiya, despite mastering Sage Mode, was a lecher wandering the world without a clear anchor.
These people were like rusted windmills.
"Exactly," Kiyohara continued smoothly, reading the Sannin's mood. "That is why one must live long enough to grasp the truth. Legend says the Sages of the Three Great Holy Lands have lived for centuries. If humans could achieve such longevity, imagine the truths we could uncover."
Kiyohara knew the lore.
Besides becoming a Ten-Tails Jinchūriki, Sage Mode (Senjutsu) was the only legitimate path to extreme longevity in the Ninja World. The Great Toad Sage had lived for a thousand years. Fukasaku and Shima had lived for eight hundred.
But the Holy Lands were myths to the common ninja.
"Truth... longevity..."
Orochimaru repeated the words.
The underlying code in his brain had been triggered.
His golden vertical pupils contracted. The cold, analytical detachment vanished, replaced by a fervent, palpable hunger.
He leaned forward, as if trying to see through Kiyohara's skin and directly into his soul.
"Heh heh heh..."
Orochimaru laughed, a deep, raspy sound of pure pleasure.
"Truly... a surprising answer, Kiyohara-kun. I didn't expect your thoughts to have reached such a level."
He looked at the boy and saw a reflection. A kindred spirit. A human among a troop of monkeys.
"You flatter me, Lord Orochimaru," Kiyohara replied modestly.
'Compared to Itachi Uchiha, who will develop Hokage-level thinking at age seven by deciding to slaughter his entire family for peace... I'm just a normal guy trying not to die.'
"Kiyohara-kun, you are heading to the Mist frontline. Consider this a gift."
A scroll slid from Orochimaru's sleeve. He wrote a few lines on it with a brush, rolled it up, and tossed it to Kiyohara.
Kiyohara caught it.
"Konoha-Style Body Flicker Technique" (Konoha Shunshin).
It was an advanced variation of the standard Body Flicker. Instead of just moving fast, it involved a localized burst of chakra that scattered physical objects (like leaves or dust) to obscure the user's escape trajectory.
It was a pure survival tool.
'He wants me to live,' Kiyohara realized. 'He's investing in me.'
Just then, the tent flap opened.
A ninja wearing a blank white mask with a bird's beak entered. Root.
The Anbu ignored Kiyohara and whispered directly into Orochimaru's ear.
Kiyohara took the hint. "I will take my leave, Lord Orochimaru."
"Go, Kiyohara-kun. Prepare well. Whirlpool will not be peaceful."
Orochimaru waved a hand, his eyes gleaming.
He needed a faction. Sarutobi was old. Danzo supported him. Orochimaru intended to be the Fourth Hokage. He needed loyal, intelligent subordinates with clean, malleable civilian backgrounds.
If Kiyohara lacked raw potential? That was fine. Orochimaru had methods to enhance bodies. The Curse Mark was in its prototype phase, after all.
As Kiyohara left, Orochimaru's smile vanished. He glared at the Root ninja.
"Tell Danzo I will arrange the Hashirama Cell experiments soon. Tell him... to be patient."
Outside the tent, Kakashi, Kurenai, Rin, and Genma were waiting.
"What did he want?" Kurenai pressed, her crimson eyes wide.
"Just a pep talk," Kiyohara waved the scroll. "And he gave me a jutsu."
Kakashi looked at the scroll, his lone eye calculating.
Genma threw an arm around Kiyohara's neck. "Nice! Sponsored by a Sannin! Don't forget us when you're famous, brother."
"Let's just prep," Rin smiled in relief. "We leave tomorrow."
The march east was grueling.
They carried heavy packs, moving through dense forests.
But Kiyohara didn't waste the travel time. While walking, he mentally drilled the Konoha Body Flicker. During breaks, he asked Rin about fine chakra control, applying her medical theory to refine his Willow sword technique.
His absolute dedication earned Rin's silent admiration. 'He never wastes a single second,' she thought.
A week later, the smell of salt and ozone hit them.
The squad left the tree line and stepped onto the surface of the ocean, channeling chakra to their feet.
They ran across the waves until a massive island loomed out of the fog.
The ruins of the Land of Whirlpools.
It was a graveyard of giants.
Massive stone structures were reduced to rubble. Half-buried in the sand were stone carvings of the Uzumaki Clan Crest—the spiral symbol that Konoha still wore on their flak jackets in memory of their slaughtered allies.
Vines and moss choked the broken walls.
Their mission: Establish a defensive perimeter here. Look east across the vast ocean. Wait for the Mist fleet.
Kiyohara stood on a broken watchtower, looking out at the gray sea.
He felt the hum of the Tachi at his waist and the expanded chakra pool in his chest. He wasn't afraid. He was ready.
A week passed in relative peace as they fortified the ruins.
Then, while Kiyohara was meditating near the shoreline, the synthetic voice echoed in his mind.
[Please check your Last Words Letter and Urn. Properly inter the remains.]
Kiyohara opened his eyes, a grin spreading across his face.
'Finally. Time to scratch the lottery ticket. Let's hope for a Bloodline Limit.'
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