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The dispensary was quiet save for the clink of glassware. Kabuto's pale hands worked with surgical precision, mixing the last tincture into a vial. A faint shimmer right hue, right scent. Success.
A thin smile crossed his lips. "With this… I can suppress it."
He tilted his head back, downing the bitter medicine. Heat flooded his veins, then dulled into cool relief. The gnawing corrosion in his left arm receded, leaving him steadier, sharper.
He flexed his fingers, confidence returning. If I can recover even briefly… maybe I can drive these intruders out.
But before the thought finished, his body froze. His glasses reflected a shape already seated across from him.
When did he…? While I was drinking?
The fear wasn't simple surprise. It was the dread reserved for predators you can't measure.
For three years he'd sharpened himself, grafted Orochimaru's remains into his own flesh, endured agony for greater strength.
His senses hadn't dulled. And yet… this man had walked in without sound, without presence, and sat waiting.
The truth was clear: if he wanted Kabuto dead, Kabuto would already be a corpse.
"…It's been a while, Kabuto."
The man raised his head. A porcelain mask, etched at the brow with the single character: [Nian]. Fingers brushed the brim of a hat in a casual gesture that carried the weight of inevitability.
Kabuto's stomach sank. The name left his throat in a rasp. "Nian… So the puppets are yours."
The air peeled, and suddenly Kabuto heard it all the cadence of distant mechanical footsteps, the faint servomotors whirring in sync, the shadows of two constructs already stationed at his back, sealing every exit.
The man's voice was calm, resonant, almost indulgent. "I like your resolve. Become my subordinate."
The words hit like a hammer. Whitebeard once called men his sons with that same unshakable gravity. It wasn't persuasion it was declaration. A force of will that demanded compliance.
Kabuto lowered his gaze, glasses catching the sterile light. "…And what do you want from me?"
"Exactly what you want for yourself."
Nian rose, idly lifting a vial from the counter, studying the label before setting it back with meticulous care.
"My puppets will inherit Orochimaru's bases, enhance them without disturbing their functions. Your task…" His gaze flicked to Kabuto's left arm. "…is to perfect the graft. Fuse it entirely. When you succeed, it will tell you what comes next."
From the ceiling, a shadow melted downward. A figure half-born of darkness smiled faintly.
"From now on, let's get along. Name's Zetsu."
Kabuto stiffened. He knew that name. Akatsuki's phantom. Yet here it stood, aligned with this man. A question gnawed: Was the D-Organization real? Or just Akatsuki under another mask?
He swallowed the thought. Too many questions for now. Instead, he asked the only one that mattered. "…Why assume I'll agree?"
Nian's reply was effortless. "Because you're clever. Clever men don't waste their lives clinging to lost masters. They adapt. They survive. They choose what benefits them most."
The logic was irrefutable. Kabuto's lips thinned. Rationality trumped loyalty—it always had.
Nian's hand flicked once. "No need for speeches. You know your position better than anyone. The puppets will obey your commands. And if you need guidance…" His chin tilted toward Zetsu. "…it's very good at convincing."
He placed a device on the counter. The screen lit with a name that made Kabuto's heart jolt. Yakushi Nonō.
Kabuto's pupils shrank.
By the time his breath returned, the man was gone. No ripple of chakra, no fading sound just absence, as though he had never been.
Only the silent guards at the door, and the shadow chuckling above.
Kabuto's fingers adjusted his glasses. A sharp gleam flashed off the lenses. He lifted his chin and gave his first order.
"Begin collecting everything."
The puppets turned as one. Orders relayed. Machines moved.
Zetsu's grin widened. "Efficient. As expected of Kabuto. Once he commits, there's no hesitation."
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Across the continent, Orochimaru's hidden bases fell quiet as puppet squads slipped through teleportation seals, harvesting scrolls, samples, even personnel. Under Kabuto's direction, the takeovers looked seamless no alarms, no resistance.
In the Wave base, Neji closed another research tome and set it aside, already sorting Orochimaru's decades of hoarded knowledge into categories: useful, useless, dangerous. Many bloodline puzzles he had once left untouched now unfolded under the guidance of these archives.
Then came the message. Obito's transmission pulsed across the network.
The Two-Tails has been sealed. Yugito Nii… is ready for "resurrection."
Neji's lips curved faintly. "Perfect. Another pawn stolen out from under them."
He set the tablet aside, eyes glinting. "I should make the trip myself. After all, I can't let Obito ruin a perfectly good jinchūriki by nailing her full of black rods. Disgraceful."
His laughter echoed low in the chamber. The puppets outside shifted rank at the sound, their red optics pulsing like soldiers awaiting deployment.
The game had shifted. And Kabuto, newly bound, was already moving his first pieces.
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