"What's Uchiha Rin's background?"
Danzō finally calmed and asked.
"He's an ordinary Uchiha clansman," the ANBU captain reported without pause. "His only notable trait is that he became the clan's sole medical-nin."
"His older brother works in the Uchiha Police Force. Just a Chūnin. No Sharingan."
"But—his neighbor is the eldest son of Uchiha Setsuna. Rin wasn't originally part of the team, but just before deployment, he replaced Setsuna's granddaughter."
This, the captain had been saving. He had steered the conversation toward Setsuna for this exact moment.
Because truthfully—without Setsuna's intervention—there was no way a medical-nin, ambushed by dozens of Iwa Jōnin and an elite force of one hundred, could survive. Let alone escape and bring another Genin back alive.
Telling that to Danzō would be suicide.
He'd be branded incompetent. Demoted. Possibly disposed of.
"Uchiha Setsuna?" Danzō scoffed. "That relic?"
"His son joined the doves—he's practically a lapdog to the village. Even sent his own son to the Academy to be molded."
"Sarutobi only released Setsuna from prison as a gesture. And now he's stirring up trouble again? That old traitor repays trust with betrayal."
Danzō's voice simmered with contempt.
Still, Rin's abrupt appearance in the Uchiha squad was suspicious.
Setsuna had to be involved.
"Lord Danzō," the ANBU captain reminded, "Konoha's prison is still within Uchiha jurisdiction. Setsuna was never actually punished. Just quietly confined within his own residence."
Danzō's face darkened.
"I'll take this to Hiruzen."
"For now—keep a tight watch on the Uchiha compound. Any unusual movement—report to me immediately."
"Yes, Lord Danzō!"
The captain bowed deeply, then vanished into shadow.
When silence returned, a faint slither echoed from the darkness.
Orochimaru emerged, gold eyes glinting.
"No Sharingan… will you still proceed with the experiments?"
In truth, the entire operation had been set up well in advance.
Danzō had long been whispering into the Third Hokage's ear, advocating for a softer hand with the Uchiha—to avoid escalation.
To dull the clan's instincts.
To blind them.
All so Danzō could snatch the Sharingan for himself.
Even the makeup of the Uchiha task force had been carefully calculated—five elite Jōnin leading fifteen squads of three. Statistically, at least four of them would wield fully matured Sharingan.
Even if he lost a few, Danzō would walk away with at least two sets of three-tomoe eyes… and ten lesser ones.
Just enough for the first wave of transplantation trials.
But now, the plan had collapsed.
Danzō turned toward Orochimaru, voice flat.
"We move forward. If we can't get Sharingan now… then we'll use Hashirama cells."
Orochimaru's smirk vanished. He hesitated.
"That'll kill quite a few. Are you sure?"
This was before he had fully plunged into darkness.
Hashirama Senju's cells were violently regenerative. Ordinary human bodies couldn't handle the fusion. Most who received them died within days.
Orochimaru had explained this before.
Over a hundred test subjects had already perished—proof that this path was flawed.
He had hoped to use the Sharingan's stabilizing traits to balance the destructive nature of the First Hokage's DNA.
"I'm sure," Danzō said coldly. "The orphanage—use them however you want."
"If you run short, Root will supply civilians from nearby villages."
Years of war had left the orphanages overflowing.
Konoha's shinobi, ever sentimental, often brought back war orphans without thinking about long-term consequences.
Sarutobi bore the political cost of feeding and housing them.
Danzō? He was cleaning up the mess.
He, the Shadow Hand of the Hokage—head of Root, master of logistics and intelligence—was simply doing what had to be done.
Otherwise, the village's finances would collapse.
"They're malnourished," Orochimaru replied, displeased. "Useless. Their bodies burn up too quickly."
Previous experiments had shown they weren't viable vessels.
"Then find your own," Danzō snapped, eyes narrowing.
Targeting Konoha's other shinobi?
That wasn't something Root would get involved in.
Not openly.
Orochimaru was dangerous enough already.
Danzō made a note—once he had what he needed, the connection would be severed.
Orochimaru didn't push.
He had what he came for.
As long as Root looked the other way, he could continue harvesting bodies—unchecked.
He turned and melted into the gloom.
By the time Orochimaru left the Root facility, dusk had fallen.
The dying sun cast golden light over the village's rooftops.
And in the middle of the road—blocking his path—stood a boy.
Young, delicate face.
Midnight hair. Uchiha navy-blue short-sleeved top.
Large black eyes stared at him with eerie calm.
"Lord Orochimaru," the boy said, "I have something I'd like you to see."
"If you agree, sign the scroll and place it beneath the large stone by the east gate."
"...Who are you?"
"Uchiha Shisui."
He retrieved a scroll from his gear pouch, offered it respectfully, and as soon as the name left his lips—he vanished in a puff of smoke.
Orochimaru blinked.
"Shisui…?"
Since when did the Uchiha produce a shinobi like that?
Curious, he opened the scroll.
His eyes narrowed.
His breath caught.
"Cooperative research on the Sharingan… in exchange for Hashirama cells…?"
He exhaled slowly.
"Interesting…"
But before he could contemplate further, a distant sound caught his attention.
A low, solemn wail of funeral horns echoed across the village.
He turned, gaze drawn toward the Uchiha compound.
There, at the heart of the district, a massive funeral procession had begun.
A public mourning ceremony—for the fallen Uchiha shinobi.
Their losses, honored at last.