Haruhi's POV
I stand before the closed flaps of Lord Orochimaru's command tent, the heavy canvas rippling slightly in the night wind. I was told to wait here until the ANBU returned.
The moon was breaking through the clouds in silver streaks, casting a faint glow over the encampment. A few fires still burned low, surrounded by shinobi murmuring about battle plans and the enemies they'd cut down that day. Their voices were distant, but their chakra… that was vivid.
When I focused, I could feel it — each signature had a flavor. Some were cool and smooth, like river stones under moonlight; others burned sharp and erratic, brimming with violence. One felt metallic, like copper and battery acid. The more I trained my senses, the more they blurred into a strange orchestra of life — heat, electricity, pulse.
I felt the ANBU returning before I heard his footsteps. His chakra was compact and disciplined, like a blade sheathed tight. He appeared beside the flap, bowed silently, and pulled it open for me.
I nodded once, stepping inside as he vanished behind me, closing the flap in one fluid motion.
Inside, the air was cooler, thick with ink and parchment. Orochimaru sat at a low desk scattered with scrolls and maps, the lanternlight painting gold and shadow across his face. He didn't look up. His brush swished softly over parchment in crisp, deliberate strokes.
It was fair, I supposed. I was a civilian.
"Lord Orochimaru," I began carefully.
He raised one long, pale finger without looking at me, halting me mid-word. The silence that followed was suffocating.
"Mongoose," he said quietly.
An ANBU appeared instantly at his side. Orochimaru handed him the scroll, and the masked figure vanished as though swallowed by the air itself.
Only then did Orochimaru lift his gaze to me.
"Now," he said, his tone smooth and serpentine. "What can I do for you, my lady? It must be something quite urgent to request an audience at this hour."
His voice slithered between politeness and danger. I could feel the venom beneath it — not directed at me, not yet, but coiled there all the same.
I drew a slow breath, forcing calm into my voice. "Indeed."
Lowering myself into a seiza position, I bowed until my forehead touched the cold earth. "Please, Lord Orochimaru. When you write your report to the Hokage… I ask that you list me among the casualties."
The faintest arch of an eyebrow — amusement? Curiosity?
"Why?"
Still bowing, I told him everything: Lord Mogami's betrayal, my mother's death, my inevitable fate that awaited me if I returned. I kept my tone even, but each word felt like glass in my throat.
He listened without interruption. No sound but the flicker of the lantern and the distant night chorus. Every so often he would hum softly, or incline his head.
When I finally finished, Orochimaru sat upright, his golden eyes narrowed slightly in contemplation.
"You ask a great deal of me," he said at last, voice calm but weighted. "Including falsifying a report to the Hokage and misleading a daimyo — which could bring serious consequences upon the village. Why should Konoha take that risk?"
"I have information to trade," I said.
That caught his attention — a subtle shift in his posture, a slight tightening in his chakra.
"What information," he asked, "could a five-year-old girl possibly have that would justify such a request?"
"My mother's research."
A beat. His pupils contracted slightly. His chakra stirred like a nest of serpents awakening.
Gotcha.
My mother's work had been famous throughout the Elemental Nations — her studies into how chakra interacted with biology had changed the entire medical field. One of her theories, that chakra could influence the very structure of DNA and potentially create new bloodlines, had nearly torn the political balance apart before the Hokage ordered it destroyed.
She taught me through hands-on lessons, explaining the what, how, and why of everything she did. I remembered every word. Or rather, Dominic did. I had lived those explanations twice over — once as a child, again as a man who understood them.
If her research had continued — or worse, if another village had obtained it — the consequences would have been catastrophic. And now, here I was, offering those notes to the one man already chasing the edge of human possibility.
"You have these notes?" he asked, voice low and tight.
I shook my head. "No. All physical copies were destroyed by order of the Daimyo."
Orochimaru's chakra rippled with anger, an undercurrent of heat beneath his calm expression. "Then why—"
"I memorized them," I interrupted softly. "Every formula, every procedure, every page. I offer them to Konoha — in exchange for my protection."
For a moment, I thought he might laugh. His eyes flicked over me with the detached amusement of a scientist examining an insect. Then, humoring me, he said, "Then tell me, little scholar… what is a cell?"
The corner of my mouth twitched. I answered instantly.
"A cell is the smallest structural and functional unit of an organism, typically microscopic and consisting of cytoplasm and a nucleus enclosed within a membrane."
He looked up from his scroll then, truly looking at me. His chakra flared with sudden interest — sharp, bright, electric.
"What," he asked softly, "is the process of cell division in somatic cells called?"
"Mitosis," I replied.
He leaned back, eyes narrowing. "If a mutation occurs in the DNA sequence of a gene that codes for an enzyme, how might that affect the enzyme's function — and under what circumstances might it not?"
I didn't hesitate.
"A mutation can change the mRNA codons produced during transcription, which may alter the amino acid sequence during translation. This can distort the enzyme's tertiary structure, changing or destroying its active site. If the shape changes, the enzyme may not bind to its substrate — unless the mutation is silent, leaving the amino acid sequence unchanged."
Silence. His eyes — gold and slit-pupiled — fixed on me with rapt fascination.
Finally, he whispered, "How old are you?"
"I turned five this spring, my lord."
He stared at me for several long moments, expression unreadable, then rose slowly to his feet. His chakra coiled and uncoiled like smoke around him — curiosity, calculation, and something colder beneath.
"…Go back to your tent," he said at last. "In the morning, you'll join Squad Fourteen. They depart for the Hidden Leaf at dawn."
As I bowed and left, I could feel his chakra following me out — slick and serpentine, tasting the air around me as though memorizing my scent.