No one knew how much time had passed.
Thud!
"Cough."
The young man's body slammed into a thick tree trunk, making a dull thud. The tough bark cracked under the impact, leaving a web of deep dents and splintered fissures.
Bruised and bloodied, the young man coughed up a mouthful of blood.
He weakly lifted his trembling arm, trying to raise the battered black kunai in his hand to face his opponent.
But before he could gather his strength again, a blade as dim and cold as the moonlight pierced straight through his shoulder, pinning him to the tree.
"Not bad, Aizen-kun," Orochimaru's raspy voice drawled. "You've actually managed to push me this far."
He gripped the hilt of the Kusanagi Sword tightly, leaning his body forward, keeping the young man's torso fixed in place.
His pale face was streaked with blood, and his left arm and leg were severed at the joints. From the ragged wounds, thin tendrils of muscle twitched and writhed—like tiny hands groping blindly for their missing limbs.
His long black hair hung loose and disheveled, and fatigue flickered across his face. Yet, the corners of his mouth were still curled upward.
Those serpent-like pupils of his slid across the younger man's exposed neck and arms.
There, dark veins were spreading beneath the skin—black lines crawling up as though seeking the heart.
Even the blood Aizen coughed up was tinged with black.
"It must hurt, doesn't it, Aizen-kun?" Orochimaru's tone was almost amused. "I know the strength of my own poison."
"Now, tell me—who are you working for?"
His slimy tongue ran over the blood on his lips as if savoring something exquisite.
He was missing a limb, yet somehow he seemed far calmer than the young man before him.
Through the fight, Orochimaru had already noticed something odd.
The young man's movements combined taijutsu from the Cloud Village, Root's escape techniques, and even the sword-handling style of the ANBU.
And though he looked barely in his early twenties, he had mastered each with a fluency that even Orochimaru found impressive.
Could he be a Cloud spy planted in Konoha years ago?
Or a Root or ANBU agent who had infiltrated Cloud and then returned under this false identity?
Was he working with the Third Hokage?
Or perhaps with that old fool Danzo?
In just a few seconds, countless possibilities flashed through Orochimaru's mind.
"Cough… cough…"
Pinned against the tree, the young man coughed weakly, black-tinged blood spilling from his lips. The cracked lenses of his glasses reflected a faint light in the moon's glow, making Orochimaru narrow his eyes.
The young man still wore that same polite smile as when they first met.
"Impressive, Orochimaru-sama," Aizen murmured, his voice barely audible. "To have come this far…"
His words made Orochimaru frown, puzzled.
Aizen's trembling hand rose slowly, grasping the Kusanagi blade impaling him. Blood welled from his fingertips, running down the silver blade.
Orochimaru tensed instinctively.
But Aizen made no move to attack. He simply pushed himself forward, step by step, despite the sword lodged in his body.
The blade pierced completely through his torso, pinning him to the trunk.
One step. Two steps.
The distance between them closed, and Orochimaru's instincts screamed louder with every heartbeat.
Finally, they stood face to face.
Aizen raised his bloodstained hand and reached toward him—as if trying to touch something just beyond his grasp.
His fingertips stopped an inch from Orochimaru's pale face.
Then, in a calm voice, he spoke.
"Have you still not realized it, Orochimaru-sama?"
Orochimaru froze.
And then, abruptly, his eyes widened. He dropped the sword and leapt back several steps.
Because the voice—had come from behind him.
Crack.
The sound of shattering glass echoed in his ears.
Orochimaru turned.
At the edge of moonlight and shadow, a young man in a Konoha uniform stood quietly, spotless, holding a notebook he had just closed.
Exactly as he had been when they first met.
He hadn't taken a single step.
Aizen Sosuke's gentle gaze met his own.
That calm, warm smile should have been comforting—yet it sent a chill crawling down Orochimaru's spine. Cold sweat began to bead on his back.
"The one I was fighting… could it have been…"
His pupils darted across the forest.
The battlefield was a ruin—trees split apart, the earth cracked and scorched, blood and chakra residue staining the soil.
Severed limbs lay scattered, belonging to Root operatives, their bodies twisted and drained.
On one nearby tree, a Root agent was pinned in place, his mask shattered, his dead face still frozen in disbelief.
Every corpse bore the same strange marks—white, fibrous growths spreading across their skin, with thin wooden tendrils sprouting from within.
Signs of Wood Release experimentation.
Above them, the crescent moon had already begun to sink toward the eastern horizon.
Orochimaru stood motionless.
"Genjutsu…?"
"When did it start?"
"How long has it been?"
"Why didn't the monitoring team respond?"
Each thought exploded in his mind like thunder. He clenched his fists tightly.
No—something else.
He looked down at his own body.
His left side was covered in spreading patches of white. Just like the corpses on the ground, small branches had grown out of his leg, rooting him to the earth.
He hadn't noticed any of it—hadn't even felt it. A rare flicker of confusion crossed his face as he stared at Aizen.
From the very beginning, this man had manipulated everyone—including him.
How incredible.
"Aizen-kun," Orochimaru rasped, his eyes fixed on the fading image of the young man. "What exactly do you intend to do?"
Aizen looked up, meeting his gaze.
Behind his thick glasses, his calm eyes seemed to truly see Orochimaru for the first time.
His tone remained gentle and composed.
"Why, to change this world, of course."
"…Heh."
Orochimaru's lips twitched into a faint smile that soon widened into laughter.
There was mockery in it—but also understanding.
So that's how it is.
For someone like you… Konoha's future—
His thought ended there. The spreading white swallowed his body completely.
Aizen watched quietly until it was done.
Then he turned away, speaking softly.
"Farewell, Orochimaru-sama."
"You were, after all, excellent experimental material."
The moment his voice faded, the white growths surged, engulfing Orochimaru entirely.
...
"Orochimaru-sama!!!"
In the underground monitoring chamber, Kabuto stared at the screen, his fists trembling in disbelief.
That invincible man—defeated so easily by a nobody?
Impossible.
Yet, no matter how hard he pressed the alarm—nothing responded. The system was dead. The barriers had been completely bypassed.
His anger was useless now.
Kabuto's teeth ground together as his thoughts raced.nAll he could do now was preserve what little intelligence remained—Orochimaru's final discovery.
That man's true identity.
"Aizen…" he hissed through clenched teeth.
He shot to his feet.
If he could just get this information to Danzo-sama or the Hok—
But before he could finish the thought, Kabuto froze.
The monitoring room was silent.
He tapped the shoulder of the nearest researcher.
The man's body slumped lifelessly to the floor.
Thud.
And then another. And another.
Within seconds, the entire room collapsed into eerie stillness, bodies sprawled like toppled dominoes.
Kabuto's face drained of color.
Slowly, trembling, he turned around.
There—sitting quietly behind him—was the same man from the screen.
Aizen Sosuke rested his chin on one hand, still watching the monitors, thoughtful, serene.
Sensing Kabuto's frozen stare, he turned slightly, smiling with calm warmth. And in a soft voice, he answered the boy's unspoken fear:
"I'm here."