"To live is to witness more wonders, to grasp more truths."
Orochimaru repeated Kiyohara's words, his golden snake-like eyes narrowing slightly.
He hadn't expected that answer.
Even his esteemed teacher, the so-called "Professor Shinobi" Hiruzen Sarutobi, or Tsunade—peerless in the field of medical ninjutsu—had never voiced such insight.
They were all shackled by worldly desires.
Addicted to gambling.
Addicted to power.
Even Jiraiya, who mastered Sage Mode, was no more than a lecherous fool.
They were rusted windmills—no longer moved by any wind.
"Exactly. You have to live long enough to even qualify to touch the truth," Kiyohara said.
"The Sages of the Three Great Holy Lands have lived for thousands of years.
If humans could do the same… maybe they too could master more truths."
In the shinobi world, there were indeed methods of longevity.
Aside from becoming the Jinchūriki of the Ten-Tails and transforming into an Ōtsutsuki…
there was Sage Mode.
In truth, Sage Arts were the true lineage of ninja power.
Take the Great Toad Sage, for example. He had lived for millennia through training in Sage Mode. Even his subordinates, Fukasaku and Shima, were over eight hundred years old.
Of course, the Three Great Sage Lands were all hidden, mythic places. Most commoners only knew of them through legend.
"Truth… Immortality…"
Orochimaru echoed once more.
The moment those words hit his ears, it was as if something deep within him had been triggered.
His golden pupils shrank violently, then widened with a hunger almost tangible.
He leaned forward slightly, as though trying to peel open Kiyohara's soul.
"Hehehe…"
A low, delighted laugh escaped his lips—like he had found a kindred spirit.
Someone else among the monkeys, who was finally thinking like a man.
"A truly delightful answer, Kiyohara-kun… I never imagined your mind had already reached this level."
He looked at Kiyohara like he was staring into a mirror—seeing a younger version of himself.
"You flatter me, Orochimaru-sama," Kiyohara replied calmly.
Compared to Uchiha Itachi—who, at age 7, had already developed a complete political philosophy—he still had a long way to go.
After all, Itachi's genius solution to the village's political crisis had been to massacre his entire clan so that Konoha could go unscathed.
"Kiyohara-kun, you're heading to the front lines against Kirigakure soon. Let this be a gift."
Orochimaru flicked his sleeve, and a scroll slid out. He scribbled a few things on it, then handed it to Kiyohara.
"Thank you, Orochimaru-sama."
Kiyohara unrolled it and found a jutsu: Leaf-Style Body Flicker Technique (Konoha Shunshin no Jutsu).
This version was superior to the basic Body Flicker—it allowed a user to dodge faster and left behind falling leaves to confuse the enemy's vision.
In the original story, Konoha jōnin Hayate Gekkō had used this technique in battle with Iwagakure ninja.
'Orochimaru really doesn't want me to die,' Kiyohara thought to himself.
This jutsu was purely defensive—a life-saving technique for slipping away at critical moments.
Just then, the tent flap rustled.
A ROOT ninja wearing a bird mask entered silently, ignored Kiyohara, and whispered something into Orochimaru's ear.
Kiyohara, recognizing the signal, politely excused himself.
"Go on, Kiyohara-kun. Prepare well.
The ruins of Uzushio won't be peaceful."
Orochimaru waved his hand, his golden eyes glittering with anticipation.
He had indeed grown interested—perhaps even planned to groom this one into a trusted subordinate.
Hiruzen was growing old.
And Danzō had already hinted that he would support Orochimaru's bid for Hokage.
If Orochimaru became the Fourth Hokage, he would need his own faction—his own men.
And a civilian like Kiyohara?
Perfect—clean background, malleable, and expendable.
Even if Kiyohara's potential didn't seem high, Orochimaru had ways of modifying that.
The Cursed Seal…
was one such tool.
Though not fully developed yet, it was already in the works.
Once Kiyohara left the tent, Orochimaru's amusement faded, replaced by irritation.
He turned to the ROOT ninja.
"Tell Danzō I'll handle the experiments soon. Tell him… to be patient."
The ninja nodded and vanished silently.
Outside the tent, Kiyohara was immediately surrounded.
Kakashi, Kurenai, and Rin had all been waiting.
"What did Orochimaru-sama want?"
Kurenai asked quickly, red eyes full of curiosity.
"Nothing much. Just gave me some words of encouragement—and this."
Kiyohara shook the scroll with the Shunshin technique, giving a carefully curated response.
Kakashi's dead-fish eyes narrowed slightly, a glint of understanding flickering within.
Genma came over and threw an arm around Kiyohara's shoulder.
"Not bad! Even one of the Sannin's feeding you now, huh?
Don't forget us when you make it big!"
Rin sighed in relief and smiled.
"As long as you're okay… Let's go get ready. We leave tomorrow."
The next day.
A squad of shinobi set out toward the eastern coastline.
It was a heavy march—but Kiyohara didn't waste a moment.
While moving, he divided his focus between reviewing the Shunshin technique and continuing his training.
Sometimes, he would consult Rin about chakra control—particularly precise applications in medical ninjutsu.
It was incredibly useful for refining his control and improving his use of "Leaf-Style: Willow" swordsmanship.
That dedication—the ability to sink fully into his training at any time—left Rin quietly impressed.
One week later, the salty ocean breeze became stronger.
Finally, the squad broke off from land and began running over the water.
Soon, they arrived at a desolate, ruined place.
Before them stood the remains of Uzushiogakure.
A half-buried stone with the Uzumaki clan crest jutted from the sand.
What once were massive stone buildings were now nothing but shattered bases and fractured walls, overtaken by wild grass and moss.
Their mission:
To build a new defense line atop this fallen nation—watching the seas for enemies from the Land of Water.
Because beyond that vast ocean…
there was only the enemy.
Kiyohara stood atop a crumbling wall, eyes fixed on the horizon.
The salty wind blew across his face.
He could feel it—his chakra stabilizing, his mastery over new jutsu growing.
He wasn't afraid.
Within the next week, Kiyohara's life settled into calm routine.
Their defensive perimeter had been established.
Kiyohara spent his time quietly training.
Until—
The voice came.
[Please collect your Will and Urn. Make proper arrangements for your relics.]
Kiyohara's heart leapt.
"Will this one… have a Kekkei Genkai?"
It felt like he was about to scratch off a lottery ticket.