Yoru finished channeling chakra through the final seal and exhaled as the sensation surged through his arms—hot, sharp, electric. The technique had finally settled into his system, the way a new muscle finally begins to obey.
Lightning Release.Not just familiarity, but true control.
And beneath that, a second transformation:the instinctive rhythm of Chidori, the piercing current synchronizing with his heartbeat. Analysis, form, movement—compressed into a single, cohesive comprehension. The sort of understanding that usually took months of bruises and failures.
He rubbed his palm, still tingling from the last practice strike.
"Not bad," he murmured to himself. "Not elegant yet… but usable."
He'd burned through nearly all of the clan's supplied resources to obtain the training scrolls and chakra refinement tools he needed. Illegal to civilians, frowned upon even inside Konoha, but essential for anyone attempting to master high-level Lightning techniques in a short window.
I don't have years. Not with the political storm coming.
But raw technique meant little without a body to match.He moved into a low stance, cycling through the swordwork drills he'd reinforced with supplemental instruction acquired from the clan. Footwork, angle, torque—his speed was cleaner, his timing crisper, but his muscles hadn't fully adapted yet.
Just as Sasuke once struggled to keep up with Rock Lee despite having the Sharingan, Yoru could read more than he could physically execute. That gap annoyed him.
Still, even with the imperfect transition, his combat profile had changed.Chidori gave him a decisive finishing tool.Enhanced Lightning affinity deepened his offensive ceiling.And his blade work had finally reached a level where jonin wouldn't laugh behind his back.
A good start.
If he wanted Orochimaru's attention—even temporarily—that wasn't optional.
Yoru stretched out his fingers, letting a faint spark dance across them, then extinguish.
Orochimaru isn't interested in half-measures. He notices people who can survive the battlefield he commands.
Just as he stepped outside, he heard the footsteps he'd already recognized.
"Yoru! Move it. Orochimaru-sensei has a mission lined up."
Anko stood with her hands on her hips, pretending impatience but unable to hide the spark of competitive mischief in her eyes. She always acted like she was two seconds from stabbing someone, but the truth was simpler: she hated being bored.
Yoru gave her a faint grin. "Already warmed up. Lead the way."
They walked side by side across the clearing.A few shinobi from various units glanced at them as they passed—some with suspicion, some with thinly disguised curiosity. Rumor had spread fast: an Uchiha positioning himself close to one of the Sannin's protégés.
Those murmurs didn't matter. Yoru had already decided on the role he needed to play.
Anko snorted. "Your clan's reputation is taking a beating, you know. People think you're cozying up to me for influence."
"Maybe I'm doing it for the village," Yoru replied, perfectly deadpan.
"For the village?" She barked a laugh. "Sure. And I infiltrate snake dens because it's fun."
Yoru didn't disagree.He simply pushed onward, brushing aside a strand of hair as if dismissing a trivial accusation.
Truth was, the intelligence he'd extracted and redistributed through foreign channels would eventually benefit Konoha—just not in the way anyone expected.If border tensions escalated into small-scale skirmishes, the village elders would have bigger worries than internal purges.And the Uchiha would have time. Time was everything.
They reached the treeline.
The forest ahead was ancient—towering trunks, drifting mist, shadows layered over shadows. Movement flickered through the canopy, barely perceptible.
"Targets sighted," Anko whispered.
Yoru's Sharingan unfurled with a quiet surge, the single tomoe spinning once before locking into clarity. The world sharpened—motion trails, heartbeat rhythms, the subtle tension in branches disturbed by passing bodies.
"One squad," he murmured. "Captain in his mid-twenties. Sword on his back. Three younger shinobi behind him. Looks like an infiltration probe."
Anko didn't question his assessment.When the mission began, frivolity died. That was the shinobi way.
They watched as the enemy unit advanced—
Then a burst.An explosion flared through the underbrush, swallowing one of the younger shinobi before he could react. A trap—placed earlier by Konoha scouts.
The captain snapped a hand up in alarm. "Hold! Fall back!"
Too late.
Two silhouettes dropped behind them—silent, precise, lethal.
The survivors spun, panic rising—until the captain froze completely, eyes wide.
"…Orochimaru."
The Sannin stepped from between the trees, as if the forest had grown him from its roots. Pale skin, narrow eyes, expression politely amused. His voice scraped the quiet like the purr of a predator.
"Now then," Orochimaru said lightly, "what sort of little mice wander this deep into Konoha territory?"
One of the young shinobi trembled. Another tried to form a seal.
Yoru saw the exact moment their captain realized something was wrong.
If the real Orochimaru were here, he wouldn't attack from two angles at once. Someone else is striking from behind…
"Run!" the captain shouted. "Get away from the decoy—go after whoever's attacking!"
Even as he barked the order, he surged forward himself, drawing his blade and charging the figure he believed to be a clone or impersonation.
The two students obeyed, turning to intercept the kunai barrage aimed at them.
And the forest swallowed the battlefield whole.