Orochimaru's office door was unmarked except for the number and the university logo stenciled in faded blue. Sasuke tried the handle, found it locked, then knelt to inspect the badge plate next to the knob. It was the same as the one at the stairwell—an outdated analog, easily fooled. Sasuke flicked the badge out of his pocket again, pressed it to the plate, and the lock disengaged with a shudder and a sound like a tooth clicking into place.
They slipped inside.
Sasuke shut the door behind them and yanked down the blind over its narrow window before Naruto could fully take in his surroundings. Dark wood paneling and outdated electronics transformed the office into something like a cave. At its center loomed a massive desk drowning under an avalanche of folders, books, and a single dormant monitor. Behind it stood two file cabinets, their metal shells scarred and peeling, one topped with a graveyard of beakers, forgotten mugs, and succulents withering toward death. Medical texts crammed a bookcase along the wall—the newer ones gleaming with untouched covers alongside ancient tomes whose leather spines caught gold in the sickly overhead light. Most out of place was the Victorian wardrobe hulking in the far corner, an antique intruder among scientific debris. Each breath filled Naruto's lungs with harsh disinfectant and the lingering phantom of cigarettes that should have vanished from campus years ago.
Sasuke scanned the perimeter with a cop's paranoia, then whispered, "We don't have much time," He jerked his chin at the computer. "Start there. Don't touch the keyboard—just check for anything on the desk. I'll do the files."
Naruto nodded, nerves sparking all the way to his fingertips. He ducked behind the desk, moving the beat-up rolling chair, and flicked on the flashlight from his phone, careful to keep the beam low. The monitor was off, but a post-it note was stuck dead center, covered in microscopic handwriting. He squinted: passwords, a list of dates, maybe two lines of names. He pulled his own phone and snapped a photo, hands trembling. Next, he rifled through the folders stacked beside the mouse pad, half-expecting the paper to bite back. Most were course syllabi, student complaints—wait. "Recruitment." His heart leapt into his throat. This was it. He yanked the folder open, fingers fumbling in his rush, only to deflate when he found nothing but a glossy flyer for some academic symposium on biochemical research. He snapped a quick photo anyway, tossed it aside with a frustrated exhale, and continued digging through the remaining stack with renewed urgency.
Naruto slapped another folder shut. "Nothing here," he muttered, the words bouncing off the walls louder than intended.
Sasuke's head snapped up. "Quiet," he hissed through clenched teeth.
Naruto nodded, realizing his phone's flashlight had drifted up toward the window. He killed it, letting his eyes adjust to the dim again. The monitor's power button glowed faintly in the dark. He thought about the passwords, about the short time limit, and thought better of it. He moved to the file cabinets, finding Sasuke already hunched there, one hand bracing the top drawer while the other flicked through folders at lightning speed.
"Find anything?" Naruto whispered, bending close.
Sasuke didn't look up. "Faculty files, some grade appeals, nothing—wait." He paused, drew a file from the back, and flipped it open. Naruto's breath caught as he recognized the familiar header they'd seen in the medical office: "Chimera Project." The same sterile formatting, the same coded subject listings they'd already memorized. Naruto's eyes darted to where Kurama's ID should be—K-9-FB—finding it exactly where they'd expected, alongside the others. The only new information was in the rightmost column, where someone had handwritten: "Phase II Data Extraction scheduled" next to each name.
Sasuke photographed every page, careful to never let his fingertips touch the paper. "We need something new," he said, voice flat. "Any files from the medical office would be kept offsite, but he might have backups." Sasuke put the file back and pulled open a new drawer, which squealed in protest. Inside: a locked metal box, small enough to fit in a backpack, but dense and scuffed from years of use.
Naruto eyed it. "You think you can crack it?"
Sasuke gave a tight nod. "Go check the wardrobe. I'll handle this."
Naruto nodded and moved toward the wardrobe. His heart drummed against his ribs as he approached the ancient piece of furniture. Up close, the black paint had cracked with age, revealing dark wood beneath. Its feet curled into talons that seemed to grip the floor, and the hinges had rusted to the color of dried blood. He wrapped his fingers around the brass handle and pulled, bracing for it to stick. It didn't.
The doors swung open silently, the inside was lab coats, two ancient suit jackets, and a shelf of shoe boxes. He scanned for anything out of place, but found only mundane items. On the bottom shelf sat a single cardboard box labeled "PERSONAL FINANCE." Naruto's shoulders slumped. He pulled it out anyway, lifting the lid to reveal nothing but neatly organized bank statements and deposit receipts from Konoha First National. The top one showed a transfer of $50,000 from "University Research Fund" with Orochimaru's signature scrawled across the bottom.
He was about to call Sasuke over when light flooded the hallway outside. They both went rigid. The silence stretched between them like a tripwire. Then Sasuke's face changed—his eyes widening with alarm as he slammed the metal box back in the drawer. In two swift, noiseless strides, he crossed to Naruto, seized him by the collar, and shoved him backward into the wardrobe's dark interior. When Naruto opened his mouth to protest, Sasuke shushed him and shook his head, before closing the wardrobe leaving Naruto alone in the dark.
Sasuke turned and faced the door, standing straight and rigid as a soldier at attention, waiting for the inevitable.
Naruto crouched in the wardrobe, breath rasping through the knit of his sleeves. He tried to silence it, pressing his fists to his mouth and counting the thuds of his heart against the wood. The darkness was near-total, but through the hairline crack between the panels, Naruto could see a thin blade of light slashing the office.
The door swung open. Orochimaru stood framed in the threshold, his lips curling into a smirk at the sight of Sasuke, a manila folder in his hands. The lock clicked shut behind him with a finality that filled the room. Each breath Naruto took filled his lungs with something new—notes of sandalwood and cedar mingling with the clinical sting of medical-grade rubber.
Orochimaru's voice was the first thing to fill the silence. "Sasuke." He didn't say it as a question. He spoke the name like he was resuming a conversation left only minutes before.
A soft shuffle as Sasuke pivoted to face the Orochimaru. "Professor." The word came out smooth, but with a core of steel.
Orochimaru claimed the space with each step, as if the floor existed solely for his feet to touch. He swept toward the desk, let the folder fall with a deliberate thud, then drifted to the file cabinets. His gaze caught on the drawer that hadn't quite closed. A slow, deliberate lick of his lips followed, something primordial in the gesture. "Arriving ahead of schedule, Sasuke? Finals week seemed the more... logical time for a visit." The words carried no heat, only the clinical interest of a scientist observing an unexpected reaction in a familiar experiment. Naruto felt each hair on his forearms stand at attention.
Through the hairline gap between the wardrobe doors, Naruto watched Sasuke's spine go rigid. The air between them seemed to crystallize, brittle with unspoken history. Orochimaru's words hung in the room like poison gas, and Naruto's mind raced to decipher their meaning.
Sasuke shifted his weight against the wardrobe, the wooden panels creaking slightly where they pressed against Naruto's hiding spot. "I thought I'd drop by early," he said, each word falling from his lips with glacial precision. "Before you had a chance to hide your records."
"Smart." Orochimaru let the word curl in the air. He approached the desk again, fingers tracing the edge with deliberate delicacy. "Find what you were looking for?" His gaze flicked up to the wardrobe—Naruto froze, sure he'd been spotted—but the eyes lingered only a second before returning to Sasuke.
"Not yet," Sasuke replied, voice lower now, edged with a threat that only the two of them could read. "But I will."
Orochimaru smiled. It was not a kind smile, but an autopsy smile: the satisfaction of a puzzle almost complete. He circled Sasuke, slow and predatory, every move calculated to keep Sasuke's back to the wardrobe. "You've always been so focused. A rare trait these days. It was a privilege to… work with you." He lingered on the last two words, letting them pulse in the air.
Sasuke tensed, but didn't move. His hands, at his sides, flexed once, then stilled. "I was a kid."
"That's when brains are most malleable," Orochimaru replied, picking up a glass beaker from the file cabinet and turning it in his hand. "You must remember how we'd talk. The late hours. The tests." He set the beaker down. "You had such potential."
The room went dead quiet. Naruto caught himself holding his breath and forced his lungs to work again. Through the sliver between the wardrobe doors, he could see nothing but Sasuke's back blocking his view, a dark wall between him and whatever was happening.
"I'm not here for nostalgia," Sasuke said, flat and even. "You're still experimenting."
Orochimaru's smile widened. "Nothing so dramatic. All my research is fully authorized now." He leaned against the desk, arms folded, as if settling in for a therapy session. "And who are you worried about? Yourself, or your new friend?"
Sasuke's jaw ticked. He took half a step forward, the motion subtle but full of intent. "Leave him out of this."
Orochimaru's eyes narrowed, not toward the wardrobe but straight through Sasuke, like he was examining a slide under a microscope. "Your... friend... is quite safe with me." The pause between words slithered into the wardrobe where Naruto crouched, making his skin prickle with goosebumps.
Sasuke's knuckles clenched into fists, "Safety doesn't exist when you're involved."
The professor stood, closing the space between them in a single glide. He reached up, slow, and brushed a lock of hair from Sasuke's face. Sasuke flinched—a tiny, involuntary spasm—but Orochimaru's hand didn't linger. He let it drop, landing on Sasuke's shoulder, squeezing just enough to imprint possession.
Orochimaru leaned in, his breath visible in the cold air between them. "My work made you stronger than nature ever could."
Sasuke didn't blink. "You are full of shit."
Orochimaru's fingers trailed off Sasuke's shoulder, leaving invisible tracks that burned through the fabric. He drifted back to the desk, each step deliberate. "They always return to me in the end," he said, voice honeyed with certainty. "Your... friend... remains untouchable." His lips stretched into a smile that never reached his eyes. "So long as you behave."
The two stood in a standoff, the office colder than the grave.
Finally, Sasuke broke the silence, each word sharp with controlled rage. "Tell me about the Chimera Project."
Orochimaru's lips curled into a patronizing smile. "That information is classified, Sasuke. Even for you."
Sasuke's knuckles blanched as Orochimaru slid the folder across the polished surface, just beyond reach. The professor's eyes narrowed to amber slits. "Our work together showed such promise. The door to my lab remains open, should you ever..." he paused, eyes glittering, "wish to continue your education." His pale fingers drifted across the desk's edge as he moved toward the exit, the white fabric of his coat catching air like a sail. "Our time is up for today."
Sasuke's jaw clenched. The wardrobe at his back might as well have been screaming Naruto's presence to the room. He couldn't walk out, not with Orochimaru still here. A desperate calculation flashed behind his eyes before settling into cold resolve. "Professor," he said, his voice a perfect mask of academic detachment. "That neural plasticity article you assigned—page thirty-eight has an inconsistency I can't reconcile."
A smile slithered across Orochimaru's face as he paused at the threshold. "Always the dedicated student. Come then." He beckoned with pale fingers. "We'll discuss it on the way."
Sasuke's hand drifted toward the desk as he passed, fingertips nearly grazing the manila folder. Orochimaru's smile tightened at the corners. "Those stay here," he said, voice silk-wrapped steel. "They contain matters beyond your current... clearance."
Sasuke's fingers hovered at the folder's edge, a muscle twitching in his jaw. The manila folder caught the window's light like a spotlight on a stage prop. He leaned forward slightly, weight shifting as if preparing to snatch it—then froze. Orochimaru's veiled threat about Naruto's safety echoed in his mind. With a barely perceptible glance toward the wardrobe, he withdrew his hand and let it fall empty to his side.
Orochimaru led the way out, not looking back.
Naruto remained frozen behind the wardrobe, every muscle seizing. Sweat trickled cold down his neck while he marked time with his pulse—five beats, ten, thirty—until the office's emptiness became certain. When he finally unfolded himself, his legs buzzed with returning circulation as he inched toward the desk. The folder lay there like bait in a trap. His hand hovered above it, torn between grabbing the evidence and knowing Orochimaru would immediately notice its absence.
Naruto chewed his lower lip, then reached for his phone. He'd photograph the contents and leave the folder untouched. His fingers trembled as he eased the cover open, heart thundering against his ribs. Then the blood drained from his face. There, centered on an otherwise blank page, two words glared up at him in elegant script: Nice Try.