Orochimaru’s features were sharp and cold. His pallid complexion, coupled with his loose, jet-bck hair, gave him an aura of eerie darkness that made it hard for anyone to feel at ease in his presence.

  “You’re just like Rin, you know that?!” Anko huffed in frustration.

  “Orochimaru-sama, please don’t be mad. Makoto, he—”

  “Anko.” Orochimaru cut her off with a quiet but unmistakably commanding tone.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Do you remember what I asked you to retrieve from the hospital yesterday?”

  “Uh-huh!”

  “Go get more of it today.”

  “Oh, okay!” Anko nodded instinctively, then paused, sensing something off.

  “You want me to go now?”

  “Yes.”

  She shot a worried gnce at Makoto, her small face wrinkled with concern. What if this guy annoyed Orochimaru-sama again?

  “You’re worried about what I might do to your little friend?” Orochimaru asked, voice low and slightly amused.

  “N-no! I’m going now!” Anko blurted and dashed out, mentally repeating I’ll be back quick. Just in and out!

  Now only Hyuga Makoto and Orochimaru remained in the sparsely furnished living room. The house was old; the courtyard outside littered with fallen leaves. A breeze slipped through the open space, sending a chill through the air that made Makoto instinctively tense up.

  He knew exactly what he was doing—but facing someone like Orochimaru, the pressure was real.

  “Who’s the one backing you?” Orochimaru asked.

  “I’m not sure I understand what Orochimaru-sama means,” Makoto replied.

  “Someone sends me such a generous gift… What do they want in return?”

  “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Orochimaru’s eyes narrowed, his gaze intense enough to feel like a vice tightening around Makoto.

  “I’m not a patient man,” he said. “If you keep pying dumb, I might just stop pretending too.”

  Makoto shook his head calmly. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  Orochimaru’s expression didn’t change, but a new sharpness entered his voice. “You said Minato would be the next Hokage?”

  “I didn’t say it—everyone in the vilge thinks so,” Makoto replied, then added with feigned surprise, “Wait… don’t tell me Orochimaru-sama wants to be Hokage too?”

  Just moments ago, Orochimaru had been teetering on suspicion, but now—now he was sure. This little brat was pying him.

  Yet strangely enough, he didn’t get angry. Someone dared to put on a show in front of him? Bold. Ridiculous. Amusing.

  Makoto kept going. “The Hokage is supposed to bring hope to the people—a figure bathed in light.”

  “And you don’t think I’m capable of being that figure?” Orochimaru sneered.

  Makoto ignored the challenge and instead said, “That reminds me of a story. I wonder if Orochimaru-sama would like to hear it?”

  Orochimaru’s eyes glinted. Was this brat a probe sent by the Hyuga cn?

  But which Hyuga?

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  Makoto began slowly, almost theatrically. “Once upon a time, there was a kingdom. The old king had two sons, and he had to choose one to inherit the throne…”

  “…”

  “The elder son was immensely talented, strong beyond measure. He inherited the king’s full might. But he was arrogant and aloof, never cared for the people, only obsessed with getting stronger.”

  “The younger son wasn’t as powerful, but he loved the people. He solved their problems, earned their trust, and became well-loved.”

  Makoto looked at Orochimaru and asked, “Who do you think the king should’ve chosen?”

  Orochimaru scoffed. “If the elder son was really that strong, he wouldn’t sit around waiting for a crown to be handed to him.”

  He clearly understood who the “sons” represented—and chose to dodge the actual question.

  Makoto smiled. “But the king is still alive and quite powerful. On top of that, most of the nobles are supporting the younger son. The elder? He’s alone. His strength isn’t enough to stand against them all.”

  “The elder thought that as long as he grew strong enough, he could cim the throne by force. But in the end, the younger son was crowned with the people’s support. The elder was exiled. He wanted revenge—but the people stood between him and the new king.”

  Makoto leaned in slightly. “Orochimaru-sama… what do you think the elder son could’ve done at that point?”

  Orochimaru’s face remained stone cold.

  “Of course, there’s another path,” Makoto added.

  “He could’ve knelt before the younger son, pledged his loyalty, and helped him govern the kingdom. With his power, he could’ve become the general—a legend in his own right.”

  “The end,” Makoto said softly. “That’s the story, Orochimaru-sama.”

  Orochimaru’s stare was piercing. “You’re not afraid of dying, are you?”

  Makoto blinked in mock confusion. “Wait… you’re not thinking of killing me, are you?”

  “…”

  For once, Orochimaru was caught off guard. Was this kid always this gutsy?

  Most people flinched at the mere sight of him. The killing intent he’d just released would’ve made a jōnin break a sweat. But this brat? He didn’t even blink.

  What gave him the nerve?

  “But if you want to be Hokage,” Makoto said casually, “you can’t go around killing your own vilge comrades, can you?”

  Orochimaru snorted. “And not killing you gets me the Hokage seat?”

  Makoto chuckled. “If you don’t kill me, I might just help you get it.”

  “You?” Orochimaru sneered. But his mind was already racing.

  This brat…

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

  Makoto paused, then calmly said, “Do you know what’s up with my eyes, Orochimaru-sama?”

  His eyes…

  Orochimaru had heard about this strange Hyuga from Anko. At first, he’d found it amusing. An outsider once got their hands on the Uchiha’s Sharingan—and now a Hyuga had thrown away his Byakugan for something… ordinary?

  “I’m from the branch family,” Makoto said. “If I were to regain the Byakugan, it’d mean one thing—getting branded with the caged bird seal again.”

  That one sentence made everything click for Orochimaru—including the real reason Anko had passed along that info.

  This kid… had no one behind him. It was all him from the start. All this theater, all this maneuvering, just to catch Orochimaru’s attention.

  A weakling, kicking up dust in front of a monster—just to beg for protection.

  Had he come groveling from the start, Orochimaru would’ve dismissed him as an arrogant fool.

  But now… now he saw it.

  “You were so sure I’d accept the Byakugan back then—why?” Orochimaru asked.

  Makoto smiled. “Because the elder son is prideful and reckless. There’s nothing he wouldn’t dare try.”

  Orochimaru’s expression darkened. “You’ve already told me the elder son’s ending. No one supports me. I should just sit back and watch Minato take the seat.”

  “That was just a story,” Makoto replied. “Stories need logic. Reality doesn’t follow any rules. It’s chaotic. Unfair.”

  “And besides… aside from the Hokage position, how else would you get your hands on the Byakugan, Orochimaru-sama?”

  That struck a chord. Orochimaru wanted the Hokage seat—yes—but the power behind it? That was the real prize.

  The Byakugan… a treasure so tightly guarded by the Hyuga that even he could only look from afar.

  And yet, when he heard Makoto’s story through Anko—even suspecting it was a trap—he still acted.

  Now he knew why.

  Orochimaru stayed silent for a long time before finally saying, “Then tell me your pn.”

  Those words were as good as an acceptance.

  Makoto’s expression didn’t change, but a flicker of triumph sparked behind his eyes.

  “We’re at war,” he said. “Why’s Orochimaru-sama sitting at home?”

  Orochimaru’s eyes narrowed. “You want me to compete with Minato? Count enemy corpses?”

  “No,” Makoto said. “You only need to show the world that you can change the tides of battle.”

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