Two days ter, an explosive rumor began spreading through the vilge.

  The Daimyō of the Land of Fire had been attacked!

  Word was that a squad of Iwa-nin somehow infiltrated the Daimyō’s residence, slipping past the border unnoticed. The situation was said to be perilous—most of the guardian shinobi had fallen. It was only thanks to Orochimaru, who arrived just in time while escorting supplies, that the Daimyō was saved from certain death.

  The news spread like wildfire. By the second day after the incident, it was already the talk of the vilge.

  They said the Daimyō praised Orochimaru to the heavens, showering him with generous rewards. But Orochimaru declined them all. Instead, he requested that the Daimyō allocate more resources and military supplies to Konoha. The request was granted.

  The impact of this event was huge. To ordinary vilgers, the Daimyō was a lofty, near-sacred figure. The politics were beyond their understanding—but what they did understand was that Orochimaru had done something extraordinary. Something that made their vilge proud.

  And to refuse the Daimyō’s rewards, only to ask for more support for his comrades on the front lines? That kind of selfless spirit earned him genuine admiration and deep respect.

  Orochimaru, already one of the legendary Sannin, was held in high regard. But during the current war, there hadn’t been much news about him. Now, with this event, he was thrust back into the spotlight.

  Rumors even circuted that the reason Orochimaru hadn’t been seen on the front lines was because he’d been assigned a top-secret mission crucial to the safety of the entire nation—a mission so dangerous that only someone of his caliber could undertake it.

  Orochimaru himself hadn’t even returned to Konoha yet, but public opinion had already begun to swell. Anyone with a sharp eye could tell there were hands pushing things along behind the scenes. But unfortunately, sharp eyes were in short supply—most of them were out on the battlefield.

  Northern Border of the Land of Fire.

  As a sealing barrier unraveled, a previously concealed military camp emerged from the dense forest.

  Leading the group was a young man with two scars across his face and a resolute expression. Though a beard shadowed his chin, he wasn’t actually that old.

  “Orochimaru-sama,” he said with a respectful bow.

  “Shikaku, you’re in charge here?” Orochimaru asked, his gaze sweeping over the camp behind him.

  “The Hokage entrusted me with this responsibility,” Shikaku replied calmly, neither humble nor arrogant.

  “Orochimaru-sama, you must be tired from transporting supplies. I heard about what happened at the Daimyō’s residence. Thanks to you, the Land of Fire avoided a major catastrophe.”

  Orochimaru offered a faint smile. “It’s nothing compared to what all of you endure on the front lines.”

  Shikaku was slightly taken aback—he hadn’t expected someone like Orochimaru to exchange pleasantries.

  “You ftter us, Orochimaru-sama. Please, allow me to escort you inside the camp.”

  The convoy Orochimaru brought slowly rolled into the encampment, where the local forces took over the handover process.

  The arrival of these supplies boosted the morale of the front-line troops immensely. As cart after cart rolled in, the shinobi spontaneously pitched in to help unload.

  Orochimaru’s eyes continued to scan the camp. A rge number of shinobi were stationed here—several thousand remained even after accounting for deployed squads. This was one of Konoha’s main bases on the front against the Land of Earth.

  He was no stranger to pces like this. During the previous Great Ninja War, he had been a dazzling figure on the battlefield.

  But in this war, he hadn’t seen much front-line action before being assigned to the rear. Sarutobi had given him a number of tasks, but none that were directly connected to combat operations.

  And Jiraiya, that fool, had been on the front lines for some time now—yet barely anyone had heard anything about him. Was he also stepping aside for the sake of his student?

  “Is Minato here?” Orochimaru asked.

  “Minato's out on a mission,” Shikaku replied. “But if all goes smoothly, he should be back soon. If you wish to see him, Orochimaru-sama, there’s still time.”

  Orochimaru gave a faint smile. “Seems like getting a moment with him isn’t easy.”

  Shikaku expined, “Orochimaru-sama misunderstands. Minato barely gives himself any time to rest. His mission load is several times that of others. Even I, stationed here, rarely get to speak with him outside of official matters.”

  Orochimaru raised an eyebrow at that. He had always assumed Minato’s reputation came from a few major battles and the victories he led. But now, it seemed he’d been too na?ve. Minato’s success wasn’t just talent—it was earned through relentless effort.

  After a moment of silence, he murmured, “Minato’s really giving it his all.”

  Shikaku nodded. “He once said: For Konoha, I have no regrets—even if it costs me my life.”

  As they spoke, Orochimaru suddenly stopped walking. He looked up at a tall tree nearby—its lush canopy filtering sunlight through its branches, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across his face.

  “When we first set up camp, we thought it’d be a shame to cut this tree down since it was growing so well,” Shikaku said, noticing Orochimaru’s gaze. “So we left it. Everyone likes to gather here when they’ve got a moment to rest.”

  “It would’ve been a shame to cut it,” Orochimaru murmured.

  A breeze rustled the forest, and the leaves swayed gently. The sunlight dappling his face danced with the wind—light and shadow in constant interpy, dazzling to behold.

  “Minato-sama’s back!”

  A shout suddenly rang through the camp, followed by a surge of noise.

  Orochimaru looked toward the source and saw a tall, golden-haired young man entering the camp, immediately surrounded by enthusiastic comrades. He wore a warm smile, bright and comforting, as he responded to those around him.

  “Orochimaru-sama, Minato’s returned,” Shikaku reminded him.

  “I see him,” Orochimaru said calmly.

  The Golden Fsh who struck terror into enemy hearts on the battlefield.

  The Konoha hero who inspired admiration and trust among the vilgers.

  This young man—this junior—his light had already outshone Orochimaru’s own.

  You could fool the public with rumors and propaganda. But what about these shinobi, who had fought and bled alongside Minato? How could their loyalty be swayed?

  Orochimaru’s mind spun in circles, yet he couldn’t see a way forward.

  He had once scoffed at it all. Becoming Hokage? With his power and standing, how hard could it be? Just a bit of influence, a bit of maneuvering—it should’ve been his for the taking.

  He’d bmed Sarutobi-sensei for letting him go. Wasn’t he the favorite student all along?

  Gifted. Brilliant.

  But how did he compare to the man standing over there?

  The prideful, arrogant eldest son… The phrase echoed again and again in his mind—words spoken by Hyuga Makoto, still ringing in his ears.

  He fancied himself clever, yet when it came to this, he had been narrow-minded and shortsighted.

  “Orochimaru-sama?”

  “Orochimaru-sama?”

  Shikaku’s voice pulled him back to the present. Orochimaru turned his head to look at him.

  “Let’s head back to the main tent,” Shikaku said. “Minato will be joining us soon.”

  “Mm.”

  Before leaving, Orochimaru cast one more gnce in Minato’s direction.

  The story may have been fabricated—but reality was always more surreal than fiction.

  That boy… just what kind of ending will he bring to my story?

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