Naruto: Orochimaru's Disciple

Chapter 62: Chapter 62: I Have Done My Part for the Organization!

Chapter 62: I Have Done My Part for the Organization!

In the ninja world, the soul truly exists. That much was undeniable.

But what actually shaped a person’s memories? The soul, or the brain itself?

It was a question worth digging into.

Right now, Kenichi wanted to test something specific. During previous training, he had deliberately conditioned certain habits into Orochimaru. The real issue was whether those habits would still trigger after Orochimaru was resurrected.

A serious scientific question.

Yet before Kenichi could even reach out, Orochimaru had already turned his head to look at him.

”What are you doing?” Orochimaru asked, watching his disciple with a strange expression.

He was a legendary Sannin. Even when facing his own student, he still kept a baseline level of caution. It had nothing to do with trust. It was simply a shinobi’s instinct.

”Teacher, I saw a white hair on your head,” Kenichi said casually.

In truth, he had seen it clearly with his Sharingan. He had prepared that excuse ahead of time, and now it saved him.

It was a shame, though. He had wanted to test whether Pavlov’s dog principle worked in the ninja world, and also study how much the soul influenced the body’s stored reactions. But Orochimaru turned around too soon.

It was probably hopeless now.

”White hair?” Orochimaru paused, surprised. His current body was young. It should not have white hair.

Could it be an issue caused by the effects of the Reanimation Jutsu?

Orochimaru’s expression grew serious.

”Pull it out for me.” He wanted to examine it and determine whether it was a sudden anomaly or a symptom of something deeper.

Anything related to immortality demanded caution. If a problem appeared, he would identify it and eliminate it immediately. That was the safest approach.

The Reanimation Jutsu was still in its earliest testing phase. It was normal for imperfections to exist. If necessary, he would refine it step by step.

Kenichi froze for a heartbeat, then joy rose in his chest.

He had just assumed his test was dead on arrival, but now the opportunity had walked right up and knocked on the door.

He reached out quickly and, before Orochimaru could rethink it, plucked the hair out cleanly. At the same time, his hand naturally brushed over Orochimaru’s head.

Warm. Alive. No unusual sensation beyond the physical contact.

That made sense. Orochimaru could refine chakra and eat. He was obviously not a corpse.

Kenichi studied his teacher closely, searching for any reaction.

Orochimaru looked completely normal, showing no response at all. Kenichi felt a flicker of disappointment. It seemed that after not receiving that kind of stimulus for a while, Orochimaru had already broken free of it.

”Teacher, your white hair,” Kenichi said, handing it over.

Orochimaru took the strand and left to study it.

Watching his teacher’s back, Kenichi scratched his head.

Before leaving, Orochimaru had casually handed him a scroll and told him to take it to the Land of Rain and submit it to Akatsuki.

So he had to go out again.

Still, before leaving, Kenichi decided to bring his raw materials along and continue studying thermobaric explosive ratios during the trip.

He felt anxious, but there was no helping it. The Hidden Cloud Village and the Hidden Leaf Village were very likely heading toward war. Once that happened, many shinobi would be sent to the battlefield.

And Kenichi wanted to test the power of thermobaric bombs.

Was there any better testing ground than a battlefield? Kenichi did not think so.

Time was tight, and the task was heavy.

After Kenichi left, Orochimaru stared at the white hair in his hand and fell into thought.

When his disciple had pulled it out, Orochimaru had felt a sudden numbness spread through his entire body. It puzzled him.

Still, Orochimaru was certain he had no such illness. It was likely just a natural reaction from having a follicle forcibly plucked.

He did not dwell on it. What mattered more was why this new body had produced white hair at all. A shinobi of this age should not have that.

”I don’t know if Akatsuki has recruited anyone else,” Kenichi muttered as he traveled, ”but they absolutely need Kakuzu. Without Kakuzu, Akatsuki’s development will be crippled.”

He was already on the road. He had rested briefly last night, then forced himself up and rushed toward the Land of Rain.

There were not many people as dedicated to the organization as him. He was practically Akatsuki’s version of Gin.

The good news was that Gin was not surrounded by spies yet. The only known spy, Itachi Uchiha, probably had not even started camping on telephone poles.

More importantly, getting Kakuzu was a huge advantage. Akatsuki could not function without him, just as the West could not lose Jerusalem.

While thinking, Kenichi dashed into the territory of the Land of Rain.

There were fewer shinobi stationed along the border between the Land of Fire and the Land of Rain now, but the number of patrols had increased. Kenichi understood why.

Konoha did not want to expose its back while dealing with Kumogakure.

Still, the Land of Rain probably did not have the nerve to provoke Konoha directly. This conflict should not escalate too far, which was a good thing.

”The people of the Land of Rain really have it rough,” Kenichi said quietly as he watched commoners working in the fields to scrape together enough money to survive.

After Hanzo’s fall, the people of the Land of Rain kept living the same lives. Akatsuki existed, yet nothing seemed to improve.

But in this era, being able to live peacefully without war looming overhead was probably its own kind of happiness.

The saying, ”Better to be a dog in a prosperous era than a person in a chaotic one,” captured it perfectly.

As he walked, Kenichi noticed someone selling food on the street. It was a woman whose age was hard to judge. There were wrinkles on her face, but not many.

What she sold was unusual.

Black, round cakes.

”Hello,” Kenichi said, unable to hold back his curiosity. ”May I ask what this is?”

He had not eaten lunch. He could rely on soldier rations if needed, but they tasted like regret pressed into a brick.

”These are Dirt cakes,” a calm voice replied.

Kenichi turned his head.

It was Konan.

She stood there with another shinobi beside her.

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