Naruto: Orochimaru's Disciple

Chapter 185: Chapter 185: Orochimaru: My Teacher Is Really Getting Worse as He Gets Older

Chapter 185: Orochimaru: My Teacher Is Really Getting Worse as He Gets Older

Of course, there was also real fear of the Uchiha.

Even in decline, the Uchiha were still a terrifying clan. Who, without serious strength, would dare covet their eyes?

And it was not just the Uchiha. Every other bloodline clan was watching too.

If Konoha could treat the Uchiha like this today, who was to say the Hyuga would not be next tomorrow? What about the Ino Shika Cho families?

That was exactly why, even if Danzo wanted to carry out the night of extermination, he needed Itachi to take the blame. Otherwise, it would tear at the village’s unity. And the Third Hokage would never sit back and allow it.

Kenichi hummed a tune as he headed to his teacher’s laboratory.

The moment he stepped inside, though, he froze slightly.

Orochimaru had returned to his original form.

Kenichi felt a faint, instinctive discomfort. His teacher had been walking around looking like a blond little girl before, and now he looked like this again. The whiplash was hard to ignore.

”Kenichi,” Orochimaru said, eyes narrowing. His tone turned serious. ”You came at the right time. I have something to show you.”

Kenichi was curious, but he did not interrupt. He simply walked over.

”Look at this.” Orochimaru handed him a document.

Kenichi took it and scanned the pages. It was a cooperation letter sent from Konoha.

It was long. Very long. And judging by the handwriting and tone, it had been written by Hiruzen himself.

The opening was filled with concern for Orochimaru and for Kenichi. Then it rolled smoothly into the Will of Fire, once again praising its righteousness and necessity, as if the paper itself might burst into flames from the sincerity.

Then Hiruzen casually mentioned recent events in the village, commented on Orochimaru’s old home, even described some scenery.

Kenichi did not understand the point at first, but the mocking curve at the corner of Orochimaru’s mouth made the meaning obvious.

Then Kenichi’s eyes landed on a section that mentioned him.

”Your apprentice Kenichi’s house is still well preserved by the village. People come every day to clean it and take care of the plants on his windowsill, just like before,” Kenichi read aloud.

Now he understood exactly why his teacher was smiling like that.

This was Hiruzen’s handwriting. First he praised Orochimaru and Kenichi, then he carefully avoided bringing up their past mistakes, and instead started reminiscing.

It was terrifying.

Kenichi knew a rule of life.

If someone you barely talk to suddenly reaches out after years of silence and starts chatting about the good old days, there is a very high chance they want to borrow money. Or they are about to get married.

He had lived this.

An old classmate, someone he spoke to maybe once or twice a year after graduation, suddenly started messaging him nonstop about university life. Kenichi played along for a bit, until the classmate sighed dramatically about how hard things had been lately.

Then came the real request.

A loan.

Fifty thousand.

Kenichi had nearly laughed himself sick. They had not truly spoken in seven or eight years, and now the man was acting like Kenichi had a private gold mine in his backyard.

So when Kenichi read Hiruzen’s letter, he immediately knew what was coming.

The Third Hokage was subtly reminding them that the village still cared for their former homes. It sounded small and harmless, but the real message was clear.

Konoha was warm.

Konoha was forgiving.

Konoha was a home they could return to at any time.

Then came the main point.

Hiruzen mentioned that he had met Kenichi last time, and that Kenichi had even taken Anko away, causing some negative impact in the village.

But Hiruzen was willing to forgive. He was willing to forget. He even offered research funding.

Only at the very end did he finally reveal what he truly wanted.

”I have great trust in Orochimaru’s research abilities and I am very interested in your research on bloodline limits. If you can produce results, it will improve your chances of becoming the Fifth Hokage in the future. I wish my disciple good health.”

Kenichi nearly gagged.

He truly was not used to Hiruzen’s style. It was beyond awkward. It was almost painful to read.

And that final line, ”I wish my disciple good health,” made Kenichi want to laugh out loud.

Teacher’s kindness. Student’s filial piety.

A perfect little story for the history books.

”Teacher,” Kenichi said with a crooked grin, activating his three tomoe Sharingan, ”the Third Hokage has taken a liking to me, huh?”

Orochimaru glanced at him, snorted, and sipped his tea.

”What else would he want?” Orochimaru said, amusement flickering in his eyes, along with something sharper. Disappointment. ”It is called a bloodline limit. The Sharingan is one too.”

Orochimaru’s gaze grew colder.

”My teacher really is getting worse as he gets older.”

The man who once dared to stand against the Second Hokage had become a competent politician. Worse, he had started playing games with his own students and disciples.

If Hiruzen had simply been direct and said he wanted Kenichi’s ability to activate and deactivate the Sharingan, then offered a deal, Orochimaru might have respected him more.

Instead, he used soft reminiscing, grand promises, and gentle hints.

It left a bad taste.

”Still, my eyes were honestly a coincidence,” Kenichi said, scratching his head. ”It happened while I was working. I skipped a lot of steps, so I can’t even claim it was clean research.”

”No need to rush,” Orochimaru replied, waving a hand. ”Experiments take time. That is normal.”

He sounded calm, but there was clear delight underneath it.

Kenichi having this opportunity was a good thing.

And Orochimaru did not truly value the Sharingan itself. With the Reanimation Jutsu in hand, if he ever wanted to do something extreme, he could even become an Uchiha in the most literal way.

”Teacher,” Kenichi asked carefully, ”do you still have any Sharingan here?”

”Yes,” Orochimaru answered. ”But they are all single tomoe.”

Kenichi said nothing, only asked for a pair of those single tomoe eyes.

He had an idea.

In his view, organ transplantation in the shinobi world was unbelievably crude.

He still remembered how Obito had given Kakashi his eye. He had simply torn it out and shoved it in. Watching it made Kenichi’s scalp tighten.

And yet Kakashi had survived, and even more absurdly, he could use the Sharingan afterward.

It was a miracle.

In Kenichi’s previous world, organ transplants were complex and strict.

First came donor matching. Even with high compatibility, rejection was still a danger, which meant anti rejection drugs and careful monitoring.

Then there was the surgery itself. Blood vessels had to be connected with precision.

But the eyeball itself was not something you could truly transplant in a way that restored vision.

Why?

Because nerves did not reconnect like that.

The human eye was not a simple detached organ. It was tied to vessels, nerves, and the entire system behind it. Sometimes blindness could be treated with procedures like retinal replacement, but if the whole eyeball was gone, the best you could do was a prosthetic.

A prosthetic was cosmetic. It did not give sight.

And yet here, in this world, shinobi treated eyeballs like spare parts. Attach one, use medical ninjutsu, and suddenly it worked.

”How?” Kenichi muttered, half amazed and half annoyed. ”If my old world had this, nobody would ever go blind.”

Orochimaru watched him with interest. ”What are you planning to do?”

”I want to study this eye transplant process,” Kenichi said with a smile. ”It is not a waste of time.”

The airship preparations were already being handled by his shadow clones, so he was not worried about that side of things.

Even if he said it a hundred times, Kenichi still wanted to scream it.

Shadow Clone Technique truly was a divine skill.

No wonder the shinobi world produced so many geniuses. If you were talented enough, shadow clones let you cheat time itself.

”All right,” Orochimaru said, not pressing him further. ”Bring me a copy of your report later.”

Konoha already had mature medical ninjutsu that could handle this kind of issue. But if Kenichi wanted to research it, then fine.

Kenichi agreed immediately, smiling as if this were just another casual test.

Then he added, with a meaningful look, ”By the way, teacher, we do not have enough research materials here.”

Orochimaru understood instantly.

They did not have a supply of Sharingan here.

Konoha did.

If Konoha wanted results, then Konoha would have to provide the eyes.

”I understand,” Orochimaru said calmly, taking another sip of tea. ”In a few days.”

He had no intention of exposing the lab’s location, so he would retrieve the materials from elsewhere.

Kenichi left with the pair of Sharingan, already planning his approach.

If he could directly connect the blood vessels and the optic nerve, that would be ideal.

The only pity was that during his earlier experiments, he had forgotten to preserve the Sharingan of those two test subjects.

One had been reduced to ash.

The other had his head blown apart.

There was nothing left to extract.

”Some of that was wasted,” Kenichi sighed. ”Next time, we need to squeeze out every last bit of value before we destroy them humanely.”

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