057 Orochimaru’s Honorable Entrance

Inside the medical room, the Uchiha present exchanged glances, but none spoke a word.

In truth, not a single Uchiha there was willing to hand over Shisui’s Mangekyou Sharingan to Orochimaru—yet, those eyes were already blind. How to restore sight to a pair of eyes was a question that lay well outside the Uchiha’s realm of knowledge; in the end, they could only place their trust in the “expert” of this domain.

When it came to medicine and body modification, the Uchihas had considerable faith in Orochimaru. As for how to reclaim the eyes once they were restored—that would be a matter for after the fact. Now, all they held in their hands was a pair of useless, blinded eyes.

“Excellent. It seems I need not waste my breath,” Orochimaru murmured, licking his lips as he surveyed the group. Without another word, he turned and left the medical room, never once acknowledging the two adviser elders.

After all, they were unwelcome guests, never part of the invitation.

“Orochimaru, you—” Koharu Utatane’s brows knotted in anger, her face twisted with displeasure. She chased after him but was stopped before she could leave the medical room.

Homura Mitokado shook his head. “Why bother humiliating yourself further? It’s time we accept that there’s absolutely nothing we can do about Orochimaru.”

“But giving those Mangekyou Sharingan to Orochimaru—sooner or later, they’ll become a source of disaster,” Koharu’s gaze was severe. She had previously been a harsh critic of the Uchiha, but now her tone was shifting, almost as if she were becoming an Orochimaru admirer.

“So what? Would you have Orochimaru destroy Shisui’s eyes yourself?” Homura glanced back at the medical room, then at the direction in which Orochimaru had disappeared, sighing softly.

“Shisui accomplished great deeds. To rob him of the chance to regain his strength on some trumped-up charge—not only the Uchiha, but none of the village’s shinobi would stand for it.”

Up to this point, Orochimaru’s actions had been open and aboveboard; compared to him, the schemes of the two advisers seemed far more shadowy.

Orochimaru’s thirst for immortality, his lust for the secrets of bloodline limits, had finally found an opportunity: he could now study the Uchiha’s Mangekyou Sharingan openly and righteously. He would hardly let such a chance slip away.

At any rate, neither of the advisers had the power to stop him.

Homura stroked his beard and spoke slowly. “Those eyes are blind, after all. Even with Orochimaru’s abilities, it will take time to see results. And once we’re back in the village…”

Koharu’s eyes brightened; she understood what Homura meant.

Such troublesome matters should be handed to Hiruzen. Orochimaru was, after all, his student, and only he held the authority to restrain him.

But soon, she seemed to recall previous events. “This time, it’s too important. We can’t let Hiruzen continue to indulge his disciple.”

Homura nodded in agreement.

…

With the issue of Shisui’s eyes settled, the Konoha shinobi army set out on their journey home. Four days passed in the blink of an eye.

On the return to the village, their steps were relaxed and unhurried, not only slower than before, but their spirits were lighter. The battle with the Cloud was over swiftly; Orochimaru had led the shinobi army there and back again, and the total time spent was barely more than ten days.

In such a brief period, the village had seen little change. If anything, it seemed even more peaceful than before. The damage wrought by the Nine-Tails had been repaired, leaving almost no trace of the destruction.

With the Uchiha Police Force as the core, the Konoha shinobi army marched down the long street, heading to the mission center to report their success, greeted by the villagers with warmth and admiration.

In the war-prone world of shinobi, people were practical. They cared little for distinctions—whether one belonged to the Hokage’s faction or the Uchiha, even Root shinobi—so long as the enemy was kept outside the village, the villagers were generous with praise and accolades.

Words of admiration cost nothing, yet could buy hard-won peace. Only fools would withhold them.

Walking down the long street, Fugaku Uchiha’s face remained stern as always, but inwardly, he relished the villagers’ acclaim.

For so long, as the head of the Uchiha clan and chief of the Konoha Police Force, he had only ever received such respect within the clan’s territory.

In the past, the villagers would avert their gaze in fear at the sight of the Uchiha’s fan crest. Now, there was nothing but warmth and recognition.

Fugaku took in their sincere expressions, and his steps unconsciously slowed.

Behind him, the former members of the Police Force also lifted their heads, feigning cold indifference, but the slight upward curve of their lips betrayed their true feelings.

Of course, Orochimaru was absent from this procession. Having handed the army’s affairs over to Fugaku, he returned to his own house in Konoha.

Unlike the Uchiha, whose words professed indifference to the villagers but whose hearts told another story, Orochimaru genuinely cared nothing for them.

Orochimaru’s interest lay only in a handful of individuals with utility, and in the land of Konoha that could produce such people.

As the genie would say, they were chives, and Konoha was the chive field.

When Konoha grew too decayed to produce new chives, Orochimaru would not hesitate to clear out the refuse, nourishing exhausted soil with their flesh and blood.

…

A sharp sound cut through the air as Orochimaru vaulted into the courtyard. From inside the house came a commotion that made him pause in surprise.

At this hour, by Orochimaru’s plan, Yamato should have been training.

“Have you so soon forgotten what should and shouldn’t be done, just after leaving Root?” Orochimaru’s face twisted into a dangerous smile as he strode into the house. But the person who came out to greet him caught him off guard.

“Anko… why are you here?”

“Orochimaru-sensei, you’ve returned!” Anko Mitarashi’s face lit with delight. “You’re just in time—I’m almost done preparing lunch.” With that, she hurried back to the kitchen.

Orochimaru lingered in the doorway for a moment, then entered and found a chair, his gaze drifting around the room.

The house was very clean, and not in the rough way Yamato would tidy, but a meticulous cleanliness. Clearly, Anko had been here for several days.

Orochimaru stroked his chin, his eyes reflecting thought and memory.

Like Shizune to Tsunade, Anko was the daughter of an old acquaintance, entrusted to him. After taking her as a student, he had guided her for quite some time.

But now, Orochimaru wondered if accepting Anko as a disciple had been a mistake.

Stripped of emotional filters, Anko’s talent was mediocre, her temperament ill-suited to his. Yet perhaps out of inner respect, she tried to imitate him, and the disparity made her mimicry seem rather crude.

“As I remove Anko’s curse mark, let it be an opportunity for her to change,” Orochimaru decided, and continued pondering other matters.