Chapter 319: The World Are About to Flip!
In the shadowy depths of the underground lay the New Root's base. Most of it had been sealed off, rigged with barrier jutsu under constant watch—only a tiny corner was still operational.
That was mainly for tending to the live test subjects that needed daily upkeep.
A frantic scramble of footsteps shattered Orochimaru's train of thought.
He jerked his head up, face twisted in a snarl, but quickly smoothed it over into that signature serpentine calm.
Leading the pack was Yotsuki Dana, Konoha's current "shadow shogun," with Tobirama Senju and a swarm of research nerds trailing behind him like eager genin on their first D-rank.
Yotsuki Dana cut straight to it: "Pause whatever you're tinkering with, Orochimaru-san. We're auditing all the research yields down here. You're the expert on this snake pit, so why don't you give us the grand tour?"
Orochimaru's face soured like he'd bitten into a lemon kunai, but he had no choice but to nod. A ton of this was his life's blood—literally—and now it was getting treated like inventory in some Hidden Cloud warehouse sale.
If it weren't for how tangled he was in these experiments, with his slippery nature, he'd have bolted ages ago. Especially since Konoha had shelled out big ryo for all this fancy gear—the precision instruments that couldn't just be yoinked and hauled off. Walk away, and poof, kiss those prime lab conditions goodbye.
Worth noting: After Konoha's surrender, Orochimaru never breathed a word about that island showdown or the Daimyo snatch-and-grab op. And Dana? Never came knocking about it either. Call it an unspoken truce between the two of 'em.
...Or more like Orochimaru was too chickenshit to bring it up.
The snake sannin let out a long, hissing sigh. "Fine... but tread lightly, if you would. A lot of this is delicate as a fresh seal scroll."
Dana stepped aside and nodded to Old Man Yoshitoki. "Your show, Gramps."
Yoshitoki eyed the lab like a kid in a chakra candy store, grinning ear to ear. "Heh, been a while since I poked around a setup like this. Kinda missed the mad science vibe."
Orochimaru's face froze in that creepy rictus, dismissing the bald geezer as just another Kumogakure egghead on loan. He droned on: "New Root's got six labs total. This one's for monitoring test subject vitals."
Yoshitoki sauntered up to the star attraction—a massive glass tank that screamed "mad ninja ethics violation." Inside floated a kid, maybe four or five, strapped to a breathing mask. Long hair made him look more like a little girl than a boy.
Orochimaru shot a glance at Tobirama Senju, then explained: "That's Subject 047—codename 'A.' Sole survivor from the Hashirama Cell Transplant Project. Pulled through the rejection phase post-op, but for reasons unknown, he hasn't woken up."
Yoshitoki leaned in, eyes sparkling with that forbidden-jutsu glee. "Hashirama cells, huh? Color me intrigued."
He raised a hand like he was about to poke the glass.
Orochimaru hissed a warning: "Careful there—that rig is finicky as—"
Then Yoshitoki's finger snapped clean off at the knuckle. Dozens of writhing black tendrils erupted from the stump like a Zetsu horror show on steroids.
Dana ground his molars—still not used to this body-horror aesthetic, no matter how many times he'd seen it.
The reveal hit everyone like a Chidori to the gut. Tobirama blinked in shock; Orochimaru's tongue lolled out a fraction too long.
Yoshitoki? Probably par for the course these days. He only whipped out the Earth Grudge Fear tentacles when it counted—like now, with prime bio-research on the line.
The black tendrils danced delicately, popping the tank's seal with surgical precision before dipping into the murky yellow-green slurry.
Yoshitoki held his "finger" aloft, brow furrowed in concentration. "Hmm... chemical cocktail, eh? Kid's been marinating in this junk way too long—ain't healthy."
A few tendrils branched off, pricking the boy's side just deep enough to draw a sample without turning it into a chakra barbecue.
Orochimaru's voice dropped to a venomous whisper: "I don't know what freakish jutsu that is, but you can't just cowboy this. It's a precise experiment—and the only one we've got."
Yoshitoki frowned, murmuring to himself: "So this is Hashirama's cells... wild stuff. The kid tanked the rejection and the devouring, alright, but the fusion? Sloppy. Like oil and water chakra."
The tendrils pulsed, injecting something—some Yoshitoki special sauce—straight into the boy's veins.
Orochimaru snapped: "What the hell are you doing?!"
But the words died in his throat. A towering shadow loomed behind him.
A massive hand clamped down on his shoulder like a vice.
Yotsuki Dana leaned in close, voice low and thunderous: "Can't you just watch in peace for once? You talk too damn much."
Orochimaru's teeth ground together hard enough to spark—his prized guinea pig getting manhandled like yesterday's ramen? Infuriating.
But then—holy bijuu—the tanked-up kid, who'd been floating comatose for months, cracked his eyes open.
The tendrils hoisted the boy out, dripping and buck-naked, his atrophied muscles turning him into a wobbly newborn fawn. He teetered like a drunk chunin after shore leave.
A quick tendril tweak injected another dose, and bam—the scrawny, bone-bag frame plumped up right before their eyes, muscles knitting back into something that could actually stand. The black whips withdrew, job done.
"This little guy's got a freaky constitution—prime research fodder," Yoshitoki said with a shrug. "But me? I'm no fan of turning kids into lab rats. Snag your samples, log the data, and call it. As for what happens to him next... that's on you, Dada."
"Got it covered," Dana replied.
He flagged down an aide for a towel, bundling the kid up like a burrito before ordering him surfaced—fresh air and sunlight, stat.
Dana had clocked the moppet instantly: Yamato, the future Wood Release whiz, Konoha's go-to forest factory. The guy who'd grow up to be a total salted herring—lazy as hell on the outside, but a beast when it counted.
Who knew the little dude was this cute as a rug rat?
But the real eyebrow-raiser? Yoshitoki's tendrils weren't reeling back in. They just... dangled there, twitching in mid-air like they owned the place.
Dana arched a brow. "Problem?"
"Nah, just running a quick test," Yoshitoki said casually.
Seconds later, Dana spotted it: One tendril's tip was whitening, thickening like some grotesque tumor, veins bulging as the pale rot raced upward. It ballooned into a veiny white meat-slab, fighting for dominance.
"Talk about aggressive devouring power," Yoshitoki whistled.
He was wrestling it back—black tendril clashing with the invading white flesh in a tug-of-war straight out of a forbidden scroll nightmare.
Tobirama clocked it instantly: His big bro's cells. As the king of "morals? What morals?" forbidden jutsu, he'd dabbled in Hashirama's leftovers himself after the old man's dirt nap—lightly, mind you. Bio-tech wasn't his jam, though, so results stayed meh.
Bad precedent, though. After his own exit, Hiruzen restarted the circus, but the Third's skills were subpar at best. Slaughtered a pile of Leaf volunteers—tons from the Senju clan, no less.
Finally, the white chunk sloughed off like dead skin. Yoshitoki retracted the tendrils with a satisfied nod.
He scooped up the fallen meat-strip, holding it up to the light. "Jackpot. Snagged a chunk of Hashirama cells fused with my own flesh. I'll tinker with this later."
The old man squinted, that grin splitting wider, like he'd just reeled in a fat trout from the Naka River.
Look at that thing squirm! Just like a fresh catch!
Dana: "..."
Orochimaru, meanwhile, was gobsmacked—eyes bugging like he'd mainlined soldier pills. He'd tried blending his own meat with Hashirama's a dozen times: epic fails, every one. All under sterile lab conditions, baby steps, days of culturing and culling.
Who the hell is this bald freak? And what chakra voodoo is that tentacle party trick?
Hunger for knowledge lit Orochimaru's gaze like a bonfire—pure, unfiltered need.
And over there? The forbidden jutsu fiend himself, Tobirama Senju, was eyeing the scene with the intensity of a Sharingan genjutsu trap.
Yotsuki Dana's gut twisted. Oh, hell no. Can't let these three mad geniuses huddle up...
That'd flip the whole damn sky upside down!
(End of chapter.)