Himself
A full week had slipped by since his awakening, each passing faster than the last. Every morning began with the same grueling training, draining him to the core, leaving behind neither strength nor will for anything beyond the barest of duties.
When he had said he would skim through the contents of the books, he hadn't meant it quite so literally. Yet, with so little energy left to spare, that was all he could manage. Today, however, he had resolved himself to be more mindful, to conserve his strength and avoid ending up utterly spent once again. Perhaps then, he would have enough energy left to finally indulge in those books; lest he faces consequences for ignoring orders of that madman.
Just… later. Preferably at the end of the day. Right now, it was time for rest. Time for lunch with his team.
Time for being slothful little shit like always.
He shook his head. Speaking of his team...
"Oi, Cuntaro. Quit daydreaming and eat your damn food already! You need strength for the rest of the training. How are you even going to-"
He nodded at whatever was said to him, as he munched on the bland food, his gaze drifting throughout the group seated at the table. A gathering of misfits, to put it gently, each with quirks more bizarre than the other.
Take Kin Tsuchi, for example, the loudmouthed one. Fair-skinned girl, with long black hair slicked back and sharp eyes of the same hue. She wore snake-patterned pants layered under a skirt, topped with a pale green vest.
Ah, and the scarf. Don't forget the snake patterned scarf.
She was all tsun and no dere. He had learned that the hard way during their first sparring session. A haughty child he already saw a multitude of. Her only redeeming quality he could come up with, was the stubbornness of a donkey, the unshakeable confidence to take everything head on and never falter
It was what he envied deep in his heart; her perseverance. A quality he found himself sorely lacking when he was his real self.
She even knew how to motivate others, though he wasn't sure if motivating was the right word.
Getting hit in the balls could do that to you.
His gaze met Zaku's. The guy's sense of style wasn't too different from their female teammate; snake-patterned accents and all, but instead of a vest, he opted for a beige shirt emblazoned with the kanji for death.
'A shit wannabe edgelord would choose…'
If this were a normal friend group, Zaku would be that guy; the one with no filter, cracking racist jokes and making wildly inappropriate comments at the worst possible moments. If there was something even remotely 'off' about you, he'd be the first to point it out, loudly and without hesitation.
But honestly? Those kinds of people made the best friends.
"The hell you lookin' at, limpdick?!"
…Does he even know what that means?
He flashed him his best smile, getting a twitch of an eye in return.
'...A long road is still ahead of us.' He sighed inwardly, for doing so out loud would get him kicked in the balls during training. Again.
Any more, and he really might start to embrace his legacy as Kentarō of the Limpdick.
With a weary exhale, his gaze shifted to the person seated across from him. Benjibaru.
Fully clad in snake-patterned gear, a mop of blonde hair spilling out from beneath the bandana tied around his head. Out of everyone on the team, (excluding himself), he was the newest recruit.
Out of everyone, he liked this kid the most.
The boy mostly kept to himself, his words always formal, his tone polite (unlike some). Even when they sparred, Benjibaru was the one who gave the most useful pointers. Always precise and efficient.
The training itself was nothing short of agonizing. It was hard to feel dismissive or detached, while simultaneously having your ass handed by mere children. No matter how much longer they had trained for this, it was still shameful. It gnawed at his already shattered pride and dredged up memories of past failures, stoked the embers of disappointment, ignited a fury at his own ineptitude.
It made him want to fucking give his best and crush them.
All that without mentioning the physical matters, and oh boy, did everything hurt like a bitch. Day by day he seemed to find new muscles that he didn't even know could hurt.
DOMS could do that to you.
Rinse and repeat. Train, eat, train, eat, sleep. That was his life now, broken only by the occasional chore; laundry, sweeping the corridors, mindless tasks that blurred together.
It almost felt like school. Well, not really, but it was the closest thing he could compare it to. And damn, did he miss school. Back when his only concerns were exams or petty arguments with friends. More than anything, he missed the monotony. He liked when things stayed the same. Predictability was comforting.
He could only hope nothing changed too soon.
'New things always made me anxious… I think…'
He looked up lazily from his thoughts, not willing to further worsen his mood. He was met with deafening silence that filled the once buzzing dining halls. Every member of his team, facing the same direction, Dosu almost seething in silent anger.
Ah. How could he forget?
Dosu Kinuta. The ever-silent one. The most dangerous one. A mummy cosplayer in the flesh.
But don't let the anime villain aesthetic fool you; he was the smartest of the bunch.
The memory of their last training session was still fresh, still unsettling. Whatever he did to him… it was unlike anything Kentarō had ever experienced.
In an instant, his control had been ripped away, his emotions spiraling into a chaotic storm. He had fallen right into the little mummy's trap, utterly helpless to do a fucking thing about it.
That was why, no matter how young they were, he swore to himself; he would never underestimate them again. Not Dosu. Not any of them.
Not ever.
He still couldn't figure out what the fuck happened during that spar. And the more he thought about it, the more superstitious were his conclusions.
"You."
The voice was sharp, commanding. His gaze snapped upward to meet the eyes of the man standing before him.
When did he get here?
The newcomer was young, no older than eighteen with long silver hair cascading to his chest and piercing, deep-yellow eyes.
"You are to meet Orochimaru-sama in the lowest section of the facility. Follow me. Now."
'Ah… that doesn't sound good, innit?'
His eyes flickered to the onlookers. Some watched him with detached indifference. Others with barely contained excitement, lips curling into savage smiles.
His teammates, however, looked at him with something else entirely.
Pity.
Suddenly, the warning he had heard from Dosu during one of their training sessions became much more dreadful.
'When you descend to the labs, you either come back like me… or you don't come back at all.'
A thick lump formed in his throat, his stomach twisting into knots. As he rose to follow the silver-haired man, anxiety settled heavily in his chest.
'So much for monotony…'
Hope, it seemed, truly was the mother of fools.
Himself
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Your hands are shaking too much."
'No shit! How the fuck did you notice?!' He screamed internally, sweat pouring down his face like a broken dam. His fingers trembled violently as he fumbled through the unconscious man's insides, desperately trying not to kill him.
Orochimaru, in his infinite wisdom, had decided he was ready to try his hand at a hepatectomy, after witnessing only two involuntary demonstrations, both performed by the Sannin himself.
No gloves. No sterilization.
When he'd dared to ask why, the answer had been disturbingly simple.
"The chemicals used for sterilization here are worth more than this man's life."
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Life is cheap here, Kentarō-kun. It's cheap because it can end easily, just like that."
The Sannin's thin lips curled into a cold, humorless smile, his skeletal finger pointing at a scalpel clutched tightly in the boy's blooded hands.
"F-Fuck!" He cursed out loud.
Couldn't he get anything fucking easier, than a fucking resection of two thirds of a liver? A liver riddled with a motherfucking magical cancer at that!?
"Subject 493, sobriquet Buta. Chakra pollution due to soldier pill overdose. Died on the operating table…"
The detached voice came from behind him, accompanied by the rough scratching of pen against paper, while blood slowly dripped onto the floor from the still warm corpse.
An unnecessary death without meaning.
Drip. Drip.
Blood seeped through the gaps in his fingers as he tried in vain to stop it. His eyes darted to Orochimaru, anxiously pleading for guidance, but the man didn't spare him a glance, utterly engrossed in whatever he was scribbling.
"Life is cheap because it ends."
After what felt like an eternity, he felt the weight of Orochimaru's gaze settle fully upon him. The stillness in the air was suffocating. He dared not move and if not for the tremble in his eyes, one could mistake him for a second corpse in this lab.
"You see, my dear child. Once upon a time, when I was still but a whelp on my own, my teacher encouraged me greatly to find a rival for myself, someone that I could constantly try to surpass."
"It could greatly affect my growth in a positive way, he would say. Sarutobi even tried to goad that dullard Jiraiya into challenging me on a daily basis." A low chuckle left his lips.
"But I have never considered him once as such."
"It was only when my parents died, half a year after I became a genin; that I truly discovered my rival. My biggest enemy."
He looked at the corpse, his golden eyes seemed lost in old memories.
"It was death."
He looked at the boy before him once again.
"What is your biggest enemy, Kentarō-kun?"
Drip.
The boy slowly shifted his gaze at the fresh puddle of blood beneath his feet.
Only to see his own reflection staring at him, with a face frozen in fear.
Orochimaru smiled.
"You killed a man today, boy." The words were spoken with neither judgment nor sympathy. Only a fact. "And you will kill many more."
"But will it make your life any less cheap? Oh, maybe it will become valuable instead, simply because you stole it from someone else; just to prolong your own meaningless existence?"
He had no response.
His eyes were locked onto his own bloodied hands, trembling in fear and disgust, for he was unable to look at the puddle again. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, his vision unfocused as shock gave way to cold, undeniable realization.
He had killed a man.
He had failed to save him.
"Life is meaningless because it ends." Tutted Sannin yet again. "But…"
Orochimaru slowly cupped his chin in his cold hands and gently, like holding the most delicate thing in the world, he lifted it, until their eyes met.
For the briefest of moments, his smile shifted. No longer the cold, knowing smirk he had grown accustomed to, but something softer and gentler.
Almost… genuine.
"If you do just that, somehow latch onto this meaningless existence long enough, perhaps one day, you will find your own purpose. A person to surpass. A goal to achieve."
He let go of his chin slowly. "Just like a found mine."
"And if not, along the road that is life, you might find a thing or a person worth far more than your life itself." He turned his back to him entirely, striding forward with a sense of urgency in his step.
It was still enough for him to catch that soft smile morphing back into a smirk full of cruelty.
"Come, Kentarō-kun…"
And so he followed the man, no longer staring at his bloodied hands as he did so. His body shuddered lightly as he thought: 'No matter how genuine, a monster will remain a monster.'
"...I will show you something very valuable to me."
Himself
"Do you know what chakra is, child?"
He blinked.
The blood was gone.
He exhaled slowly, lifting his head to meet Orochimaru's gaze. The Sannin sat before him, cross-legged, watching him with unnerving patience.
He forced himself to breathe, to push down the chaos raging inside him. 'Focus.'
"C-Chakra…?"
He had heard his teammates mention it before, usually while complaining that they couldn't train with it while he was nearby. Beyond that, the only "chakra" he knew of was the seven chakras from yoga, but surely that wasn't-
"Chakra," Orochimaru interrupted his thoughts, "is, simply put, a metaphysical energy made tangible by combining one's physical and spiritual energies into one."
His voice was calm and patient.
"But of course… it's more than that."
And then he smiled, showing a fond expression of a man speaking of something he truly, deeply loved.
His voice took on a fervent intensity as he continued.
"Chakra is a representation of ourselves; our struggles, our dreams, the emotions and feelings we harbor throughout our wretched lives. It is body and mind. Individual self and true self."
He reached out a hand.
"Here. Give me your hand."
He hesitated only a moment before obeying.
Orochimaru's fingers wrapped around his, cool and precise. Then, with practiced ease, he began maneuvering them into a series of deliberate, intricate shapes.
"Snake."
Their fingers intertwined.
"Ram."
The shift was subtle yet controlled. Orochimaru's hands guided his own.
"Fire Release: Fireball." He felt something stir deep in his abdomen, a sensation unlike anything he had ever known. It surged through his body, racing up his arms, pooling in his fingertips like liquid fire.
And with it came memories. Or at least, flickers of them; hazy, indistinct, slipping through his grasp like mist.
'Kazuki…'
But he had no time to dwell on them, as there was something else too. Something not his own.
He felt it coming from Orochimaru. Not memories though… but emotions. A presence made of pure sensations and feelings that coiled around him, seeping through the connection of their intertwined hands.
Cold, dark and twisted.
And yet, these feelings remained distant. Lingering at the edges of his perception but never touching him. They left no mark, no corruption; only a faint shiver running down his spine.
He blinked, the unpleasant feelings becoming irrelevant as under his disbelieving eyes, a ball of fire the size of a small rock erupted from their hands.
"W-Wha-!?" Panic jolted through him, and he ripped his hand away, stumbling backward. His wide eyes darted to his fingers, expecting burns, expecting something.
There was not a single mark left.
"That was chakra." The raspy voice of Orochimaru came.
"Or rather chakra moulded into Ninjutsu; through the mind and body. A manifestation of thought and feeling."
The boy looked upon his hands, and hesitantly united them together, mirroring the positioning of their fingers from a moment ago.
Orochimaru gave him a slow nod of encouragement, and he mirrored the movements he'd been shown, his earlier torment slipping away, replaced by something new.
Excitement bubbled rapidly inside his heart, as he mimicked the hand signs.
Snake - Ram.
"Fire Release: Fireb- "
The energy surged again. Stronger and wilder.
He felt it now, not just moving but thrashing inside him. A violent tide rising from his abdomen, crashing against his heart.
Then came the pain.
And with the pain came hate.
You didn't meet our expectations…
Useless piece of shit!
Why can't I do anything right…?
KAZUKI!
The memories were clearer now, accompanied by an overwhelming amount of sorrow and hatred.
So much hate.
Hate towards Orochimaru.
Hate towards his teammates.
Hate towards everyone.
Hate towards himself.
His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. His fingers grasped at his chest, nails digging through thin fabric while his hand burned like a molten iron. He dug, clawed ans scratched, just to tear the damn heart from his ribs and end this fucking, disgusting existe-
And then it was gone.
The pain. The loathing. The searing, all-consuming hatred simply vanished.
Sannin sat silently, unbothered by the display of pain and suffering in front of him.
There was no pity in his gaze.
"What you experienced was your physical energy slipping out your control."
Orochimaru's voice was calm, tinged with faint amusement, as if the sight of his torment was little more than a child's play.
"It occurs when an individual attempts nature transformation without undergoing any form of emotional conditioning."
A low chuckle escaped him as he caught the betrayal and simmering anger in Kentarō's eyes.
"...How do I do this right?" The boy asked, his voice tight, trembling with frustration.
The Sannin's lips curled into a smile, dark and knowing. "Kukuku… The most common mistake among inexperienced shinobi is believing that elemental mastery is purely a matter of mechanical understanding. The truth, dear Kentarō-kun, is that it is just as much about understanding oneself. About cultivating positive feelings while acknowledging the negative ones. Of course it's easier to learn for children, as they do not experience much emotional disturbances during the early days of their lives."
Orochimaru leaned forward slightly, his golden eyes gleaming. "Tell me, Kentarō-kun, how did you feel when you attempted the technique?"
He glanced down at his own slightly singed fingers.
"I felt… hateful. And angry. Towards everything."
The Snake Sage hummed in a low, thoughtful tone. "According to the teachings of the warring era, every element has a spiritual connection to specific emotions and a physical tie to certain organs. Fire Release, for example, draws its energy to the heart. There, it molds chakra into a fire-oriented form, fueled by raw feelings such as hatred or joy. The stronger the emotion, the more potent the technique."
The boy's brows furrowed as he mulled over the explanation. "Then… why didn't I feel that way when I did it with you?"
Orochimaru answered right away. "Ah. That is because the utilization of jutsu goes beyond nature transformation. There is also shape transformation. When I guided you, I used my own physical energy, molding only the spiritual energy drawn from you. That is why you were not overwhelmed, as you were when attempting it alone."
His tone shifted, turning more dismissive. "But that is a lesson for another time. For now, it is clear that you are not quite ready for nature-oriented jutsu."
He felt his shoulders slump, disappointment etched across his face.
Ignoring it entirely, Orochimaru slowly stood up. "For today, that will be all. However…"
He fixed the boy with a pointed, knowing look. "If you wish to learn more, I strongly suggest you open the books I left in your room. They hold far more answers than you've allowed yourself to discover thus far."
'Uh… '
"Any questions?"
He shifted uneasily, scratching the back of his neck. "About that… what exactly did Dosu use against me during my first training session? It felt similar… like I was losing control over myself."
His brows knit together, his face clouded by the memory.
Not the most pleasant feeling he had.
Orochimaru hummed, his fingers lightly tapping against his arm.
"Chakra Agitation, perhaps? A supplementary Genjutsu. Worthless in most cases, though its origins are quite fascinating."
His tone took on a lecturing quality, eyes clouded as if searching for a memory.
"It came to be by the courtesy of the Uchiha clan, during the Warring States period. Casted upon their spawn, that had yet to get the feeling of chakra. As young as two, as old as four. It served as an introduction to chakra and premature awakening of the Sharingan by overwhelming them with negative emotions. Sharingan being their priceless eyes that allow them to see through most of the genjutsu.
He snorted. "Banned by Senju Hashirama upon his ascension as First Hokage, thus making it Kinjutsu. A forbidden technique."
Orochimaru's smile sharpened. "Though crude and ineffective against even the genin, it has its uses. It excels at causing commotion among civilians, or as a tool for gathering information. The technique functions by using the caster's spiritual energy to stir and disrupt the target's physical energy, leading to confusion, anxiety, stress, cognitive dissonance… or anger, as you have experienced yourself."
The boy's hands clenched absentmindedly.
"With Genjutsu, no physical contact is required; only intent. However, while the caster only expends their own spiritual energy, it would not be a true Jutsu without physical energy. That is why all Genjutsu ultimately borrow the physical energy of their targets."
He hesitated, his mind racing. Then he asked, simply curious. "What if… I don't want to cast it on a person?"
For the first time, a glimmer of genuine approval passed through Orochimaru's eyes.
"Ah… I see you not only listen, but think. Good."
His voice was laced with something eerily close to satisfaction.
"To cast Genjutsu upon a wider area, one must become attuned to their surroundings, just as they attune themselves to their own emotions. The sensation of wind against the skin. The roughness of tree bark beneath one's fingers. The tickle of grass against bare feet. By spreading your spiritual energy outward, you can, in turn, affect the physical energy of anyone within your Genjutsu's radius."
"Now, as for Chakra Agitation. The version Dosu used was a modification created by Kin Tsuchi. She removed the need for hand seals, instead utilizing sound as its medium. A rather creative adjustment."
Then, with a teasing pause, he added, "Who knows? Perhaps it will be of use to you if you manage to learn jt, Kentarō-kun~?"
He slowly reached with his hand under his robe.
"As might be this."
The boy took it in his hands.
It was a thin book.
"Firebound Poems and Verses. Of poetry in the Land of Fire…"
He looked up to Orochimaru, his tone betraying his confusion.
"Poetry…?"
The Sanin answered with a mysterious smile upon his lips and just like that, he left with a sway of his robe. Vanishing into the darkness, leaving him alone in the clearing, his mind flooded with questions and no clear answers.
Himself
A tired sigh was all he could muster after staying up longer than ever as of late, binging all of the three books in one go.
One about history, one about shinobi and the last one about chakra.
"Chakra…" He tested the word on his lips. Sound of it cajoling him to channel it again, to rule over it despite the suffering it brings.
'...Tempting, but one more try and I might just die.' Chakra exhaustion was a thing, apparently. Use it too much and your free trial of life will end. Literally.
Part of him had already died today anyway.
You killed a man today, boy.
There was little left of who he used to be, and even that remnant was slipping away. Soon, there would be nothing.
Was it not the same as dying?
Was it worse?
Unless he finds a way to fill the missing part out. Not with new memories, but the ones that were taken away from him.
He could be himself again.
But how? How would he do that? By reverse engineering the technique Orochimaru has brought him with? That would take too much time to even acquire it, and time would create change inside him no matter how detached he acted.
The last few days made it obvious that he is still prone to it.
To the change and an ugly yet beautiful thing that is called hope.
Hope was dangerous. It crept in quietly, uninvited, whispering that things could be different if he just moved, if he just tried. He hated it for that. Hated how easily it dug its claws into him, how it refused to die no matter how often he tried to smother it.
And yet, it was still there, lingering
Waiting for him to think.
And think he did.
Just how many times had he failed? Would it really make a difference if he tries once more?
Maybe, becoming an entirely different being, was his answer all along?
One made from his past self, and his new self.
Which would be Kentarō.
It felt saddening of course, for no matter what he chooses; retreat in this accursed shell, or using it to the fullest, each of those two choices would leave little of what's left of him.
But… would it truly be so bad, to leave behind the useless and ever reluctant part, and replace it with one willing to grasp for opportunities? To cast aside those lazy and ever-surrendering parts of himself that he hates so much?
To replace it with the war-machine he was supposed to be groomed in, one stepping on the path of perseverance and strength?
This body… could become much more than just his excuse for inaction. He could tell it, thanks to the energy surging within it.
The chakra.
He could turn himself into someone he always wished to be.
Failure brings sadness. Inaction brings regret.
Though only one of these brings wisdom as a byproduct.
And so what if he fails again? He already knows that he will, so there will be no disappointment to meet him at the end.
He moved his hand forward, reaching for a book, ready to indulge into hours of reading again. He was about to grasp the one about poetry, when a distant memory suddenly came to his mind.
He grasped the book, bringing it close to his chest and hugging with both of his hands as he recalled an old poem.
It was one from his old world.
"Green hills skirt the southern border, white waters grid the western town."
"...Here we part my friend.
You lonesome wisp of grass ready to conquer the miles."
"You dream to roam like clouds take you away,
May sunset bring you back to me one day."
"As we wave our last goodbye,
Our horses neigh, as if for us they sigh."
Kentarō slowly put the thin book away. A sad smile blossomed on his face, yet his eyes remained full of resolve.
"Goodbye… Kazuki."