"Agh!"
Jiraiya sat up from the bed, his head throbbing as if it had been run over by a carriage.
Sunlight pierced through the cracks in the window; he squinted his eyes, his throat parched and aching.
Last night's events were like a fragmented scroll.
The lights of the izakaya, the swaying sake cups, and... a white silhouette from behind.
Slender and thin, it was like a wisp of moonlight in the dark night that couldn't be caught.
At the time, he had drunkenly thought it was a pity, and that it would have been better if she were a bit more curvaceous.
While he was haphazardly reminiscing, a pale hand handed a ceramic bowl to him.
Inside the bowl was a dark-colored hangover soup, still emitting soothing steam.
"Thanks."
He mumbled his thanks, took it, and drained it in one gulp.
The warm liquid slid down his throat, carrying the warmth of kudzu root and ginger, dispersing some of the Chaos.
But immediately following that, the Chaos was replaced by another, more intense emotion.
That was alertness.
The atmosphere in this room wasn't right.
Although he had been staying at home for a few days, because it had been unoccupied for a long time, it still carried the scent of dust and old scrolls.
But now.
There was a very faint, cold fragrance in the air, like plum blossoms on an early winter morning, mixed with a trace of ethereal scent.
He abruptly turned his head.
A woman in white with black hair was sitting on a low stool by his bed.
She wore a plain kimono, with silver Snake-eye patterns embroidered on the cuffs and collar, almost imperceptible.
Her long hair fell like ink, contrasting with her skin, which was the kind of pale that hadn't seen the sun in a long time, yet was smooth and delicate.
When her eyes were lowered, she showed a classical gentleness, dignified yet distant.
Jiraiya's pupils suddenly contracted.
This face... that moonlight-like silhouette from last night!
"You... who are you?"
He opened his mouth; his hungover brain felt like it was filled with lead, yet it was startled into rapid operation by the sight before him.
"Why are you in my house?"
His voice was raspy, full of shock and wariness.
The woman looked up at him, those golden vertical pupils glinting coldly in the morning light, and the illusion of gentleness from a moment ago shattered instantly.
She let out a sneer, the corners of her mouth curling into a mocking arc.
"You fellow."
Her voice was slightly low, with a unique, slimy texture, like a snake slithering over dry leaves.
"You can't recognize me?"
The confusion on Jiraiya's face grew even deeper.
Recognize her? If he knew a woman with such an appearance and temperament, how could he not have the slightest impression of her?
It couldn't possibly be Orochimaru, right?
He desperately searched through the scrolls of his memory, but found only a blank.
Until—
The woman stuck out her tongue. It wasn't a tongue a normal person should have—long and flexible, it slowly slid over her pale lips, leaving a bit of moist sheen.
A cold, eerie, and familiarly terrifying image cruelly overlapped with the gentle face before him.
All the drunkenness and all the confusion were blown to pieces at this moment.
It really is Orochimaru?
As if struck by Lightning Release, Jiraiya suddenly bounced off the bed, taking a step back and crashing into the wall, knocking over the empty bowl.
The ceramic bowl hit the ground, the sound of it shattering crisp and ear-piercing.
Jiraiya pointed at Orochimaru, his finger trembling slightly, his voice cracking from extreme horror and absurdity:
"You're O-O-O... Orochimaru?"
"How did you turn into a woman?"
Orochimaru gave a soft chuckle.
"Is it that strange?"
"How is this NOT strange!"
"Tsk, you're still the same, clearly not understanding others at all, yet always trying to use your methods to stop them."
Orochimaru gave a light click of the tongue and stood up.
Jiraiya was momentarily speechless, but Orochimaru clearly didn't intend to continue this topic.
She turned around and walked toward the door.
"Alright, we'll talk more later.
Tsunade found me last night, and we intended to find you and have a chat together..."
She glanced back at Jiraiya, her eyes carrying her usual mockery.
"In the end, all we fished up was a drunken nuisance.
Follow me; it's indeed time for us old friends to have a proper talk."
"Oh... okay."
Jiraiya responded subconsciously, looking down at himself.
His wrinkled red vest and tea-green lining were, unsurprisingly, the same ones from yesterday, and he could even smell a faint scent of alcohol.
He didn't bother to change, simply putting on the clogs by the bed and following Orochimaru out of the house.
The cold outdoor air refreshed him and diluted some of the sense of absurdity.
Driven by habit, he walked a few steps faster and naturally reached out his left arm, intending to drape it over Orochimaru's neck as he had done countless times in the past.
What his arm touched was no longer the thin, hard shoulder bone of his memory, but the delicate, rounded lines belonging to a woman that could be felt even through the soft fabric.
A very faint, cold fragrance entered his nostrils; it wasn't a floral or powdery scent, but more like a mix of medicinal herbs and ice, crisp and subtle.
Jiraiya's movement froze, but since his arm was already draped there, pulling it back now would instead make him seem guilty.
He turned his head, his nose almost touching the black hair by Orochimaru's ear, and blurted out with a belly full of new confusion: "Hey, Orochimaru... are you wearing perfume?
You smell so good. Also, this frame of yours... why does it feel so girly?"
Orochimaru didn't immediately throw off his arm, her footsteps only pausing slightly.
She turned her face; up close, her golden pupils were like cold glass, clearly reflecting Jiraiya's nearby face that practically screamed'stupid question'.
"Idiot Jiraiya."
Her voice was calm and flat, yet it pierced through Jiraiya's obtuseness like a fine needle.
"My current body is a female body."
She pulled away slightly, letting Jiraiya's arm slide off naturally.
"As for perfume? I have zero interest in such things."
"Uh..."
Jiraiya scratched his head and awkwardly followed her.
"Sorry."
"Heh, what's there to apologize for?"
Orochimaru walked at an unhurried pace.
"Jiraiya, why have you suddenly become so awkward?"
"Rather than awkward."
Jiraiya frowned, trying to untangle his mess of thoughts.
"It's more accurate to say I'm shocked. After all..."
He looked Orochimaru's new, feminine silhouette up and down; the feeling was still incredibly bizarre.
"After all, you suddenly... turned into a woman."
His gaze subconsciously followed the slight sway of the kimono hem as Orochimaru walked; the posture was indeed completely different from the past.
But gradually, that bit of shock and awkwardness was covered by something heavier and colder.
Jiraiya's gaze sharpened, the Chaos of the hangover completely dispelled.
He stopped in his tracks, his voice lowering with an unavoidable interrogation: "Hey, Orochimaru. You... you didn't use some kind of Forbidden Jutsu to take over some innocent person's body, did you?"
The air seemed to stagnate for a moment.
"To your disappointment, or rather... so your boring sense of justice doesn't have to flare up for now."
Her tongue flicked over the corner of her mouth again, with a hint of something almost like showing off.
"This new body is a product created by Nidaime(2nd)-sama and me."
"Cloning technology, a little bit of biological art."
"Although the preparation was rushed, as a vessel for transition, its performance is quite good."