"Oh?" Orochimaru paused, momentarily caught off guard. He had always assumed that Shimizu coveted the ninjutsu notes of the Second Hokage above all else. After all, the longing Shimizu had shown during their previous exchange had been unmistakable—Orochimaru had seen it clearly.
And yet now, he cast it aside without hesitation.
"Orochimaru," Shimizu said coldly, "I'm risking my life to help you, and this is what you offer me? You take me for a fool?"
Of course, he had no intention of admitting that the notes had simply lost their appeal.
"So Uzuki-kun finds my bargaining chip insufficient," Orochimaru mused, his tone thoughtful. After a brief pause, his eyes gleamed faintly. "Then… perhaps you have an interest in the Sharingan?"
"What do you mean?" Shimizu felt his heartbeat falter for a fraction of a second.
"I can help you wield its power."
"You mean replacing my eyes with a Sharingan?"
Orochimaru chuckled softly. "Surely you jest. If you were to flaunt such eyes openly, even I would not escape the consequences."
"Then what exactly are you proposing?"
"I could modify a part of your body," Orochimaru said, his voice smooth as silk, "into a vessel capable of housing the Sharingan—an artificial extension, tailored to bear its power."
An image flickered through Shimizu's mind unbidden: an arm like that of Danzo Shimura, riddled with embedded eyes—an unsettling grotesquerie.
"I'm not interested," he said flatly. "Someone outside the Uchiha clan can't truly control the Sharingan. Even if they manage to use it, the cost would be severe."
In his view, transplanting a Sharingan into a non-Uchiha was little more than a tragedy waiting to unfold. The rejection alone was unavoidable, and the toll it exacted on the body was immense.
He did not believe himself fortunate—or exceptional—enough to reach the heights of someone like Kakashi Hatake, who had managed to wield it with such mastery.
Unless…
"Or do you have a way to achieve perfect integration?"
"The rejection between the Sharingan and its host is… a rather troublesome problem. Even after years of research, I—"
"So that's a no?" Shimizu cut him off without ceremony. "If you don't, then I'm not interested."
Orochimaru's smile deepened, unfazed. "Heh… then what about Wood Release?"
For a moment, Shimizu felt as though his heart had stopped altogether. When he spoke again, even his voice carried a faint rasp. "Explain."
"I would implant the cells of Hashirama Senju into your body," Orochimaru said slowly, "and allow them to fuse with you completely."
"You're asking me to be your experiment?"
Those cells were infamous for their overwhelming vitality—far from something one could simply "fuse" with at will. In the stories he remembered, dozens of test subjects had perished for a single success.
Unless one was blessed by fate itself.
"No," Orochimaru replied, his tone steady. "The experiment has already succeeded. At present, I still possess two doses of what I call… 'Wood Release serum.'"
"…What?"
"If I first introduce Hashirama's cells into your body, and then administer the serum," he continued, "you will gain the power of Wood Release."
"Just like that?" Shimizu could hardly believe what he was hearing.
If such a serum truly existed, why had there been no trace of it in the history he knew? If it could be replicated, wouldn't it mean that Wood Release users could be produced in bulk?
An army of them.
What would wars mean then? What would tailed beasts amount to?
Before a force of thousands wielding Wood Release, everything else would seem like a cruel joke.
"You don't seem convinced," Orochimaru said mildly. "As one of the Sannin, I have no interest in making idle jokes."
"If you require proof…"
He gestured lightly.
At once, the soil near his feet stirred. Slender branches pushed up through the earth, growing with unnatural speed. In mere seconds, they coiled around his legs, binding them tightly in a living embrace.
Shimizu's pupils shrank.
Wood Release.
Real, undeniable.
"With this, do you believe me now?" Orochimaru flicked his hand, and the branches withered away as quickly as they had come.
"How did you do it?" Shimizu asked, unable to hide the intensity in his gaze.
"So even you are curious about its origins," Orochimaru replied with a faint smile.
"Give me one dose of the serum—and tell me how you achieved it," Shimizu said without hesitation. "In return, I'll help you become the Fourth Hokage."
Orochimaru fell silent for a moment, weighing the offer. Then, at last, he nodded.
"Very well. We have a deal."
Two vials arced through the air toward Shimizu.
"The green one contains Hashirama's cells," Orochimaru said lightly. "The blue one is the Wood Release serum. Do be careful not to mix them up, Uzuki-kun."
Shimizu accepted the two vials with care, storing them away as though they were something far more fragile than glass. Yet his gaze never left Orochimaru—he was still waiting for an explanation.
"Ordinarily, matters like this would never be disclosed," Orochimaru said at last, his tone unhurried, almost indulgent. "But since Uzuki-kun insists—and to demonstrate my sincerity—I see no harm in telling you."
"There is a certain… peculiar vitality within your somatic cells," he continued, studying Shimizu with quiet fascination. "It promotes the fusion between ordinary human cells and those of Hashirama Senju. Using the blood you provided during our previous transaction, I was able to refine a total of four doses of serum."
"As for the process itself," he added lightly, "it is long and exceedingly complex. If you truly wish to understand, I could bring you to my laboratory next time."
That underground laboratory—cold, shadowed, steeped in the scent of decay and experimentation—flashed through Shimizu's mind.
"…We'll talk about it another time," he said.
He had not expected this. That his blood, once refined and altered by Orochimaru, could actually mitigate the violent rejection caused by Hashirama's cells—it was almost absurd. Turning the thought over in his mind, he found only one explanation: the immense life force inherent to the Uzumaki lineage.
And yet… that power was no longer his to draw upon.
The reason he had once defied death and successfully fused with Hashirama's cells had been precisely because of that overwhelming vitality—and now, it had been spent.
The realization struck him suddenly.
Which meant… these two vials of "Wood Release serum" were likely the last of their kind.
And more than that—he could already guess what Orochimaru's second request would be.
"I would ask Uzuki-kun to provide me with another sample of your blood."
"You want my blood again?" Shimizu's eyes narrowed slightly. "To refine more serum?"
"Precisely," Orochimaru replied. "It may be an issue of purity—the effects of the current batches are… less than ideal."
So they were flawed products.
"But you just said they allow for perfect fusion."
"They do," Orochimaru said calmly. "The first test subject achieved complete integration. However… the rate of that fusion is extraordinarily slow."
He paused, then added with quiet candor, "Even after three months, I can currently wield less than one percent of the power of the First Hokage."
"The human body contains an immeasurable number of cells. To reach a level where one could fully manifest his power through this method…" His voice softened slightly. "It would take decades."
"Far too long."
"Which is why," he continued, "if Uzuki-kun were to provide a larger quantity of blood this time, and I were able to refine an improved serum, I would naturally offer you a share."
"I can give you double," Shimizu replied without hesitation, almost generously.
In truth, the blood flowing through his veins no longer carried that extraordinary vitality. Whatever made his body special before had already been exhausted.
Which meant any promise of a "superior serum" was nothing more than an empty one.
By the time Orochimaru discovered the discrepancy, who knew how long it would be? His laboratory was in Konohagakure, while they were now deep within the chaos of war. And Shimizu would draw the blood in front of him—there would be no visible flaw, nothing to immediately suspect.
If the results failed to meet expectations, how could the blame be laid solely at his feet?
With that thought, Shimizu made up his mind completely. If there was ever a moment to take advantage of Orochimaru, it was now—he would extract as much as he could, without hesitation.
"And what else can you offer me?" he asked.
"Are you interested in forbidden techniques?" Orochimaru's smile deepened.
"For example?"
"The forbidden art of reincarnation—the defiance of life and death itself."
For a fleeting instant, an image surfaced in Shimizu's mind: the grotesque, inhuman form Orochimaru would one day assume, neither fully man nor woman, something altogether distorted.
"I'm not interested," Shimizu said flatly, cutting him off once more. But almost immediately, he shifted course, his tone sharpening with intent. "Orochimaru… since you've formed a summoning contract with Manda of the Ryūchi Cave, that means you can learn senjutsu as well, doesn't it?"
His gaze locked onto Orochimaru's.
"I want to learn Sage Mode."