The next morning, Orochimaru who hadn't really slept finished the book he'd nearly completed, prepared Jiraiya's medicine for the day, snagged a few of his eggs, and slipped out of his house.
Jiraiya had been home recuperating for a while now. His eggs were definitely fresher than the ones in Orochimaru's own kitchenhe couldn't even remember when he'd bought those.
The weather was fine. The early morning sky was clear, a pale, translucent eggshell blue. The green plants outside shops had begun to sprout tiny buds, matching the sky's hue.
Yet Orochimaru's mood was far from bright.
He had come to Jiraiya looking for amusement, to lift his spirits. Clearly, he had failed.
Seeing his old teammate in such a pitiful, broken state was hardly enjoyable. Instead, he'd caught the man's melancholy, listened to him complain for ages, and even cleaned his house.
And the breakthrough that would restart his experiments wouldn't just fall from the sky because he was frustrated.
The future is completely fucked.
Facing this reality, the gloom that suited his appearance and aura deepened.
Carrying a bag of apples he'd bought the night before, Orochimaru planned to go home, clean up, and rest.
Maybe browsing for some miscellaneous books at the bookstore would help?
Walking through the still-empty streets, thinking about his upcoming shopping trip, he unconsciously weighed the bag in his hand. He recalled the price he'd paid for the apples yesterday and felt a twinge of pain—his eye twitched.
To be fair, thanks to the rapidly expanding Red Hot Sand Guild, which had developed new cultivation techniques and crop varieties, winter-to-spring fruit and vegetable prices had dropped considerably.
Output still couldn't compare to season, but at least produce harvest was no longer a rarity in this season—far better than the old days of trying to preserve everything through winter.
But given Orochimaru's current financial "deficit," any non-essential expense stung.
"Red Hot Sand, huh…"
He bit into an apple, mumbled the name of the guild that had become so omnipresent it seemed to leave its mark everywhere, then shook his head dismissively.
Guilds, conspiracies… I don't even know where the end of the universe is. How would I know about this?
He just felt pathetic for worrying about the cost of his favorite apples.
Finishing the apple in a few bites, Orochimaru clicked his tongue in irritation. He changed his mind, turned from heading home, and walked straight to the Hokage Building.
Rather than spending money on books, he might as well do something practical to improve his situation.
Like finding a good mission to supplement his income and kill time.
Frugality.
Perhaps because he'd arrived too early, the mission assignment hall was still quiet. The large space was empty; only the duty officer behind the counter yawned listlessly, reading a newspaper.
When the officer saw Orochimaru enter, he visibly hesitated, then stood and greeted him with some nervousness: "Good morning, Orochimaru-sama."
Orochimaru slightly slightly in acknowledgment, not intending to chat. He began flipping through the bound collection of mission request forms at the counter.
The bulletin board could only display a few requests—mostly for newer chūnin and genin, which didn't interest him.
Though he was well-regarded among the troops he'd commanded, his demeanor and aura made him seem less approachable than his teammates Jiraiya and Tsunade.
Perhaps to ease the tension, the duty officer scratched his head and made small talk: "I didn't expect someone of your caliber to come looking for missions…"
It wasn't entirely wrong. The mission assignment hall mostly handled small, low-rank requests—not particularly important or dangerous. The bulletin board was more about morale, giving the young ones something to do.
Truly sensitive missions involving secrets, foreign diplomacy, assassinations, or combat with other ninja organizations were usually assigned directly by the Hokage's office or distributed internally by the jōnin command. They rarely ended up here.
Most ninja didn't complain.
Those missions paid well, but the risks were equally high. Beyond the grand idea of preserving the village's reputation, there was the simple fact that you needed to be alive to spend your earnings.
Thus, jōnin rarely appeared here, unless they were leading a team and needed a suitable training mission.
That didn't apply to Orochimaru.
His mission record showed he had never turned down a job.
Jiraiya had his writing career. Tsunade had her inheritance. Orochimaru's research, meanwhile, produced nothing he could sell it was an additional expense.
So when he had free time, he came to the assignment hall to browse. He was probably the Konoha jōnin who appeared here most often.
Hearing the officer's remark, Orochimaru paused his flipping, then raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. In his distinctive rasp, he asked with interest: "You're new here?"
"Huh? Yes…yes, Orochimaru-sama."
The man blinked, then nodded, confused. "I was transferred here last month."
"You see, I'm actually a chūnin. Not just a regular employee."
Perhaps surprised that Orochimaru would speak to him, or perhaps needing to vent his frustrations, the chūnin opened up, pouring out his complaints.
"I took a mission escorting a monk from the Land of Wind. Everything went smoothly no problems. Then two days after I got back, the Anbu called me in for questioning, kept me for ages. After they released me, they restricted me from leaving the village and temporarily assigned me here."
He shook his head, sighing. "I heard about the ninja who went missing outside the village. I know I'm suspicious I spent months traveling with that Suna jōnin. But I'm just an ordinary chūnin."
"The base pay here won't starve me, but it's not enough for other expenses. The long hours cut into my training time; my skills will slip. And when I'm cleared and the restrictions lift, I'll have a harder time getting higher-paying missions. It's a vicious cycle!"
His voice rose with frustration, until he finally collapsed onto the counter, exhausted. "The future is completely fucked…"
"And since a Suna jōnin was involved, the pay for that escort mission wasn't even that good. Now I'm caught up in this disaster. Just my luck…"
Listening to the chūnin's endless complaints, Orochimaru felt surprisingly little irritation. Instead, he felt a strange sense of fellow feeling.
Goddamn Crimson of Agony, how many lives have you ruined.
Cursing Hii Kōri in his mind again, Orochimaru's expression grew subtle.
"But it wasn't all bad."
Perhaps sensing Orochimaru's mood shift, the chūnin changed his tone. A nostalgic look crossed his face. "At the end of that mission, we went to the Land of Hot Water. Soaked in their famous winter hot springs."
"I have to say—they live up to the reputation. Really comfortable. Good service too. If I get the chance, I'd love to go back."
"Now that you mention it, I'm a bit interested too."
Orochimaru, still flipping through the mission list, actually responded. "Any places you'd recommend?"
Perhaps finding someone as unlucky as himself had lifted his spirits. And if the hot springs could pull this unfortunate soul out of his gloom, they must be good.
He had never been to a hot spring. Sulfur snakes disliked the smell.
"Hmm… I wouldn't know. The monk paid. I just tagged along. But the two Suna women said most places are about the same using water from the same main spring."
"I thought so. If you'd strongly recommended a specific place, I'd suspect you were on their payroll."
Orochimaru made a rare joke. He pulled an apple from his pocket and tossed it to the chūnin. "Consider this thanks. I'll check it out when I have time."
"Oh—wait, Orochimaru-sama."
The chūnin, grinning as he wiped the apple repeatedly with his sleeve—clearly not intending to eat it—saw Orochimaru about to leave. He slapped his forehead, bent down, and pulled a small stack of mission forms from a drawer.
"I got carried away chatting. Please take a look—maybe there's something here that interests you."
"Oh?"
Orochimaru took the forms without much expectation. His eyes scanned the pages—and stopped.
They were escort missions from the Red Hot Sand Guild.
"These came in last night. I was supposed to sort them into the directory and bulletin board this morning, but you came so early I hadn't gotten to it yet."
The chūnin explained apologetically, clearly not wanting to admit his work failure.
Orochimaru didn't care at all.
The forms in his hand were the guild's regular contracts with the major villages. Typical jobs: warehouse security, caravan escort, personnel protection.
Given the guild's vast network and tangled relationships with various powers, few would risk their local development priorities by antagonizing them—unless they were complete outlaws.
These missions were low-risk, low-difficulty. Essentially, they were "business orders" and "protection money" to maintain good relations with the villages.
Consequently, the pay was excellent.
He'd heard from the apple vendor yesterday that the apples were a new premium shipment from the guild. The timing matched.
Good pay! Easy work!
Perfect. This was exactly what he was looking for.
Orochimaru, bored enough to shed his skin and severely short on funds, finally smiled—a genuine, knowing smile.
"You've been a great help."
He carefully rolled the forms and tucked them into his sleeve, nodding to the chūnin with a rare, gentle smile.
"Glad to hear it."
The chūnin rubbed his hands together nervously, not saying anything more.
"When this mission is done, I'll mention you to the Hokage. Get you reassigned."
Whether or not the man had been angling for this, Orochimaru had gotten what he wanted. He didn't mind helping out this unlucky soul—another victim of Hii Kōri's scheming.
Just a casual word.
"Thank you so much, Orochimaru-sama!"
Apparently not Expecting such a response, the chūnin shouted in delight, waving enthusiastically at Orochimaru's retreating back.
Only when Orochimaru had completely left did the chūnin sit back down—and smile a very, very nasty smile.
Just as planned. jpg
He leaned back in his chair, bit into the apple with pleasure.
Crisp, sweet, juicy. Delicious.
"Hmm… the crop modification department can produce decent stuff after all…"
The chūnin whose body had been taken over by Hii Kōri's personality after escorting "Araya Shūren" mumbled indistinctly, then stretched lazily.
Establishing a connection between Orochimaru and the guild. Mission complete.
***
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