That night, back in the Uchiha district, Uchiha Gen sat beneath the dim lamplight and stared at the mountain of books stacked on his desk. They rose higher than a meter, a teetering wall of dense text and medical diagrams, and the sight of them made him let out a helpless sigh.
No matter what world you lived in, studying medicine was brutal.
The amount of foundational knowledge alone was staggering. Compared to the books used at the Ninja Academy, the material Tsunade had handed over was on an entirely different level. It wasn't just larger in quantity. It was harder, drier, more technical, and far more exhausting to read.
Fortunately, Sakura Haruno's character card was still doing its job.
Even if Sakura in her Academy days had been almost useless in direct combat, her talent for study had always been exceptional. For plowing through dry, tedious theory, she was far more useful than most people would ever guess. With that support, Gen at least had some confidence that he could chew through these books eventually.
Even so, he could already imagine how long it would take.
"Forget the medical texts for now. I should look at the ninjutsu scroll Orochimaru-sensei gave me first."
With that thought, Gen reached for the scroll that had finally dried after being coughed up by Orochimaru's snake.
As soon as he unrolled it, his eyes sharpened.
"This style..."
The design was strangely familiar. The structure, the layout, the way the seals were arranged—it all looked very much like the summoning contract scroll he had used when he signed with the ninja crows.
Only this one was different.
Much darker.
The artwork inscribed along the scroll depicted massive gates looming in shadow, like the mouth of the underworld itself. The brushwork was ancient and oppressive, and even the ink seemed to carry a strange gravity. Tucked inside was a neatly folded sheet of paper written in a precise hand, recording the details of the technique.
Summoning Technique: Rashomon.
The instant he saw the name, Gen's heart jumped.
In the original timeline, only a handful of people had ever used this technique.
Hashirama Senju, the First Hokage. Orochimaru at the height of his power. And later, even Sakon and Ukon of the Sound Four. The number of gates they summoned differed, and so did the terrifying force each display carried, but the status of the technique itself was beyond dispute.
This was not some ordinary defensive ninjutsu.
This was the gate to hell.
Hashirama and Orochimaru had used Rashomon to withstand attacks on the level of Tailed Beast Bombs. Sakon and Ukon had used it to block Kiba's Fang Wolf Fang. The gap between its lower limit and upper limit was so absurd that it alone was enough to prove how extraordinary the technique was. If it could remain useful in the hands of monsters like Hashirama and Orochimaru, then its true defensive potential was unquestionably far beyond ordinary barriers.
But that also meant the conditions for learning it would be brutal.
Gen calmed himself and continued reading the handwritten notes Orochimaru had added.
"Rashomon is said to have existed even before the era of the Ninshu Sect," the notes began. "According to legend, after the Sage of Six Paths subdued all demonic beings and established the Pure Land, he left behind Rashomon as a gate standing between the worlds of the living and the dead."
Gen's gaze lingered there.
So the rumors that called Rashomon the gate of hell might not be exaggerations after all.
"The truth of its origin is difficult to confirm," the notes continued. "Likewise, many theories exist concerning the true location of Rashomon, though none have been conclusively proven. What has been passed down to posterity is only the summoning scroll. This copy came into the possession of the Senju clan during the Warring States era, having first been inherited through successors of the Ninshu tradition."
A copy.
Not even the original.
And yet it was already this terrifying.
The next section explained the contract.
Once one wrote down one's name on the scroll and performed the reverse hand seals of the Summoning Technique, one's consciousness—and eventually one's body—would be drawn near Rashomon itself.
Gen's expression gradually turned serious.
So this wasn't a normal summoning at all.
It wasn't just "summon the gate." It was "go to the place where the gate exists, endure it, and earn the right to call upon it."
He read on.
"Based on the records of the Second Hokage and my own observations, every gate is saturated with exceptionally dense Yin Release chakra. The bells mounted upon Rashomon emit sound waves under the influence of that Yin chakra. These waves possess astonishing vibrational force and serve to drive away all living creatures that draw near."
Gen blinked slowly.
Not simple sound.
Not something that could be shut out by stuffing one's ears or hiding behind a tree.
It was a full-body assault.
The notes made that very clear. The shockwaves could not be cleanly blocked with ordinary wind or water techniques. At most, those methods could weaken them slightly. Other conventional defensive ninjutsu were practically useless. In the end, the only real option was to endure—to advance under pressure, resisting the all-pervasive vibration with one's own body.
According to Orochimaru's notes, Hashirama had once relied on his monstrous healing factor to push all the way to the Fifth Gate.
Aside from Hashirama, only Orochimaru himself had ever reached the Third Gate.
Even Tobirama Senju and Hiruzen Sarutobi, men who stood at the very peak of Konoha, had stopped at the Second.
That single note was enough to show how insane this technique really was.
Gen reread that passage several times, then leaned back and exhaled slowly.
No wonder Orochimaru had warned him again and again not to attempt the contract casually.
This wasn't a matter of talent alone. It was a matter of survival.
A technique like this demanded not only chakra control and summoning aptitude, but also an absurd tolerance for pain and injury. It wasn't hard to understand why Sakon and Ukon had been able to use it in the future. Those two were freaks by normal standards. With their regenerative constitution and shared-body abnormality, they effectively had more life to burn than ordinary shinobi.
And Orochimaru...
Well, Orochimaru was Orochimaru.
As for Hashirama, that monster didn't count as human in the first place.
Gen lowered the scroll and stared at the ceiling for a while.
So that was the "dangerous" part Orochimaru had mentioned. And that was why medical ninjutsu mattered. If learning medical ninjutsu to a certain level would help him practice Rashomon in the future, then the implication was obvious.
Training this technique would hurt.
A lot.
Still, the more outrageous the conditions sounded, the brighter Gen's eyes became.
Because the stronger the requirement, the stronger the reward.
This was not a technique a mere genin should have been able to touch. Even just having access to its training method was already an absurd opportunity. If he could really learn it, then in terms of pure defense, he might gain a trump card far beyond what someone of his current rank should possess.
He carefully rolled the scroll back up and put it aside.
The room fell quiet again, leaving only the rustle of paper and the distant sounds of the night beyond the Uchiha district.
After a few seconds, Gen looked back at the mountain of medical books on his desk and pressed a hand to his forehead.
"Right. Back to medicine."
No matter how tempting Rashomon was, he couldn't afford to throw himself into it immediately. Orochimaru had made that much painfully clear. Without enough preparation—especially enough knowledge and recovery support—trying to contract with Rashomon now would be suicide.
So for the moment, he could only do what he always did.
Study.
The next day, Orochimaru Team officially settled into a new routine.
From then on, life entered a nearly fixed cycle.
In the morning, after breakfast, the three of them would head to the training ground and begin with low-intensity warm-ups under Orochimaru's supervision. The intensity sounded mild on paper, but that only applied relative to what came later.
Once their bodies were active and their minds fully awake, Orochimaru would begin the most important part of the day.
Instruction.
Unlike many jonin instructors, Orochimaru did not waste time talking about lofty ideals or repeating Academy basics. What he taught were things that would keep people alive.
How to track. How to counter-track.
How to read disturbances in the terrain. How to identify, dismantle, or bypass enemy traps. How to detect poison, how to avoid it, and how to respond after exposure. How to perform emergency treatment after injury. How to assess the battlefield in seconds and decide whether to fight, flee, or deceive.
Among all those lessons, Orochimaru was especially detailed when teaching the last two: traps and battlefield first aid.
He broke them down step by step, with the patience of someone who had personally seen what happened when people failed to learn them properly.
It was almost obsessive.
Gen understood why.
These were all lessons in how to survive.
And in that field, Orochimaru was a master among masters.
If the ninja world one day suffered some catastrophe great enough to destroy nations, Gen was convinced Orochimaru would be among the last people to die. In fact, there was a fair chance Orochimaru would slither out of the disaster altogether and live on anyway. His ability to preserve his own life bordered on the absurd.
If Gen could inherit even half of that, it would probably be enough to carry him safely through the Fourth Shinobi World War.
The afternoon was hell.
Pure hell.
This was when Orochimaru's real training plan began.
It never quite crossed the line into killing them, but it was built to push each of them to the brink of collapse with terrifying precision. Thanks to the physical data Tsunade had recorded, Orochimaru's training was frighteningly scientific. Every sprint, every drill, every repetition, every rest interval was calculated to squeeze out the maximum possible result.
He didn't train people until they were tired.
He trained them until every last drop had been wrung out of them.
By the end of those sessions, the three of them often reached the point where even lifting a finger felt like a burden.
And Orochimaru never looked impressed.
Of course, he wasn't worried about pushing too far. If anything truly went wrong, he could simply send them to the Senju residence and let Tsunade handle the rest. In his hands, the possibility of serious training injuries existed mainly as a scheduling inconvenience.
The following day, however, training would stop.
That was mission day.
Orochimaru did not continue assigning them C-rank missions right away. After that first test, he shifted back onto the conventional track and had them perform the same kinds of D-rank missions that ordinary newly graduated genin teams were expected to take.
Weeding fields. Catching missing pets. Harvesting crops. Cleaning canals and river channels.
For most genin, those jobs were tedious, humiliating, and boring.
For Orochimaru Team, they were practically vacation.
Not because the work itself was pleasant, but because compared to Orochimaru's hell-training, it was low-intensity enough to feel like rest.
Even then, Orochimaru didn't let the opportunity go to waste.
According to him, the purpose of D-rank missions was not combat. It was process.
They were how a team learned to receive a mission, clarify details, divide labor, coordinate movement, solve minor problems, report outcomes, and build real operational rhythm. Before a shinobi could lead others into danger someday, they first had to master the full cycle of accepting, executing, and concluding even the smallest assignment.
That was the foundation.
Without it, no amount of talent in battle meant much.
After a D-rank mission, the three of them could usually squeeze out about half a day that counted as "free time."
In theory, that was rest.
In practice, it meant self-directed training.
No one dared waste it.
Sarutobi Enjun used the time to work on fire style and his taijutsu. Ruri Uzuki reviewed illusion techniques and practiced battlefield fundamentals with a seriousness that only someone from a small clan could maintain. As for Gen, he split his time between chakra control, ninjutsu, medical theory, sensory training, and the sealing textbooks Lady Mito had given them.
The schedule was punishing, but Gen could feel the results building day by day.
His body was getting stronger.
His chakra control was becoming tighter.
His grasp of battlefield thinking was deepening at a pace that would have been impossible at the Academy.
And perhaps most importantly, he could feel himself beginning to adapt to Orochimaru's rhythm—to the rhythm of a real shinobi life.
It was brutal.
But it was effective.
That night, after reading until his eyes ached and his shoulders felt stiff, Gen finally closed one of the medical books and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
The stack on the desk was still absurdly tall.
The sealing books were still waiting.
Rashomon still sat nearby like a silent promise of pain and power.
And tomorrow, the cycle would begin again.
He looked out the window into the night over Konoha and let out a breath.
No matter how hard it was, there was one thing he could say for certain.
Under Orochimaru, he was getting stronger much faster than he would have anywhere else.
And in this world, strength meant possibility.
Strength meant survival.
Strength meant the right to keep walking forward.
Gen lowered his gaze, reached for the next book in the stack, and opened it.
If he wanted Rashomon, if he wanted to survive, if he wanted to stay ahead of the future rushing toward him, then there was only one thing to do.
Study.
Train.
Endure.
And keep going.