White Fang's Death and Orochimaru

He saw Hatake Sakumo outside the dango shop.

The man who had once been so high-spirited now looked exceptionally old.

With the chakra short sword that had once terrified his enemies strapped to his back, he faced the pointing fingers of passersby and their deliberately hushed curses without explanation. He remained silent, his back still straight, yet his eyes held an indescribable exhaustion and loneliness.

Kakashi followed behind him, his tiny fists clenched tightly. His face beneath the mask was flushed red, and his eyes were filled with anger and confusion.

He did not understand. His father was clearly a hero, and he had clearly acted to save his comrades—so why had things turned out like this?

Aoba could only watch from afar.

He could not save Hatake Sakumo.

This was a political strangulation aimed at White Fang, as well as a judgment of humanity.

The higher-ups' tacit approval, Danzo's fanning of the flames, and the ignorant conformity of the public had woven this net together.

Perhaps this net had been inevitable from the moment White Fang received the Hokage's half-sleeve.

White Fang's prestige had been too great—so great that none of the Sannin could compare to him.

And Hatake Sakumo was not the successor they had chosen. Or rather, White Fang had never been among the candidates to succeed the Hokage.

They could only undermine White Fang's reputation, even stain it with a trace of disgrace, cutting off any possibility of Hatake Sakumo becoming the next Hokage.

Aoba sighed inwardly. He knew full well that before immense collective interests, an individual's honor and sacrifices appeared so insignificant. He was merely an insignificant nobody, utterly incapable of changing this surging tide.

Unless Aoba possessed the power to suppress everything right now, any intervention would only leave him crushed to pieces as well.

But even if he did, he would not have done so. This was Sakumo's own choice.

Because this was merely a simple struggle for power. As long as Hatake Sakumo took one step back, all the rumors and slander would vanish immediately.

Yet he had not done so. He had even chosen to take his own life to uphold his will—or rather, his ninja way.

If Aoba had not known the future plot, he never would have imagined that such a powerful and gentle man would ultimately choose suicide to end his life. Not even the Third Hokage, the Konohagakure higher-ups, or anyone else had expected it.

Several days later.

"White Fang is dead!"

The "White Fang of Konohagakure," who had once made enemies tremble on the battlefield, had not died beneath an enemy's blade. He had died in the village he had protected, beneath the chakra short sword that symbolized his glory.

There was no official announcement, nor any mournful bells, but news of Hatake Sakumo's suicide spread through every corner of Konohagakure like a silent cold wind.

The rumors that had been raging only days before, the malicious accusations and curses, seemed to have been erased overnight by an invisible hand, vanishing without a trace.

The entire village sank into a strange calm, a silence colder and more unsettling than any uproar.

Aoba stood at a street corner, watching the villagers go about their work as usual. The righteous indignation had vanished from their faces, as though someone else had made all those accusations and curses.

This tragedy, tacitly permitted by the higher-ups and driven by public opinion, had finally come to its most brutal conclusion.

Because it had been suicide, Hatake Sakumo could not receive a funeral as a hero.

The ceremony was simple and desolate, yet quite a few people came to see him off.

Before the Memorial Stone, many ninja and civilians came of their own accord, silently laying down white flowers to send this former hero on his final journey.

Aoba did not squeeze into the crowd. He merely stood beneath a tree in the distance until the people gradually dispersed. Only when the setting sun cast the tombstone's shadow long across the ground did Aoba step out from beneath the shade.

"Though I do not agree with your extreme way of handling things, I admire the person you were. In this twisted world, people who are too gentle and upright often do not live long."

Aoba walked to the tombstone, bent down to place the flower, and said softly, "Rest well, Senior Sakumo."

"That is a very interesting assessment."

A hoarse yet magnetic voice sounded behind him.

The muscles in Aoba's back instantly tensed, but he did not turn around at once. Instead, he slowly straightened up and leisurely stepped aside, yielding the space in front of the tombstone.

A long-haired man dressed in a pale kimono stood beside Aoba.

Golden vertical pupils, purple eyeshadow extending to the sides of his nose, and a chilling aura emanating from his entire body—he was like a venomous snake that had just awakened from hibernation.

Orochimaru.

He had not expected this man to come as well.

"Lord Orochimaru."

Aoba gave a slight bow, allowing a fitting expression of surprise and unease to appear on his face.

Orochimaru paid Aoba no attention. He slowly walked to the tombstone. The tombstone was reflected in his golden vertical pupils, but there was not the slightest trace of sorrow within them.

"Human life truly is fragile. Even someone as powerful as White Fang could so easily perish for such a boring reason."

Orochimaru stuck out his tongue and licked his face, a trace of mockery flashing through his eyes. "Human emotions truly are unnecessary and burdensome things."

Aoba remained silent. He did not want to respond, nor did he dare to.

Before Orochimaru at this point in time, any unnecessary action could invite needless trouble.

Yet what he feared came to pass.

As Orochimaru turned to leave, his steps paused slightly, and those snake-like vertical pupils casually swept over Aoba.

"An interesting little brat."

With just that one glance, all the hairs on Aoba's body stood on end, as if some terrifying creature had fixed its gaze upon him.

Only after Orochimaru's figure completely vanished into the shadows did that oppressive feeling gradually fade.

Aoba let out a long breath and wiped the sweat seeping from his brow.

"Looks like I'll have to keep an even lower profile from now on."

White Fang's death was like a stone dropped into a deep pool. After the ripples faded, the surface appeared calm again, but darker undercurrents churned beneath.

The most immediate effect was Tsunade's absence from the Experimental Class.

It was said that on the day after Hatake Sakumo's funeral, sounds of an argument had come from the Hokage Building. Apparently, Tsunade had argued with Lord Hokage again.

The one who came to teach in Tsunade's place was a capable-looking female ninja in her thirties.

"Starting today, I will temporarily be responsible for your lessons." She introduced herself. "I am a jonin from Konoha Hospital. You may call me Teacher Ueno."

Teacher Ueno's style was completely different from Tsunade's.

She did not speak of brutal battlefield cases, nor did she instill any lofty ideals. Her teaching style was exceptionally gentle and meticulous, and she placed great emphasis on... practical work.

Teacher Ueno placed a tray covered with a white cloth on the podium.

"The foundation of Medical Ninjutsu is an absolute understanding of the human body's structure. But since we have no people today, we will use something else instead."

As she spoke, Teacher Ueno pulled away the white cloth before her, revealing a large anesthetized frog secured to the tray.

She then produced a sharp scalpel from somewhere.

"Today's lesson is live dissection. I do not expect you to learn how to heal immediately, but you must at least learn how to cut through skin precisely while avoiding blood vessels and nerves."

With that, her blade fell. Her movements flowed like water as she instantly opened the frog's abdomen, exposing its still-beating heart and internal organs.

"Urgh—"