What was I... supposed to do again?

Uzuki kicked the stone door heavily, sending the door panel slamming against the wall as gravel and dust rained down.

He rushed into the dark, damp underground space, which was thick with the stench of chemicals and blood, like a gale fueled by rage.

His gaze locked instantly onto the figure he hated to the bone—Orochimaru.

That man, the one who threw his weight around in Root simply by virtue of being a disciple of the Third Hokage, was currently standing with his back to him, observing something with keen interest.

And in front of Orochimaru, a frail figure was tied to a specially crafted chair—it was his younger brother, Yakushi Jiro.

A surge of scalding fury rushed from Uzuki's chest straight to his head.

Jiro was just a medical ninja, a logistics officer who didn't even know any decent offensive ninjutsu! That bastard Orochimaru had actually dragged him here under the ridiculous charge of "defecting from the village"!

Unforgivable!

Absolutely unforgivable!

"Orochimaru!" Uzuki's voice was hoarse with rage. He stepped into the laboratory, each footfall sounding like a beat on the drum of hatred. "You despicable coward, how dare you do this to my brother..."

However, his words were cut short, stuck in his throat.

Orochimaru turned around slowly, his pale, bloodless face showing not a hint of surprise or panic.

Orochimaru didn't even spare Uzuki a second glance; he simply smiled with amusement and asked Sawada Hiroki in a tone as casual as if they were chatting: "You don't seem surprised by his appearance at all? Did you discover him a long time ago?"

The brat named Hiroki actually just nodded calmly, as if Uzuki's intrusion were nothing more than a fly that had accidentally buzzed into the experiment.

"Do you need me to dispose of him for you?" Orochimaru asked again.

This question struck Uzuki like an invisible slap to the face.

Dispose?

Dispose of whom?

Uzuki felt as if his blood were about to boil over.

He, an elite of Root, the sensory ninja most trusted by Danzo, who had walked in the shadows of Konoha for over a decade and executed countless assassination and infiltration missions—now, in the conversation between these two, he had become a nuisance that needed to be "disposed of"?

It was a sense of humiliation that cut to the bone, something he had never experienced before.

They were like those self-righteous samurai daimyo living in the sunlight, looking down upon ninjas like them—who licked their wounds in the shadows—with an innate arrogance. They didn't understand, nor did they care to understand, the cruelty and laws of the ninja world.

The brat named Hiroki didn't answer, merely raising his fingers to form a seal in silence.

With a soft "pop," a puff of white smoke exploded beside him, and another identical version of him appeared on the spot.

Shadow Clone?

Uzuki's pupils contracted slightly. What was the meaning of this?

For a split second, an utterly absurd thought crossed Uzuki's mind—he wanted to use a clone to deal with him!

How could that be!

What utter contempt!

He felt the rage in his chest becoming impossible to suppress, but the cold, instinctive composure he had cultivated during his years in Root was suddenly replaced by a much stranger emotion. A kind of... unquestionable pride belonging to the strong.

Like a samurai!

He had to teach them manners and make them respect him!

A thought emerged from the depths of his mind without warning.

Yes, manners. These people didn't even understand the most basic etiquette.

Facing a powerhouse like him, they should be trembling with fear, they should be kneeling and begging for mercy, not chatting as if no one else were present.

He raised both hands, and pure chakra gathered and compressed in his palms, instantly forming two surgical scalpels that shimmered with a ghostly green light and were as thin as cicada wings.

This was his signature technique; countless enemies had died under these seemingly fragile scalpels.

But he didn't rush forward immediately.

His body seemed to have a will of its own; he stood there holding the scalpels, lifting his head slightly, and spoke coldly in a condescending tone, as if judging a sinner: "You people... do you not even understand the most basic manners?"

As the words left his mouth, Uzuki himself was stunned.

Strange.

This way of thinking... it was too strange.

The creed of Root was "no name, no emotion, no self," and the mission was everything. Facing an enemy, one should eliminate them in the fastest, most efficient way possible.

Not engage in meaningless provocation here. This posture was more like those samurai who always had to recite a few lines about family honor before a duel.

Why... was he thinking like this?

A trace of imperceptible confusion, like a grain of sand dropped into a lake, sent ripples through his calm mind.

But before he could ponder it further, the fury of being slighted surged back, completely drowning out this sense of anomaly.

He was the number one sensory ninja under Danzo! He was the blade of Root! He had the right, and the necessity, to make these arrogant fools understand what kind of existence they were facing before they died!

Orochimaru, who had remained motionless on the side, narrowed his golden snake-like eyes. His gaze lingered on Uzuki for a moment, and the amused smile on his pale face deepened.

Interesting.

Orochimaru did not look at Uzuki again; instead, his gaze fell upon Hiroki, who remained excessively calm.

Uzuki had already lost his final shred of patience.

He stopped speaking and lunged forward, the stone floor beneath his feet shattering instantly. His figure turned into a blurred afterimage in the dim laboratory, and two Chakra Scalpels carved two lethal green arcs through the air, aiming straight for Hiroki's Shadow Clone.

A Shadow Clone?

Why was he attacking a Shadow Clone? Why not the real body?

Faced with this thunderous strike, Hiroki's Shadow Clone merely watched him calmly, took a deep breath, and quickly formed hand seals.

"Wind Style: Vacuum Sphere!"

The Shadow Clone opened his mouth, and several highly condensed, solid-looking air bullets shot out one after another with a sharp whistling sound, flying toward Uzuki.

"Petty tricks!"

Uzuki sneered inwardly.

A ninjutsu of this level wasn't even worth scratching an itch for him.

He did not slow down in the slightest, his Chakra Scalpels swinging with a precision that far exceeded the limits of human vision. "Swish! Swish! Swish!" Crisp cutting sounds rang out in the laboratory; those air bullets, capable of piercing steel plates, were like fragile soap bubbles under his blades, easily and neatly split down the middle, dissipating into harmless currents of air.

Too weak.

This brat was not worth mentioning at all.

The moment he split the last Vacuum Sphere, Uzuki's eyes held nothing but the Shadow Clone within arm's reach.

His brain raced, having already planned his next move—the scalpel in his left hand would slash horizontally to block the opponent's retreat, while the blade in his right hand would thrust forward to pierce his heart. The entire process would take no more than 0.1 seconds.

However, the very instant he prepared to execute this perfect plan.

His brain... stalled.

It was like a machine running at high speed that had suddenly been cut off from its power source.

The tactical commands that had been crystal clear a second ago turned into an incomprehensible void the next.

"What... was I going to do again?"

The next moment, a wind bullet pierced through his chest.