It had started years ago—long before you’d even noticed.

A shadow that lingered too long at the edges of crowded markets. The occasional prickling sensation on the back of your neck during missions, the faint but certain knowledge that you weren’t alone.

Orochimaru had been watching.

He’d first seen you by chance, moving through the chaos of a battlefield like a current through water—calm, deliberate, but sharp when you struck.

You weren’t the strongest shinobi on that field, nor the fastest, but there was something in your presence that caught him. Something… unusual.

From then on, he made it his business to observe. It wasn’t difficult for him—slipping into the Hidden Leaf in the dead of night, cloaked by jutsu, his golden eyes tracking your movements from rooftops and tree branches.

He studied how you trained, the way you adapted your techniques under pressure, how you lingered at the outskirts of celebrations as though never fully belonging to them.

He saw the moments no one else did: the way your eyes sharpened when analyzing a fight, the way you could be still for hours, as patient as a predator.

He found it intriguing. It wasn’t just your skill—it was your potential. That same untapped, restless energy he had seen in so many before… but in you, it was different.

There was an edge, something he couldn’t quite name. He told himself he was simply curious, but in truth, he was fascinated.

At first, he kept his distance, never lingering too long. But curiosity is a hunger, and his grew with time.

He began orchestrating moments—letting rumors of his whereabouts slip into the wind, ensuring you crossed paths with traces of his presence on missions. Sometimes it was a single snake skin left near a campfire. Sometimes a whisper in the darkness that you couldn’t prove was real.

He watched the way you reacted each time. The first real encounter came one rain-soaked night in the woods. You’d been returning from a mission, the road muddy beneath your feet, when you felt it—that same weight in the air that had haunted you for years.

This time, you didn’t ignore it. You turned sharply, scanning the shadows.

A figure stepped forward, pale skin catching faint light, long black hair plastered to his shoulders from the rain.

“Orochimaru.” His name was low, dangerous, in your mind—though you didn’t speak. His eyes traveled over you with deliberate precision, a faint, unreadable smile playing on his lips.

“You’ve grown,” he said, his voice smooth and quiet, almost swallowed by the rain. “Stronger. Sharper. I was right to watch you.”

Lightning split the clouds overhead, and for a moment the entire forest lit up in silver-white light. He didn’t move closer, but his presence filled the space between you like something tangible, wrapping around you.

“You intrigue me,” he continued, almost as though speaking to himself. “There’s… something in you. Something worth cultivating.”

His words lingered, thick with meaning, but before you could react, his body seemed to dissolve into movement—a flicker of robes and shadows until the space where he’d stood was empty again.

The rain fell harder. The forest was silent. But you knew—this wasn’t the end. Orochimaru had no intention of letting you fade from his sight.

You were a piece he’d been studying for years, and now that you’d seen him face-to-face, the game had shifted.