I was still sprawled on the branch like a lazy cat, eyes shut, soaking in the forest breeze and pretending to nap, when I felt them—those sticky, slithery, unmistakably pervy eyes crawling over my skin.
"Come out," I said, not bothering to open my eyes. My tone was colder than Sasuke after a bad day.
A low chuckle slithered out from the shadows. "You noticed me long ago?"
"Took you long enough to realize."
There was a flicker in the trees, and then he appeared—Orochimaru. The man looked like someone had crossbred a snake with a Victorian vampire and sprinkled a midlife crisis on top. He stared at me with those eerie, serpent eyes, clearly amused.
What was worse? His chakra was thin—like barely-there, translucent thin—but I'd still sensed him. That was the creepy part. It wasn't about power. It was about the intent.
"Fun, isn't it?" he purred.
"Yeah," I drawled, cracking an eye open. "This slimy, cold sweat you exude? Really does wonders for my mood."
Orochimaru smiled. Not kindly. "How impolite," he said, voice oily with amusement. "But I won't hold it against you. After all, I know we're the same type."
I raised an eyebrow. "The type that hates unsolicited conversation?"
"The type that doesn't belong in a cage."
Oh great. He was doing the speech.
"A tiger doesn't belong behind the gates of a village," Orochimaru said with a glint in his eye. "Konoha can't contain you, Uchiha."
"…What?"
He chuckled, a deep, snake-oil laugh that made my skin crawl. "You're clever. Visionary. Trapped in a village that fears innovation. I understand that pain."
Pain?
Suffering?
Wait, did he think I was edgy?
Was this guy trying to recruit me with generic villain therapy lines?
"I mean," Orochimaru went on, "you wear an eyepatch every day. Clearly, something's wrong with your Sharingan. Doesn't it torment you? Being Uchiha… yet unable to wield the eyes that define your clan?"
Ah. So he had been stalking me.
Creep levels: Maxed.
"No one understands you. Not in your clan. Not in Konoha. They're too… narrow. Too scared of minds like yours. But me?" He leaned forward, tongue flicking out like the world's worst party trick. "I understand you."
"I study life. The truth behind it. The body, the soul, the potential. Everything this world tries to bury."
"And you—Uchiha Satoru—you speak of truth and life. We're the same. Let me be your teacher."
He extended his hand, dripping temptation and god knows what else.
I blinked. Stared. Then blinked again.
Same people?
I looked down at myself—tall, handsome, well-dressed, practically glowing in the dappled sunlight. Then looked at him: pale, moist, and probably excreting something acidic.
Same… people?
Bro, we weren't even the same species.
No way in hell was I linking up with someone who looked like he shed every full moon.
"I think you've got the wrong guy," I said flatly. "Not interested in your science projects. No pain. No hate. No teacher-worship."
My tone was ice. My chakra? Already swirling. I was prepping for combat while trying to figure out how to not blow my cover sky-high.
Orochimaru's smile widened, unbothered. "No hatred? Hmm… you can't hide it forever."
He was still in Riddler mode, tossing around cryptic one-liners like I was supposed to decode him.
"You talk a lot for someone trying to sound mysterious," I deadpanned. "Maybe next time just use a PowerPoint."
He laughed again, that weird, hollow, unsettling laugh.
"You'll come to me eventually," he whispered, eyes glittering. "Green fruit is always the most tempting."
Green fruit? What was this, a grocery analogy?
"Don't rot before we meet again."
With that cryptic send-off and zero explanation—classic Orochimaru—he vanished back into the trees.
"…Green fruit?"
"…Apple theory?"
"…Did Orochimaru just get possessed by Hisoka?"
I squinted after him, half-expecting a clown to pop out next.
"World barriers opening, crossover fanfic unlocked?"
I shook my head, sighing. "What a weirdo."
But I stayed up in that tree for a long while after, the tension not quite leaving my shoulders.
Because for all the slime and drama, one thing was true:
Orochimaru didn't just see people—he read them.
And that made him dangerous.