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Chapter 12 - The Root's depth
🕑 Added 2025-04-02 11:32:57 +0000 UTCDANZO SHIMURA
Hiruzen was weak. Danzō had long known this.
It was not a weakness of skill—Hiruzen had once been the strongest among them, the Professor, the God of Shinobi. Strength of arms, however, meant little when a man lacked the resolve to wield it. Hiruzen hesitated where he should have acted, sought peace where only war could secure Konoha’s future.
He spoke of the Will of Fire, of unity and understanding. Yet in his reign, the village had known only stagnation. He had let the Uchiha grow restless, let the clans grasp for influence, let the elders bicker like old women while Konoha’s enemies sharpened their blades.
Hiruzen clung to sentiment. Could not crush dissent before it festered. Could not make the hard choices that leadership demanded.
Hiruzen was gone. Retired. For years, Konoha should have been free of his weakness.
But an even weaker man had taken the helm.
Minato Namikaze. A wasted potential.
Danzō remembered him as a boy — small, fast, a blade waiting to be honed, but undeniably gifted. A rare talent. He had taken note early, had Root operatives track his progress. The boy was efficient, precise, unburdened by clan politics. He could have been shaped for greater use.
But the toad imbecile, that bumbling fool had interfered. That fool had sunk his claws into Minato, filled his head with childish ideals instead of discipline. Poisoned him with softness. Hiruzen’s weakness.
And now look at where they stood.
On the brink of implosion.
Danzō tightened his grip on his cane, the worn wood pressing into his palm as he walked down the dim underground underbelly of Konoha. His lone eye, sharp despite its age, flicked over the damp stone walls. The scent of earth and cold steel filled the air. Behind him, his two guards followed in perfect silence.
Danzō would be the first to admit that the clans had overreached. Their influence had grown too strong, their arrogance unchecked. But they were the spine of the village, its blood and bone. A necessary force—one that needed control.
Curbing them was necessary. Yes, but that required methodology. Power was not balanced with words alone. It was tempered through control, through fear where needed, through the quiet hand that ensured stability while others played at governance.
Minato did not understand this.
But even so, the sheer audacity of his foolishness still managed to surprise Danzō.
The Hokage had decreed that all clan-specific jutsu and techniques must be archived and taught in the public academy—an absurd attempt to eliminate elitism, to give every child access to the same tools of power, regardless of birth.
It was madness.
Minato, in his endless idealism, failed to see the consequences. The clans would never allow such theft of their legacies. Their techniques were more than weapons; they were heritage, the foundation of their power, the reason they held influence at all.
And Minato, much like his predecessor, blind to reality, sought to strip that from them.
Oh, if only that had been his sole foolish decree.
But no—Minato had not been satisfied with simply antagonizing the clans. He had to reach even deeper, to weaken the very foundation of the village. The Academy. And gutting their future.
While other villages trained relentlessly, sharpening their forces, hardening their shinobi, increase their ranks with each passing year, Konoha did the opposite.
He had delayed the Academy’s graduation age, and even going so far as to prohibit the Chūnin Exams for those below fifteen.
A naive, sentimental decree.
Danzō’s lips twisted, as if he had swallowed something bitter.
By then, a child in Kiri had already killed for the first time. A genin in Iwa had already marched onto a battlefield. A shinobi in Kumo had already been molded into a weapon.
But in Konoha, they would still be wasting away in classrooms. Still coddled in their homes, untested, unbloodied, soft. Weak.
Utterly repellent.
Minato had turned the village into a nursery. And he expected them to survive the coming wars.
He remembered his own genin days—six years old, kneeling in the mud as Tobirama-sensei’s gaze scraped over them like a whetstone. "The battlefield does not care for your age," the Nidaime had said. And he’d been right. Survival was not a privilege. It was a lesson carved into bones.
When Danzō reached the other mouth of the underground corridor, an Anbu-nin appeared before him, dropping to one knee. The sudden presence pulled him from his thoughts.
Age was creeping up on him. He found himself lost in thought more often these days.
His lone eye flicked over the masked shinobi. One of his own.
Danzō did not stop. He moved past the Anbu-nin without a word. There was no need. If there was anything to report on his target, he would first to know. Before the fool in the Hokage’s chair made another misstep that would push the village further into ruin. And that if he was allowed.
Soon, Danzō reached his destination.
Orochimaru’s laboratory. Or at least, the one those fools knew about.
The laboratory was… acceptable. At least, it was meant to appear so.
It was sterile, almost painfully so. The walls were smooth stone, the air heavy with the scent of disinfectant masking something far less pleasant. No bloodstains, no discarded remnants of failures—nothing overtly grotesque. A careful deception. Ever since the Hokage had discovered the previous laboratory, Orochimaru had made an effort to appear more conformist, more acceptable.
But Danzō knew better.
There were at least three other laboratories where Orochimaru conducted his more unrestrained experiments. And Danzō suspected there were more — ones even he did not know about.
That, he did not like.
It was why he was making such an unwise if not reckless visit.
The operatives assigned to watch Orochimaru were loyal. True. Loyal to him—to the Foundation. But that was not enough. Loyalty did not mean infallibility. Even his best could be deceived.
“My, my… This is unexpected.” Come the voice of the Snake Sannin smooth, unhurried. “To what do I owe the honor, Danzō-sama?”
Orochimaru greeted Danzō with a slow, deliberate smile—the kind that never reached his eyes. He tilted his head slightly, his golden gaze sharp with amusement, as if Danzō’s presence was some great, private joke.
Danzō didn’t answer immediately. His lone eye flicked over the room, cataloging every detail.
Orochimaru was doing nothing.
He simply sat in a chair, draped over it like a serpent basking in the sun. His arms rested on the armrests, his fingers tapping idly. The Snake was not working. Not reading. Not even pretending to.
Danzō’s lone eye met his gaze, expression unreadable.
“You’ve been quiet,” he said at last, voice like cold iron. “I don’t like quiet.”
“Oh?“ Orochimaru’s grin widened. “And here I thought you preferred when I behaved.”
Danzō didn’t waste time with pleasantries.
“For years now, you have produced nothing of value.” His voice was cold, measured. “Your research stagnates. The patience of some is wearing thin.” He let that linger, watching for any shift in expression. “They are starting to suspect you.”
Orochimaru’s lips curled before he let out a laugh — that uncanny, slithering sound that always made lesser men uneasy.
“Oh, how greedy they are,” he drawled, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Demanding progress, yet unwilling to loosen their grip.” His fingers drummed lazily against the armrest. “Research is not a simple thing, Danzō-sama. The grander the vision, the more time it consumes. The more… material it requires.” He leaned forward slightly. “Perhaps if they stopped restraining my test subjects, the results would come faster.”
Danzō nearly scoffed.
Restrained? Only in the eyes of the Hokage and his band of idealistic fools. Orochimaru had simply adjusted — shifted his ground, moved in shadows where the light could not reach, below the tree’s root.
Danzō should know. He had helped secure more than one shipment of live specimens himself.
How many missing-nin, how many captured enemy agents, had his Foundation delivered to this very lab? How many children, plucked from border villages with no one to mourn them?
And yet, the Snake had grown sluggish. Complacent. Arrogant. Acting on his own. Thinking he no longer needed the darkness of the shadow.
But Danzō was not here to remind the snake of the bird of prey circling above.
He would learn — or he would die. Like many before him.
What Danzō could do, however, was remind him of what he owed. And of his limits.
“The Hokage will never allow it,” Danzō stated flatly. “His ideals won’t bend.” A pause. “Because of this—”
Orochimaru already knew the rest.
They were not truly speaking. Not in words. This was a dance they had performed before.
Orochimaru exhaled through his teeth, a sound halfway between amusement and exasperation. That uncanny sigh of his.
“How unfortunate,” he murmured, tilting his head in mock regret. “So many restrictions. So little trust.” His fingers tapped against the chair’s armrest. Then, a smile. “A shame, truly… Progress is slow without apt test subjects.” He let the words stretch, his golden eyes gleaming. “And alive ones.”
"Then redirect your efforts," Danzō said. "If living human subjects are your constraint, choose ones the Hokage cannot protect."
Orochimaru chuckled, low and amused. “Ah, but I am merely a humble researcher, Danzō-sama.” His hands spread in mock helplessness. “I take only what I am given. I have no choice in the matter.” His golden eyes gleamed. Then, tilting his head, he added in a tone dripping with curiosity, “But tell me… what kind of test subjects would you recommend?”
Danzō didn’t hesitate.
“A Jinchūriki.”
Orochimaru stilled for a fraction of a second before throwing his head back in laughter. This time, the sound was genuine and a touch unhinged.
“Oh, Danzō-sama,” he drawled, eyes alight with amusement. “I highly doubt the Hokage will let me dissect his dear wife.”
Danzō didn’t so much as blink. He merely looked at Orochimaru, unimpressed.
“Sunagakure had lost control of their Tailed Beast. Their Kazekage dead.” he said simply. “The Jinchūriki has been running rampant for months.”
A pause. Orochimaru’s mirth faded into hunger, leaning forward.
"Oh? And you intend to... acquire it for me?" Orochimaru’s smile stretched, slow and serpentine. "Well, well. If you bring me the One-Tail’s vessel... I would be delighted to conduct... thorough examinations."
“I have no men to spare for the task, sadly.” Danzō shook his head. “And the Hokage keeps more eyes on me than on you. I can’t act freely.”
A half-truth.
Minato’s gaze was not sharp enough to pierce his dealings but Danzo could not afford to divert his attention now. The Uchiha were overreaching more. Their arrogance festered like an open wound. They needed to be handled before they acted first.
“Ah, what a shame,” Orochimaru sighed, the sound exaggerated in its disappointment. “But I no matter, I can wait. I am nothing if not patient. Take your time, Danzo-sama. The sands do not rush for anyone.” he said, his voice laced with mock encouragement.
Danzō stared at him for a long moment. Orochimaru only smiled, that insufferable, knowing curve of his lips.
“Or,” Danzō said, voice turning colder, harder, “you can send that Crystal Release subordinate of yours.”
Not a suggestion. A warning.
His agents found it difficult to infiltrate Orochimaru’s ranks — not for lack of skill, but because one could never be certain who was a subordinate and who was merely an unchained experiment.
The few that weren’t, were well hidden.
Like the Crystal Release kunoichi. A rare Kekkei Genkai. A weapon in Orochimaru’s arsenal.
Orochimaru stilled. A fraction of a second. Barely noticeable — except Danzō noticed everything. Then, as if on cue, the snake let out another laugh, long and indulgent, before settling back into his seat.
"Oh ho! So Guren has admirers in high places?" His golden eyes gleamed with amusement. "Humm. Very well. She could use the exercise. Let her stretch her legs... or perhaps her crystals." He waved a languid hand. "The One-Tail will make for an interesting test of her capabilities."
Danzo did not wait for further theatrics. He turned on his heel, the tap of his cane echoing.
Behind him, Orochimaru called out in that lilting, false-host tone, "Do visit again, Danzo-sama. My door is always—"
"I will expect progress," Danzo cut in, not looking back.
Guren’s name had cost Danzō three operatives and six months of surveillance.
Whether she succeeded in capturing the One-Tail’s vessel was irrelevant. That was not the point.
The point was to make Orochimaru move. To force his hand, expose his pieces, and — if fate favored Danzō — make him lose them.
More than anything, he needed the snake occupied. Kept chasing shadows, twisting in circles, too preoccupied with his own ambitions to become an unpredictable variable.
Danzō could not afford unpredictability for what was to come.
