Another Life In Naruto

A little while later, Haruto sensed another figure approaching—a subtle shift in vibrations, a near-silent rhythm to the steps. His instincts sharpened, and he focused, feeling the outline through his awareness.

No… it couldn't be. The silhouette, the way they moved—it was too familiar, a shape he'd seen a hundred times in the anime. He felt a chill run down his spine as realization began to dawn.

Damn it.

The figure drew closer, and with each step, Haruto's suspicion deepened. If he was right—if this was who he thought it was—this could be a real pain in the ass...

A quiet knock sounded at the door, breaking Haruto's thoughts. He took a slow, steadying breath before opening it, already sensing the presence on the other side. But even he wasn't prepared for the figure that awaited him.

Standing in the doorway was Orochimaru, his unmistakable form lit by the muted sunlight outside. Though he appeared younger than the man Haruto remembered from the anime—his face less hollow, his features smoother—there was no mistaking him. Orochimaru's eyes, a piercing gold framed by dark lashes, held an unsettling fascination, cold yet undeniably sharp, like a predator studying its prey.

"Hello, Haruto," Orochimaru greeted, his voice low and serpentine, drawn out as if savoring each word. His gaze lingered on Haruto's face, pausing with interest on the bandages covering his eyes. A thin, knowing smile curved across Orochimaru's lips.

Ochimaru stated "I will be the Anbu captain monitoring you as ordered by the hockage."

Orochimaru observed the young shinobi before him with a gaze as sharp and focused as a blade. Haruto stood in silence, expression unreadable beneath the bandages that covered his eyes, yet his posture betrayed a hint of tension. It was subtle, barely detectable, but Orochimaru's discerning eye didn't miss it. There was something profoundly intriguing about this boy—a specimen of raw potential, shrouded in mystery and bound by secrets Orochimaru was eager to uncover.

The Hokage's assignment had been strategic, he knew. Orochimaru was here not just as Haruto's guide, but as his observer, to assess the boy's power and loyalty, to understand if the whispers about his strength were more than just rumor. And if they were, Orochimaru was determined to uncover every layer. After all, Haruto's file was one of rare fascination: blind, yet gifted with a unique sensory prowess, that was still a complete mystery. A unique evolution, Orochimaru thought, eyes glinting with curiosity.

Orochimaru's gaze lingered on the bandages covering Haruto's eyes, his mind alive with speculation. It was noted he had known Danzo and the elders intruded on a meeting with the hockage Haruto had known they were coming. What techniques had allowed him to reach this level of sensory precision? How had he transformed blindness into a weapon? Orochimaru's fingers twitched, a pang of desire to study this ability more deeply. How does he truly perceive? How far does this awareness extend?

Beyond his unique senses, Haruto possessed a physique that defied his years. His form was dense, compact with muscle, the kind of build not seen in most thirteen-year-olds—a body that had been tempered, perhaps enhanced. The whispers of his resilience, his rumored training methods, the possible body treatments—each fragment of information only fed Orochimaru's fascination. How did he grow so strong, so quickly? The question echoed in his mind, gnawing at his curiosity. And the fact that Haruto's origins were shrouded in mystery only intensified Orochimaru's interest.

But even more than his body, it was the boy's restraint that captivated Orochimaru. Haruto's control was remarkable, his composure so finely tuned that even Orochimaru could only detect the faintest edges of tension. The boy had the quiet of someone who had endured more than his share of trials, who had learned not to break under scrutiny. Orochimaru's smile widened, almost imperceptibly. There was something of himself in that control, that silence—a hidden fire kept deliberately in check.

Still, Orochimaru's gaze remained piercing, unyielding. He would see through that silence, unravel every secret Haruto sought to hide. He was a scientist before he was a shinobi, and Haruto was no ordinary student; he was a mystery to be dissected, a puzzle that Orochimaru would solve. For Orochimaru, this mission was more than just war. It was an opportunity to see the boy in the crucible of combat, to watch how he moved, how he adapted, how he thought. Every choice, every hesitation, would be noted, every flaw cataloged for future study.

Haruto stood still, keeping his posture composed, though beneath the surface, unease rippled through him. Orochimaru's presence was unmistakable—a quiet, predatory energy that radiated with an intensity he remembered all too well from the anime. But here, standing only a few feet away, that energy felt sharper, more invasive.

As Orochimaru spoke, Haruto could feel the weight of his scrutiny, every word laced with a curiosity that felt almost clinical, he wondered if he was already dissecting him with every glance. The Hokage's choice had been a strategic one, but Haruto couldn't shake the feeling that he was more an experiment than a shinobi in the eyes of Orochimaru. This was someone who would leave no detail unnoticed, who would note every strength, every flaw, and catalog them for whatever purpose he saw fit.

"I'm ready," Haruto said, his voice calm and steady, betraying none of the tension beneath the surface. He knew he had to be careful; every move he made from here would be under the closest watch. L

Inwardly, he clenched his jaw, a flicker of annoyance sparking beneath his steady facade. Aw, fuck… he thought, feeling the weight of Orochimaru's presence more keenly than ever. This is going to be a pain.