Three days remained until the announcement of Konoha's Fourth Hokage, and a tense anticipation simmered beneath the village's otherwise peaceful surface.
In a courtyard near the village center, snow drifted silently from the gray sky. Orochimaru sat on the engawa of a traditional wooden home, his pale fingers catching delicate flakes that melted instantly on contact.
He wore a stark white kimono, thin and elegant. Though the air was frigid, his chakra kept the cold at bay. A silent chill, however, remained deep within him—one untouched by temperature.
Three days until the decision.
To say he had no interest in the election would be a lie.
The village's shinobi regarded the Hokage's seat with deep reverence. For many, it symbolized peace, strength, and Konoha's future.
The only ones who seemed indifferent were those like Tsunade, who had distanced herself after personal loss, and Jiraiya, who left the village a few days ago, claiming he needed "inspiration" for his next novel. Orochimaru scoffed at such excuses. To him, it was simply another way to run from reality.
Still, Jiraiya's departure meant one less rival.
Orochimaru understood the undercurrent of the situation clearly. Whispers had begun circulating—rumors about his private research, unnatural experiments, and unethical methods. Someone had leaked information that was never meant to surface. Now, even his revered teacher, Hiruzen Sarutobi, appeared hesitant. Hiruzen, once firm in his admiration, now seemed to lean toward a new candidate: Namikaze Minato.
A golden boy of the newer generation. Mild-mannered. Brave. Beloved by the masses.
A war hero, student of Jiraiya, and beacon of Konoha's youthful idealism.
Orochimaru smirked bitterly. "So, you've made your choice, Sarutobi-sensei?"
The sky darkened, dusk slipping beneath thick clouds. Snow swirled in the air like fine ash.
Danzo had approached him more than once in recent weeks, with increasingly urgent proposals. He promised support for Orochimaru's candidacy—but only in exchange for full control of the ANBU Root division, should Orochimaru become Hokage. The older man cloaked his desperation in formality, but Orochimaru saw through it easily. Something had rattled Danzo. A failed mission, perhaps. A power play that backfired.
It amused him. Whatever misstep Danzo made, it left him scrambling, eager to solidify influence before it slipped away. Orochimaru played along—he had little interest in the administrative burdens of the Hokage's office, but if the title furthered his research, he wouldn't oppose it.
And if not?
There were other paths. He had already begun walking them.
Lately, his research had stagnated. New discoveries eluded him, and his frustration mounted. He ordered more test subjects—prisoners, missing-nin, the unfortunate. Their screams faded quickly in his underground labs. But even they yielded little. Orochimaru knew well the risk of continuing his experiments inside the village. But he also knew he wouldn't stop.
Danzo wouldn't protect him if it all came to light. He'd be the first to cast blame.
Such was the shinobi world: a world of secrets, where truth only mattered if it couldn't be hidden.
Watching the snowflakes drift through the air, Orochimaru smiled faintly, then disappeared into the house. Night had fallen. His time for research had arrived.
Becoming Hokage?
It was a minor dream. A fading trace of the boy he once was—Konoha's prodigy.
Now, that identity felt distant. Almost irrelevant.
Elsewhere, Uchiha Kai walked silently through the snowy streets of Konoha.
The village, cloaked in a pale white veil, seemed still—yet the tension beneath was palpable. The year was drawing to a close, and with it, a new Hokage would be chosen.
That choice could change everything.
Kai tugged his cloak tighter. Chakra kept his body warm, but as someone born in the southern reaches in his previous life, he had never liked snow.
He had done what he could to ensure Namikaze Minato's rise. All signs pointed in that direction—the manga's timeline confirmed it. But doubt still lingered. After all, history wasn't immutable.
He sighed. "Three days. Just three more days, and it'll be decided."
But even if the election went awry, he had contingency plans.
Uchiha Fugaku was courting minor clans and civilian shinobi, laying quiet groundwork for long-term influence. The transformation of the Uchiha clan had already begun—internal reform that would be painful, divisive, even bloody.
Some stubborn elements—radical hardliners, reckless hotheads—might need to be removed. Even if one of them awakened the Mangekyō Sharingan.
Kai wasn't squeamish about such choices. If survival required cruelty, then cruelty it would be.
Still, those were last resorts. His real plan depended on Minato's election. If that happened, the Uchiha clan could shift its course—evolve politically and socially, and prepare for what was still to come.
Including the disaster that Kai knew loomed in the near future: the Nine-Tails attack.
He wouldn't let history repeat itself.
Back then, Fugaku had wanted to support Minato but was pressured by Danzo into silence. The Third Hokage stepped back, letting the new generation shoulder the risk.
The price was enormous.
Minato died. Kushina died. The Uchiha clan took the blame, and the fuse was lit.
This time, Kai would be watching carefully. If Danzo interfered again… he wouldn't be so lucky.
There was also the matter of Uchiha Osamu.
The man had been reduced to a husk—emotionally shattered, physically broken—before finally awakening his Mangekyō Sharingan in a final surge of despair.
Kai and Fugaku were ready. They'd learned from past failures.
They didn't transplant his eyes—not yet. Kai needed to study Osamu's transformation carefully. An Eternal Mangekyō was within reach, and both Kai and Fugaku knew it. That knowledge created tension, a dangerous balance.
"I can't fully trust him," Kai thought. "But without him, I wouldn't have come this far."
Their alliance was useful—but fragile. Gratitude didn't erase caution. Kai would continue to work with Fugaku… while preparing for the moment they might stand opposed.
Until then, the snow continued to fall.
Quiet. Cold. Unforgiving.
Just like the future.