Chương 112: Good Children Should Stay Away from Creepy Uncles

In any world, the transfer of power is rarely a seamless affair—especially when the predecessor is still alive and kicking. This transition was fundamentally different from the one between the first two Hokage. Hashirama Senju had been the village's deterrent and mascot from the start; the actual heavy lifting of administration and policy-making had always fallen to his brother, Tobirama.

When Hashirama passed, Tobirama stepped into the role with zero friction because the reigns of bureaucracy were already in his hands. If you asked what "power" Hashirama held, the answer was simple: his fist. Those who didn't listen were invited to discuss it with a thousand-armed wooden titan. But the current situation was far more delicate.

Even if Hiruzen Sarutobi had no desire to cling to his throne, the interest groups that had solidified around him over decades would inevitably push him in directions he didn't want to go. Unless he found the resolve to decisively purge the old guard from the center of power, the younger generation surrounding Minato would struggle to take root. Indecision breeds chaos. To hesitate is to invite rot. Yet, history shows that the "best" path is often the one humans are least likely to take.

Zhen felt that the old Hokage should either be "recycled" immediately or, at the very least, take up tea and shogi with his old classmates and stay out of the way. As long as Hiruzen held a title like "Hokage Advisor," the sheer inertia of his past influence would naturally dilute the new Hokage's authority. A military organization like a hidden village cannot survive a dual-leadership system. When Rasa sold out Pakura, it wasn't because he was a fool; it was because supreme power instinctively abhors division.

The following morning, after breakfast, the Dongye family donned their black funeral attire and headed toward the cemetery. The roads were thick with people dressed in mourning—mostly shinobi, and influential ones at that. Today marked the Fourth Hokage's first public event: a state funeral for the heroes of the Great War. The conflict had dragged on for years, and most of the fallen had long since been interred.

This ceremony was a symbolic final rest for those who had perished in the climactic battles on the northern front. In the graveyard, as the coffins were lowered into the earth, Minato Namikaze cast the first handful of soil. He then joined the others, rhythmic shovelfuls of dirt thumping against the wood until the graves were leveled. Stone monuments, prepared in advance, were set in place. Names, abilities, dreams—everything a person once was vanished the moment the soil settled.

Once the yellow earth covers the eyes, the strife of the living world no longer concerns the dead. That is the law of any ordinary world. Unfortunately, this was the Shinobi World. Here, even death didn't necessarily mean you were off the clock. The Edo Tensei was, in Zhen's opinion, a particularly wicked piece of magic. The newly minted Fourth Hokage personally assisted in the burial of four comrades.

His choices were tactically inclusive: an Uchiha, a member of the Hyuga branch house, a commoner ninja without a surname, and finally, one of his own former classmates. Afterward, Minato delivered a somber rendition of the traditional Will of Fire eulogy. The ceremony ended with a heavy silence that hung over the clearing. It was efficient—shinobi had little use for the multi-day, ornate rituals favored by the nobility. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Many families had brought their children, hoping the gravity of the moment would instill in them the true weight of a life. Itachi Uchiha stood by his father's side, listening to Fugaku's lecture on the Uchiha's unique responsibility toward peace. As the crowd began to disperse, Jiro Dongye patted his son's shoulder.

"Let's go, Zhen. Time to head back."

"You guys go ahead. I'll be back in a bit." His parents didn't object. After the war, they no longer viewed Zhen as a mere child. Their son was a Chunin of the Leaf, a powerhouse with a distinguished combat record. He was their greatest pride. Itachi didn't leave with his father either. He remained in the graveyard, lost in thought, when he noticed a tall, slender figure standing among the distant monuments. The morning sun couldn't seem to penetrate the man's long, raven hair.

His complexion was a sickly, porcelain white, half-hidden in the shadows. He looked profoundly solitary, a ghost among the living. Curiosity drove Itachi toward him. At this stage, Orochimaru had not yet developed his obsessive fixation on the Sharingan. He glanced at the Uchiha child approaching him and spoke in a voice like silk sliding over stone.

"Mourning the dead is a pointless endeavor. If death has any meaning at all, it is only found in how the deceased can be utilized." The sheer nihilism of the statement left the young Itachi baffled. He sensed that the man before him possessed a unique, albeit dark, perspective on the world. Itachi had never been interested in the games of children; he was obsessed with the ephemeral nature of existence.

"What is the meaning of life?" he asked.

"There is no meaning," Orochimaru replied.

"If there were, it would only exist within eternity. Wouldn't you agree, Dongye-kun?" Itachi blinked and turned.

"Senpai!"

"Hey, Itachi," Zhen acknowledged, before turning his gaze to the man peddling gloom.

"Lord Orochimaru, please refrain from poisoning the mind of a child who is just beginning to explore the world. Nihilism isn't a healthy diet for a growing boy." Orochimaru's tongue flicked out in a characteristic gesture of amusement.

"Oh? And what about you, Dongye-kun? You are a child yourself. Have you already deciphered the riddle of existence?"

"Life doesn't have a meaning. Life is the meaning."

"Heh... a quaint perspective. But human life is fragile and fleeting. Once it snuffs out, the meaning vanishes with it. Do you still find fault in my words?"

"Humans pursue peace, glory, power, and even your 'eternity' because those things are part of the experience of being alive. Every life has a different value to the one living it. And I hate to break it to you, Lord Orochimaru, but there is no such thing as eternity. All things with form eventually crumble into dust." Orochimaru let out a soft, dry chuckle.

"Perhaps. But I intend to be there to witness that final day. For me, that is eternity enough." With that, he turned and drifted away to pursue his obsessions. The Hokage's seat? It was important, yet utterly trivial to him. He was like a dog chasing a piece of wind-blown fluff—he couldn't stand to see another dog catch it, but once it was in his mouth, he would likely lose interest instantly.

What hurt wasn't losing the title; it was the sting of being discarded by his teacher, a rejection that echoed the loss of his parents and friends to the Pure Land. Orochimaru's vision had already transcended the narrow scope of a shinobi. He was chasing transcendence. There was nothing inherently wrong with the dream of immortality; it was a desire woven into the very DNA of humanity.

Had he not lost his humanity and begun trampling on the innocent in the process, he might have been a tragic hero rather than a villain. As for the killing? Every ninja's hands were stained. Zhen was only ten, and he'd lost count of the lives he'd taken. But his baseline remained: respect for life, and a refusal to harm the innocent. Itachi watched the retreating back.

"Senpai, was that Lord Orochimaru?"

"It was. Forget everything he said. The act of living—the fact that you and I met, that we are searching for these answers together—that process is where the meaning lies."

"I think I understand, Senpai."

"Itachi, growing up is like filling an empty cup. Your perceptions are the dye you pour into that water. You must be the one to choose your colors through diligent study. Don't let others stain your cup with their own darkness. That wouldn't be your color. Understand?"

"I understand. That's a very clear metaphor."

"Good. Now, stay away from creepy uncles like him. They love nothing more than staining the water of others."