In truth, Orochimaru knew better than anyone why he could not simply re-enter the Eight Branches technique again.
The world had no idea, but that form depended entirely on one irreplaceable catalyst.
A tiny amount of a special, immensely potent, almost otherworldly venom taken directly straight, from Hakuja, the White Snake Sage, true master of Ryūchi Cave, and a being far beyond conventional measure.
He had practically begged for it once.
Pestered, argued, and clawed for any advantage that could push him beyond his limits.
Eventually, the Sage had given it to him… though with an amused expression.
And a warning.
Your current body is too weak.
If you take this poison now, you will die.
That warning had been strange.
Very strange.
The White Snake Sage had never warned anyone before.
It had watched countless intruders perish over the centuries, hundreds, maybe thousands, those lucky enough to even find Ryūchi Cave.
Ambitious shinobi, wanderers, seekers of power.
All of them were ignored, devoured, or discarded.
But it warned him.
Orochimaru remembered standing among the bones of the failures, realizing instantly that the Sage's words were not a joke.
He had taken the warning seriously.
And on that same day… a number of things had clicked into place for him.
That strange, small white snake skin that was left on his parents' graves.
His unnaturally serpentine features, despite being born to entirely normal human parents… and never encountering a single other human who resembled him in even the slightest.
His lifelong odd pull toward Ryūchi Cave, almost as if someone, or something, had guided him from childhood.
How, in his younger shinobi days, he had managed to find the Cave's precise coordinates with almost suspicious ease.
It felt engineered.
Orchestrated.
All those strange coincidences made sense only after he finally reached the Cave.
The Sage did not view him as just another human intruder.
Someone as perceptive as Orochimaru could sense that much from only a few exchanged words and the atmosphere around them.
It didn't exactly "like" him, but it certainly seemed… vaguely interested.
They weren't the same, not even close, yet in a strange, unsettling way, Orochimaru felt a faint echo of similarity, at least enough for him to sense that this quiet, ancient being overflowing with power had singled him out.
As if it had some intention for him.
Some hidden purpose.
Some detached curiosity… or a quiet wager placed on his future.
And because of that subtle, unnerving certainty, Orochimaru pushed further.
After all, the White Snake Sage never rejected him.
It had been somehow observing him the entire time.
Waiting.
And when it said his body was "too weak now," the implication was unmistakable.
Change your body.
Shed your skin.
Become something else.
Be worthy of us.
That single cryptic suggestion became the seed of everything he later created.
His "White Snake Body".
His "Living Corpse Reincarnation".
And his ability to hop between vessels in search of the "perfect" one.
A few words.
But from a being like that, it was enough to shape decades of Orochimaru's choices later.
And he wasn't foolish.
He pushed even further back then.
He dug, bargained, and maneuvered until he obtained a small vial of the Sage's venom.
That venom made it possible for him to draw on natural energy externally and in limited amounts, even without achieving Sage Mode.
It became the basis of his life-long Cursed Mark research.
Jūgo's clan merely provided the final key.
Most importantly…
The venom was the core ingredient that allowed him to enter his ultimate state, the Eight Branches.
But the supply was finite.
He had used most of it when he permanently remade his body into that monstrous white snake of a thousand snakes, his true physiology now, the source of his durability and his ability to reincarnate by shedding and switching vessels, both spiritually and physically.
What little venom remained could activate the Eight Branches only temporarily.
And now?
After this battle?
The last precious remnants were nearly gone.
The White Snake Sage had refused to give him more.
Always.
So Orochimaru knew the truth:
He could not risk using the last drops here.
Not when victory was uncertain.
Not with all five opponents still standing, and could maybe prevent the full transformation again.
Not when he lacked the chakra and the serpents to sustain the form long or deep enough.
He would lose everything, including the path to his next evolution.
So inwardly, he accepted the logic of retreat.
He had no choice.
He was also… curious.
His mention of an "equal-ground exchange" intrigued him more than he would ever show.
Orochimaru hated the taste of humiliation, especially coming from a boy who could, in sheer spiritual age, be his grandson.
But the boy had lost far more today than he had.
And yet he remained calm, rational, strategic.
That alone forced Orochimaru to reevaluate him again.
And it was enough to cool his own pride.
Enough to continue the conversation instead of lunging for a final, suicidal clash.
The serpent lowered its head ever so slightly again.
Orochimaru was ready to hear what came next.
Orochimaru exhaled slowly, the last remnants of serpent flesh peeling off his shoulders as he stepped forward.
His voice, when it returned, was quieter than before, stripped of theatrics, carrying only the dry rasp of a man who had been forced to think too much in too little time.
"…Equal trade, hm?"
He studied Kimimaro and the four girls one by one, eyes lingering a heartbeat longer on Akane's still-glowing Mangekyō.
The corners of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer.
"You're an interesting one," he murmured, "to speak of mutual benefit after losing so much in a single day. Most people throw themselves into revenge or collapse under the weight of their own emotions."
His gaze sharpened.
"But here you stand, offering negotiation while barely holding your body together. It is… impressive."
A faint, sardonic breath escaped him.
"And logical."
He let his tongue flick out once, tasting the air, tasting the blood, the burnt chakra, the half-dead tension.
"To continue this fight would leave us all in ruins. Even if I killed you, I doubt I'd remain alive long enough to enjoy the victory."
He tilted his head.
"And you… You would prefer not to die at all. Sensible."
For the first time since arriving on the island, Orochimaru's expression settled into something resembling neutrality, cold, calculating, professionally detached.
"So," he continued, voice dropping to a low, almost conversational tone, "let me hear it. What exactly do you imagine an 'equal-ground' exchange between us would look like?"
His golden eyes narrowed, glinting with a mixture of suspicion and genuine intrigue.
"Propose something worthy of my attention… and I may consider letting this little tragedy end without further casualties."
Some of the tension Kimimaro had been carrying finally eased when he heard Orochimaru's tone soften.
That single shift was enough.
He understood immediately.
Orochimaru was backing down.
Completely.
He had tested him successfully.
A tiny, knowing smirk tugged at Kimimaro's lips, barely visible, but unmistakably cheeky.
"Well then," he said lightly, "before we discuss any trading… you'll first have to offer an apology of sorts. Or at least compensate for the tremendous losses you caused here."
Orochimaru blinked once, slowly.
Kimimaro continued, unfazed.
"My hideout destroyed. My people slaughtered. My team nearly killed. You made quite the mess. Offsetting that damage seems like a reasonable opening gesture… don't you think?"
For a moment, the air went still.
Then Orochimaru exhaled through his nose, a thin, almost amused sound, dark but not hostile.
His eyes narrowed with that familiar scientific glint.
"…You are a bold one."
He tilted his chin up slightly.
"And correct. I was the aggressor. And between us, your side lost far more today."
A pause.
"Very well. I can accept the logic of compensation. But," he added, a faint smirk curling at the corner of his mouth, "you had better not disappoint me with what you intend to request."
His golden eyes sharpened.
"What is it you want, Kimimaro? State your price."
Kimimaro answered without hesitation.
"First," he said, "a set of advanced scientific instruments I haven't been able to procure. Equipment with real precision. The kind I need for the next stages of my research. We're… limited, to put it mildly. And since you began collecting such tools decades before I was even alive, you likely have spares or prototypes that we can't acquire on our own easily now."
Orochimaru raised an eyebrow, not mockingly, but in genuine surprise.
He was asked for scientific instruments.
Not the other, more desirable kinds of things, at face value, that someone like him would normally have in his possession.
Not forbidden jutsu.
Not power - outright.
Not secrets of resurrection.
Science.
Kimimaro continued.
"And second… your general scientific notes. A condensed outline of your lifelong research. Not the sensitive material, just the fundamentals. Summaries. Frameworks. Anything that would push our work forward."
For the first time since meeting him, Orochimaru looked almost… pleased.
"Fascinating," he murmured. "Another mind that values true advancement over shallow power displays. How rare. How very rare."
His gaze warmed, not kindly, but academically, the way a veteran scientist might look at a promising young colleague.
"You understand the weight of what you're asking for," he said. "And the value of it. Most shinobi your age would beg for flashy techniques… not research methodology."
Kimimaro only shrugged lightly.
"Flashy jutsu are replaceable. Foundational knowledge is not."
Orochimaru let out a soft laugh, low, rasping, but far lighter than before.
"Very well," he said. "If we reach an agreement on the main exchange, I will prepare the instruments… and the notes alongside the rest. Consider them your 'apology' vectors."
His eyes gleamed with genuine curiosity now.
"So, Kimimaro," he continued, voice dropping into a silken, expectant murmur, "what is the real trade you have in mind? You've caught my attention. Impress me."
And with that, the atmosphere shifted, Orochimaru more intrigued than ever.
Kimimaro was fully composed, and the battlefield was quiet around them.