I’m living in Konoha, with the template of Singed, the Mad Chemist from League of Legends.
My favorite pastime is dissecting a few spies over afternoon tea.
Everyone keeps calling me an evil scientist—but I’m an officially certified, fully compliant researcher of Konoha!
Come on, mate, does that even make sense?
Some say I’m one of Konoha’s “Two Wolves”—that’s pure slander!
I, Hikuro, never show off!
– Orochimaru: “The real problem is… why does Hikuro keep looking at me so strangely?”
– Tsunade: “You damned womanizer!
Give back the Wood Release Kekkei Genkai!”
– Hikuro: “Tsunade… you wouldn’t want the Wood Release falling into some other clan’s hands, would you?”
– Jiraiya: “Hikuro, could you tell me the full story about ‘Airi Has a Great Dad’?
I want to put it in my newest Make-Out Paradise!”
Synopsis:
I live in Konoha, bearing the template of Singed, the Mad Chemist from League of Legends.
My favorite hobby is dissecting a few spies over afternoon tea.
Everyone keeps calling me an evil scientist—but I’m an officially certified, fully compliant researcher of Konoha!
Come on, mate, does that even make sense?
Some say I’m one of Konoha’s “Two Wolves”—that’s pure slander!
I, Hikuro, never show off!
– Orochimaru: “The real problem is… why does Hikuro keep looking at me so strangely?”
– Tsunade: “You damned womanizer!
Give back the Wood Release Kekkei Genkai!”
– Hikuro: “Tsunade… you wouldn’t want the Wood Release falling into some other clan’s hands, would you?”
– Jiraiya: “Hikuro, could you tell me the full story about ‘Airi Has a Great Dad’?
I want to put it in my newest Make-Out Paradise!”
Chapter 1:
A black figure stood before the dissection table, a scalpel glinting with cold light under the shadowless lamp in his hand.
His fingers were slender and steady, the tips faintly pale—marks left by years of wearing rubber gloves.
On the table lay a young woman.
Her chest still rose and fell gently, her eyelashes fluttering softly under the effects of anesthesia.
This was one of the reasons he had pledged allegiance to Danzō.
With the Singed template now his, he needed a patron—and he needed test subjects.
“Start recording,” he said to the ninja holding a camera in the corner, his voice hoarse yet calm.
This was his one hundred and twenty-seventh experiment.
Each one brought him one step closer to the truth.
The moment he opened the subject’s chest, he spotted something abnormal: her heart was an unnatural dark crimson, crisscrossed with fine black veins that spread like a spiderweb across its surface.
“Fascinating…” He leaned in for a closer look.
Just then, the subject’s eyelids fluttered violently, and the readings on the monitors spiked wildly.
“No, not yet…”
He snatched a pale blue vial from the tray and drove the needle straight into her carotid artery.
Her eyes were pitch black—no sclera at all—staring blankly up at the ceiling.
Hikuro felt his own heart skip a beat, but he quickly steadied himself.
“Keep observing…” he murmured, as the scalpel descended once more.
The monitors blared a sharp alarm.
Every vital sign was plummeting.
Hikuro reached for the refrigerated cabinet.
The moment his fingers brushed against the custom serum labeled Life Formula No.
1, a biting chill crept up his arm.
The liquid inside glowed an eerie deep blue, shining faintly in the dim light like bioluminescent creatures from the deep ocean.
He lifted it carefully; beads of condensation slid down the glass and fell from his gloves.
This was the weakened version of Hashirama’s cells—three years of work, forged from over a thousand failed attempts.
“Injection dosage: 2 milliliters,” he whispered, drawing the fluid into the syringe.
As the needle pierced her artery, the glowing blue mixed with her dark crimson blood, swirling into a ghostly violet.
The monitors screamed again.
Her heart rate shot from 40 beats per minute straight to 200.
Hikuro stared fixed at the readouts, scribbling furiously in his logbook.
But the next second, every machine in the lab wailed at full volume.
Beep—!
Beep—!
Hikuro flinched back, and his logbook clattered to the floor.
“Aaah—!” The subject let out a bloodcurdling shriek, her body twisting and warping.
Branches burst from her skin, tearing through the lab’s ceiling.
Hikuro watched tender green leaves unfurl along the wood, shimmering with an unnatural sheen under the lamps.
“Help…
me…”
Her voice was warped, her vocal cords seemingly turning to wood as well.
Her eyes had deepened to chestnut brown, and her pupils reflected a tangled forest of branches.
Then, all growth stopped at once.
Silence fell over the lab like a shroud.
“Another failure.”
An old, raspy voice echoed from the shadows behind him.
Danzō stepped slowly into the light.
“Indeed,” Hikuro said calmly, wiping blood from his hands with alcohol-soaked gauze.
“The path to turning ordinary people into formidable ninja is still full of thorns.
We have many obstacles yet to cross.”
Other ANBU quietly lifted the failed subject away.
When Hikuro pulled down his surgical mask, he revealed a face that was surprisingly gentle and handsome—warm, easy to trust.
Danzō leaned on his cane, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.
“We’ve run through all the civilian spies.
Pause your work for now.”
He tilted his head, a sly glint in his eyes.
“Care for a little distraction?”
“The traveling shrine maiden?”
Hikuro stared back blankly, though his tone held a hint of amusement.
“You really don’t hold back, old man.”
“For her, this is the kindest end she could hope for, Hikuro,” Danzō chuckled, as if he had already planned every detail.
“In that case—hand her over to me.”
Hikuro had done a great deal in the dozen years since he arrived in this world and awoke to his past life.