**Doctor 1**: "OROCHIMARU-sama... the last test child... survived the experiment."

The words trembled out of the researcher's mouth, his voice a cocktail of awe and dread. He stood before Orochimaru, the architect of a project that flirted with the divine and danced with the diabolical—a living weapon of mass destruction. The researcher's hands shook, not just from fear of the man before him, but from the weight of the revelation.

**Orochimaru**: "What? The last test subject child is still stable and alive? Then it means it's a success. We can re-create the ultimate shinobi army."

His voice slithered through the air, cold and calculating. The miracle of one survivor out of five hundred did not escape him; it was a statistic to be exploited. His eyes, narrow and serpentine, devoured the reports with a fanatic's zeal, ensuring his creation was unharmed.

**?:** "Is it alive? Orochimaru?"

The question echoed through the vast laboratory, its source hidden within bandages and shadows. The old voice, familiar yet chilling, demanded results—good results.

Orochimaru paused, the presence of his benefactor, his financier, weighing heavily on his next words.

**Orochimaru**: "Danzo-sama. Although he is alive, whether he is awake or not is a different matter."

He spoke plainly, a rare honesty in his voice, for he knew the cunning old man could easily snuff out his dreams of immortality.

Danzo's expression remained unreadable, his eyes sharp as he probed the chakra levels of the experimental subject.

**Danzo**: "His chakra is enormous for an eight-year-old boy. He has the reserves of a Jonin at this young age. He might be the perfect weapon... Can we mass produce him?"

Curiosity laced his words, a rarity for the old war hawk. For once, something had gone right for him, something beyond leading the shadowy root organization.

Orochimaru's lips curled into a smile, a silent command for his subordinate to answer the dangerous question.

**Researcher 2**: "Lord Danzo, it's impossible now. All our resources have been depleted, as well as all the assets for these experiments."

Danzo's curse was a whisper of frustration, a rare crack in his stoic facade.

**Danzo**: "Damn it, Orochimaru. Nevertheless, I will be taking him. I need good weapons for the sake of the village."

The threat in his voice was clear, and no one dared explain the impossibility of mass production, the low survival rates—they valued their lives too much.

**Orochimaru**: "I never thought there would be a survivor at all. But there is, so you can have him. But in exchange, you know you have to support me for the Hokage position."

**Danzo**: "Hmm, I will. You don't need to remind me. Although the election will be hard, and there is no guarantee for now."

Their conversation continued, a dance of power and ambition, until both were satisfied with the exchange.

Unseen, unheard, the test subject lay still, a silent witness to the machinations around him. Though paralyzed, his mind was a tempest of thoughts, each word from the men above him etching into his consciousness.

**Danzo**: "So what should we name him?"

The question hung in the air, a codename for the unnamed subject soon to be under his care.

**Orochimaru**: "Yes, I had a name for him, and whenever the name is said, he reacts to it."

The revelation was a spark in the dark, a sign of life from the boy deemed a weapon.

**Danzo**: "Wait, how does he react to it? You said he will stay paralyzed for a while?"

**Orochimaru**: "Don't know how, but he reacts. Why don't I demonstrate it to you myself? Ryujin!"

The name cut through the silence, a test, a call to the boy who was more than a project, more than a weapon—he was Ryujin.

He called out abruptly. The sudden exclamation left Danzo surprised, his expression reflecting a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.

Danzo: !? So does it mean he can hear and understand us but he is physically paralyzed? How long do you think it will take for him to restore his body?

Danzo inquired, trying to comprehend the intricacies of the situation. Orochimaru, ever enigmatic, admitted not knowing the hows and whys but affirmed the observable reaction. The prospect of the person regaining their body remained uncertain, leaving Danzo with a sense of cautious acceptance.

Orochimaru: NO clue, day, month, years?

Danzo: …So I have to wait then, Very well. Now you can focus on the wood release experiment.

Danzo conceded, acknowledging the unpredictable timeline ahead. He swiftly redirected the conversation, instructing Orochimaru to focus on the wood release experiment, highlighting the urgency of their other endeavors.

Orochimaru: Yes, I will. How will you ship him in root Anbu?

Danzo: That's my worry, you keep doing what I told you.

Orochimaru, committed to his tasks, agreed to the directive. The conversation shifted to the logistics of transporting the mysterious individual, with Danzo expressing concern about the secure involvement of the Root Anbu. It was a moment of strategic planning, a glimpse into the complex web of intrigue and experimentation orchestrated by Danzo's calculated leadership.