Teenagers must not consume alcohol.

From a young age, Orochimaru was regarded by the Third Hokage as a prodigy, a talent seen only once in decades. Because of this, Jiraiya had always felt envious. Just a couple of days ago, at a gathering, Jiraiya got drunk and complained that in Sarutobi-sensei's heart, there was only ever Orochimaru.

Orochimaru himself was never particularly interested in becoming Hokage, but if the Third truly wished for him to inherit the name, he... would not refuse his teacher's goodwill.

“Lord Orochimaru is truly indifferent to fame and fortune. It seems I was overthinking things,” Kisame said, his expression suddenly filled with sincere admiration upon hearing Orochimaru’s response.

“Oh? Is there something you wish to say?” Orochimaru raised an eyebrow, catching the implication in Kisame’s words.

Seeing that his bait had worked, Kisame began to swear by his story, fabricating rumors: “Here’s the thing. After I won first place in the Chunin Exams a couple of days ago, Lord Mizukage summoned me. When I went to see him, I happened to witness him chatting with the Third Hokage. During their conversation, the Third seemed to hold a particular regard for a young Jonin named Minato Namikaze—he praised him endlessly, showering him with compliments. He mentioned that Minato had mastered the Second Hokage’s Flying Thunder God technique, was well-liked in the village, and was considered the inheritor of the Will of Fire. The Third even made a point of introducing Minato to the Mizukage.

That guy was the chief examiner for the third round of the Chunin Exams and showed blatant favoritism toward my opponent—his student, Obito Uchiha. Because of that, I really dislike Minato Namikaze, so I’m telling you this, Lord Orochimaru. If you ever run for Hokage, you mustn’t lose to him.”

Kisame finished spinning his tale in one breath, then patted himself off and left, leaving Orochimaru standing in stunned silence.

“Minato Namikaze…” Orochimaru murmured, an image of sunny blond hair and a handsome face appearing in his mind. That young man was indeed favored by the Third.

Moreover, in recent years, Orochimaru’s clandestine study of forbidden arts and human experimentation had seemingly come to the Third’s attention, possibly stirring a measure of discontent.

These clues and signs, woven together, made Orochimaru believe much of Kisame’s story.

“Hmph.” After a moment, he gave a cold snort, his expression darkening as he swept his sleeve and departed.

Having successfully sowed discord and shaken Orochimaru’s resolve, Kisame did not—as he claimed—return to the hotel to sleep. Instead, he took the snake meat and sought out a nearby late-night barbecue shop still open for business.

“Hey, do you serve grilled snake meat?” he asked the moment he entered.

“Er… I don’t think so,” the owner, busy at the grill, thought for a moment and shook his head.

“Here, I’ve got some.” Kisame produced a hefty slab of snake meat, set it on the table, and instructed, “Please grill this for me, and add extra cumin.”

“Sir, we don’t allow customers to bring their own ingredients,” the owner replied, looking troubled.

“That’s only because I haven’t been here before. If I’d come earlier, you’d have already grilled it for me,” Kisame retorted with his usual line, flashing a friendly grin that revealed two rows of sharp, menacing teeth.

“I—I understand,” the owner’s face changed, and he carefully picked up the snake meat, heading for the sink to wash it.

Soon, the snake meat was grilling, filling the air with a tantalizing aroma.

“Sir, your grilled snake meat is ready. I’ll also bring you a bottle of sake,” the owner said enthusiastically, setting the dish before Kisame and offering a complimentary bottle, as Kisame had paid generously in advance.

To the owner’s surprise, Kisame frowned and pushed the bottle back: “I’m a teenager. Alcohol stunts growth. Please substitute a glass of juice.”

Teenager? Growth?

The owner stared in bewilderment at Kisame’s towering, muscular frame—nearly two meters tall—wondering what kind of teenager he was looking at.

Suddenly, the owner found Kisame’s face familiar. He looked closely, then realized, “You’re… You’re Kisame Hoshigaki from the Hidden Mist Village, the top scorer in this year’s Chunin Exams!”

In that case, Kisame was indeed a teenager.

Not daring to neglect him, the owner hurried to fetch Kisame a juice.

Kisame spent half an hour feasting on the snake meat, finally returning to his hotel fully satisfied and sleeping soundly.

The next morning, the Hidden Mist party left their hotel and began their journey home.

As Kisame walked down the street, he suddenly sensed a murderous intent amid the crowd. Turning, he saw Tsunade standing by the roadside, glaring at him like an enraged tigress.

Kisame smiled faintly, showing no fear. Instead, he tapped his head, producing a “clang-clang” sound.

“That wretched brat…” Tsunade recalled the humiliation of that night, her fists clenching in rage. She nearly exploded with fury, but could do nothing as Kisame strode away.

Shizune stood beside Tsunade, watching her teacher’s impotent rage with a sigh. She gently reminded, “Lady Tsunade, you promised Director Yamamoto you’d report to the film crew today. If you stand him up again, we might have to sell the ancestral home to pay the penalty.”

“What’s the rush? Isn’t the director coming to find me? Look.” Tsunade patted Shizune’s shoulder and motioned her to look ahead.

Sure enough, Director Yamamoto and a young man approached from the distance.

The young man wore an exquisite golden kimono, handsome and graceful, attracting many admiring glances along the way.

“Lady Tsunade, why are you here? I’ve been searching everywhere,” Director Yamamoto wiped sweat from his brow, finally relieved. He then enthusiastically introduced the young man beside him to Tsunade, “This is the scion of the Fuji family—not only our sponsor, but also the male lead in this production. I brought him here especially so you two could meet.”

“Master Fuji? Are you the son of that prominent businessman?” Shizune was startled, her voice tense with surprise.

“I am,” Master Fuji replied with a smile, nodding to Shizune while discreetly observing Tsunade’s reaction.

His father was a wealthy merchant of the Land of Fire, whose business empire spanned the five great nations—one of the rare super-rich in the ninja world.

The Fuji family specialized in selling their own electronic products: televisions, computers, radios, tape recorders, video cameras, and photographic equipment. It was no exaggeration to say that half the digital appliances in every home in the Leaf Village were made by the Fuji family.

Even Shizune, usually reserved and quiet, couldn’t help but exclaim when she learned of Master Fuji’s identity.

Master Fuji was somewhat like Asuma—both were rebellious types. He refused to follow his father’s path, inheriting billions in family wealth, and instead harbored a dream of being a movie star since childhood.

This time, he was pursuing that dream.

“Lady Tsunade, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Please take care of me,” Master Fuji smiled warmly, extending his hand to Tsunade.

However, Tsunade was less than enthusiastic, for—

The image of Kisame Hoshigaki’s infuriating shark-like face lingered in her mind, impossible to dispel.