Temporary laboratory No. 1.
It was a newly built wooden cabin. The wind blew in from all sides.
The air was thick with the smell of fresh wood shavings and damp earth.
Shu Shiraishi sat at a rough wooden table.
Several sheets of yellowed parchment lay spread across it, with half a cup of cold water beside them.
He held a charcoal pencil, sketching the outlines of several gears on the paper.
Footsteps sounded outside the door.
Bang.
The wooden door was shoved roughly open. Wind swept sand and dirt in from outside.
An Anbu Ninja wearing a cat mask walked in, carrying a frail boy.
The Anbu Ninja let go.
The boy fell onto the floor like a sack of rags, landing with a dull thud.
"Lord Hokage, I've brought him." The Anbu Ninja dropped to one knee. "Orochimaru, from the orphanage."
Shu Shiraishi looked up and put down his charcoal pencil.
"Leave."
The Anbu Ninja nodded, stepped out of the cabin, and pulled the drafty wooden door shut behind him.
Orochimaru lay face down on the splinter-covered floor.
He slowly got to his feet without crying out in pain.
He was thirteen or fourteen, with gaunt cheeks and skin so pale it lacked any trace of color. His shoulder-length black hair hung loose and messy.
He straightened up. He had lost the straw sandal on his right foot on the way, leaving one bare foot on the rough wooden boards.
Orochimaru paid no attention to his bare foot.
His head was lowered, his lifeless gaze fixed on a knot in the floor.
His hands hung naturally at his sides. He made no move to guard himself.
Shu Shiraishi picked up his cup and took a sip.
"Orochimaru."
The icy water slid down his throat. Shu Shiraishi set the cup down hard on the wooden table.
"I hear that at the orphanage, you spend all day staring at a dead snake's white shed skin."
Orochimaru didn't even lift his eyelids.
"People on the battlefield are just like snakes."
His voice was soft and raspy in a way that didn't suit his age.
"One touch, and they die."
"No matter how good you get at Ninjutsu, if your organs are damaged, they'll rot. What use is Chakra?"
He looked up, his pale face full of confusion.
"Life is too fragile." Orochimaru swallowed dryly. "Fight all you want, and in the end, you're just a pile of rotting meat."
"What's the point?"
Shu Shiraishi looked at the boy whose head was full of nihilism.
In the original story, this kid had seen through the fragility of human life and gone down the wrong path, researching forbidden biochemical techniques.
He had wanted to pursue eternal life.
"You think the flesh is fragile?"
Shu Shiraishi picked up a stack of parchment and knocked it hard against the tabletop twice to align the edges.
"Then replace it with something that isn't."
Orochimaru scoffed.
He shook his head, thinking the newly appointed Hokage was no different from those lecturing teachers.
"Replace it with what? Even the strongest Earth Release armor can be shattered by Lightning Release."
His bare foot scuffed against the floor as he started to turn and leave.
Smack!
The two sheets of parchment in Shu Shiraishi's hand came down hard on the wooden table.
The sharp crack sent the charcoal pencil rolling off the table.
"Replace it with steel," Shu Shiraishi said.
"Come here. Look."
Orochimaru didn't move.
He didn't think a few sheets of scrap paper could solve the problem of birth, aging, sickness, and death.
But he didn't dare disobey the Hokage's order, so he dragged his feet, stepping barefoot on the splinters as he inched toward the table.
He lowered his head and casually glanced at the tabletop.
He had only meant to go through the motions.
The instant his gaze landed on the blueprints.
Orochimaru's neck went rigid.
Two enormous schematics.
The one on the left showed a complex cylindrical metal chamber.
It was labeled "Chakra internal combustion engine."
Inside the cylinder was a dense arrangement of drive shafts, pistons, and gears.
At its very core was an improved Four Symbols Seal array.
The one on the right depicted a heavy metal firearm with a rugged design.
"Chakra heavy machine gun."
It had a thick barrel. At the magazine was a dense array of miniature Explosive Tags and compressed Chakra crystals.
Every line exuded a cold, mechanical aesthetic.
Orochimaru's breathing abruptly stopped.
He braced both hands on the edge of the wooden table, his fingers gripping it so tightly that he didn't notice the splinters driven under his nails.
He leaned closer to the blueprint, his face nearly touching the parchment.
"This is..."
Orochimaru's throat was dry. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently.
"The Four Symbols Seal serves as an energy conversion valve."
Shu Shiraishi pointed to the core array on the blueprint.
"It locks violent Chakra inside the cylinder, using high-temperature expansion to drive the piston."
Orochimaru's eyes went wide.
His gaze followed the red dotted line representing the flow of Chakra all the way to the back.
Piston. Crankshaft. Gear assembly.
"Chakra is converted into... physical kinetic energy?"
Orochimaru's voice trembled.
"That's right."
Shu Shiraishi tapped the table.
"Traditional ninja spew Chakra out of their mouths and burn down a few trees. That's wasteful."
"Lock it in an iron box and make it turn gears."
Shu Shiraishi stared at Orochimaru's profile.
"This internal combustion engine can pull a hundred tons on steel tracks. It can run day and night for thirty years without stopping."
Orochimaru whipped his head around to look at Shu Shiraishi.
Blood rushed to his pale face, giving it an unnatural flush.
His hands fumbled across the tabletop. He wanted to pick up the blueprint, but was afraid the sweat on his hands would smudge the ink.
He hurriedly wiped his hands hard against his trouser legs twice.
"Life is fragile."
Shu Shiraishi picked up the second blueprint: the Chakra machine gun.
"The flesh gets sick, grows old, and can be pierced by a Kunai."
He pushed the blueprint under Orochimaru's nose.
"But steel doesn't."
Orochimaru's eyes were glued to the barrel structure on the blueprint.
The miniature Explosive Tag array in the chamber was like a bolt of lightning cleaving through the fog in his mind.
"With this gun,"
Shu Shiraishi's voice was cold and hard.
"A civilian child who doesn't need to refine Chakra can pull the trigger."
"It fires three thousand Chakra bullets in one minute, each one equivalent to a C-rank Ninjutsu."
Shu Shiraishi leaned forward, radiating pressure.
"He can turn a Jonin who has trained for thirty years straight into a puddle of minced meat."
"What do you call that?"
"A dimensionality reduction strike."
Orochimaru's mouth fell open.
He gasped for breath, his chest heaving violently.
For centuries, the Shinobi World had pursued the limits of individual power: bloodlines and secret techniques.
Now, the man before him was telling him.
Bloodlines were a joke.
As long as he mastered the kind of power shown on these blueprints.
He could mass-produce killing machines and crush those lofty ninja like bugs.
"Steel rusts..."
Orochimaru bit his lip, his teeth drawing blood from the lower one. Beads of blood seeped out.
He was making one last struggle to hold on to his old worldview.
"When it rusts, replace the parts."
Shu Shiraishi sneered.
"When a gear breaks, replace it. When a barrel bursts, rebuild it. As long as the energy supply never runs out, this machine can live forever."
He slapped a hand onto Orochimaru's thin shoulder.
"Isn't that more practical than looking for some elixir of immortality?"
Boom.
The hard shell of confusion in Orochimaru's mind shattered completely.
Birth, aging, sickness, and death. Human lives worth no more than blades of grass.
Before the absolute truth of industry and mechanical immortality, they were all worthless trash.
He sprawled across the wooden table, shielding the two sheets of parchment against his chest with both hands.
A beastlike, fanatical light burst forth in his eyes.
He looked at Shu Shiraishi.
At this new Hokage, dressed in a coarse short-sleeved shirt and smelling of dirt.
Orochimaru's legs gave out.
Thud.
Both knees slammed hard against the wooden floor.
He knelt at Shu Shiraishi's feet.
His bare foot pressed against the splinters and bled, but he didn't care at all.
He raised his head, a crazed smile on his pale face.
"Lord Shu."
Orochimaru's voice trembled with utter fanaticism and submission.
"I need refined steel, assistants who know Sealing Jutsu, and a fully equipped machine-tool workshop."
He clutched the blueprints tightly to his chest as though they were priceless treasures.
His knuckles turned white from the force.
"Whatever you need, I'll give you."
Shu Shiraishi looked down at him.
"Use Konoha's resources as you please. Even if you want live subjects for experiments, I'll send them to you."
"I want to see the finished product."
Orochimaru sprang up from the floor.
He carefully rolled up the blueprints and tucked them into his clothes, holding them tightly in place with one hand.
He turned and stumbled toward the door.
When he reached it, his bare foot caught on the threshold. He pitched forward and fell into the mud outside.
Orochimaru couldn't spare the time to get up.
Half-kneeling in the mud, he turned back and shouted into the cabin.
"Lord Shu! Give me three days, and I'll put together a prototype for you!"
With that, he took off like a complete madman.
With one foot bare, he raced through the mud toward the newly built machine-tool workshop No. 1 at the construction site.
Three days later.
At the open-air testing ground outside the machine-tool workshop.