"Put the electromagnetic submachine gun back on the wall."
At Namikaze Mirai's quiet command, Orochimaru obediently returned the weapon to the rack. Mirai turned, walked over to the weapons stand beside them, and pulled out a long, metal blade.
It looked unassuming—standard, even. The blade shimmered under the artificial lights, reflecting a cold silver gleam. Yet Orochimaru's eyes immediately narrowed with intrigue.
"Mirai-kun, is there something special about this ninja sword?"
From the outside, it resembled a typical shinobi blade. Aside from its slightly more angular, technology-inspired design, it had no obvious differences from a traditional ninja sword.
Mirai gave a faint smile. His fingers shifted subtly on the hilt, and with a click, he activated a hidden switch near the guard.
*Fwoooosh!*
Instantly, a fierce plume of orange flame surged to life, wrapping around the blade. The heat wave it emitted was intense, so much so that even the air shimmered with distortion. Orochimaru instinctively leaned back slightly as the scorching air licked his face.
Mirai swung the weapon lightly.
*Whoosh—hiss! Whoosh—hiss!*
Each arc of the blade left a streak of fire behind it, the heated metal slicing through the air with a serpentine hiss.
Orochimaru's golden eyes widened in recognition.
'Nintaijutsu?'
That was the first thought that flashed through his mind.
Nintaijutsu—the hybrid combat style that fused the raw strength of taijutsu with the elemental finesse of ninjutsu. It was notoriously difficult to master, requiring precise chakra control and years of training. Most shinobi couldn't even begin to grasp its foundations.
Only the elite of Kumogakure were known for wielding such deadly martial prowess with any reliability.
Yet here it was—recreated artificially through technology.
This blade, engineered by Namikaze Mirai, allowed any shinobi to simulate high-level nintaijutsu. No years of study, no chakra molding, no elemental affinity required.
"Another epoch-making weapon…" Orochimaru murmured in his signature raspy voice, both awe and envy bleeding through his words.
Mirai tapped the switch again. The flames vanished in an instant, leaving behind a faintly glowing red blade—superheated, but no longer aflame.
"There are other variations too." he said, reaching for another sword on the rack.
He activated it with a flick of the wrist.
*BZZZZT!*
Crackling arcs of blue electricity snaked around the edge of the blade, emitting a hum of lethal voltage.
"A lightning version." Mirai explained calmly. "We also developed a laser variant. Unfortunately, the laser blade still isn't viable. Energy output and conductivity aren't stable enough yet."
A hint of frustration crept into his voice, but it was brief.
The laser sword would be the pinnacle—a clean, humming beam of destruction—but the power systems in the ninja world weren't yet refined enough to support it consistently.
Still, he wasn't discouraged.
In his mind, an immense Electromagnetic Tree loomed. Every time his control over electromagnetic forces evolved, new branches of technology blossomed.
The future was inevitable.
"I must admit." Orochimaru said, watching the sparks jump along the thunder blade, "If all Konoha shinobi were equipped with weapons like these… the rest of the Five Great Nations would tremble."
A slow, dark grin crept across his face.
The ninja world had been stagnant for too long.
Rotting in traditions and archaic techniques. As if the world had been frozen since the era of the Sage of Six Paths.
But now, under Mirai's guidance, something unprecedented was taking shape.
This was no longer a shinobi revolution—it was an industrial one.
And Orochimaru was now convinced more than ever that siding with Mirai and staying in Konoha was the best decision he had ever made.
"Mirai-kun," he spoke suddenly, lowering his voice, "there's something I don't quite understand."
Mirai turned slightly.
"Among all the weapons here—the electromagnetic guns, the thunder and fire blades—there's one thing I can't decipher."
Orochimaru pointed to the far end of the chamber.
There, a massive silhouette loomed in the dim shadows of the room.
Set on a reinforced metal scaffold was a towering humanoid figure, its steel armor plates glinting faintly under the flickering lights. The giant had no eyes, no face—just an ominous bulk of iron and cables, waiting in silence.
"What exactly is that?" Orochimaru asked.
Mirai glanced at the figure and replied with a single word:
"Gundam."
"…Gundam?"
It was a word Orochimaru had never heard before.
Seeing his confusion, Mirai elaborated, "Think of it as a mechanical tailed beast."
Orochimaru's pupils contracted.
'A mechanical tailed beast?'
Years ago, he had dreamed of creating an artificial Nine-Tails—an automaton modeled after Kurama. But the barriers had been insurmountable: chakra conversion, mobility, energy sustainability. All of it lay beyond reach.
Now, Namikaze Mirai had done it.
"This Gundam is just a static prototype." Mirai said, his tone even. "It's formed purely through my electromagnetic force by compressing and assembling vast quantities of metal. There are no internal mechanics. It can't be piloted—at least, not yet."
"In other words," Orochimaru whispered, "only you can move it… for now."
Mirai gave no reply, but his smile said enough.
Even if the world couldn't imagine it, the Gundam had already taken root in his mind.
And one day, it would walk.
…
Meanwhile…
While Namikaze Mirai and Orochimaru discussed the future of shinobi warfare, the outside world was already trembling under the influence of the Umbrella Company's first product.
The newly developed medicinal liquid had become a sensation.
Its effectiveness eclipsed every known medical compound in the market. The recovery rate was astounding—instant stabilization of internal injuries, rapid regeneration of damaged cells, and prolonged battle sustainability.
Naturally, the major shinobi villages weren't blind.
Even Iwagakure and Sunagakure, normally sluggish in adoption, began stockpiling it.
For Raikage Ai, this confirmed his foresight.
He had secured exclusive stockpiles early. The investment was large—but now, it looked brilliant.
In the underground black market, the situation was chaotic.
The price of a single vial of the new medicine had skyrocketed.
What few supplies remained were snapped up by bounty hunters, rogue ninja, and freelance mercenaries. These fighters had no medics on standby. They lived and died by what they carried.
So they stocked up.
And when supply couldn't keep up?
Desperation ensued.
In the underbelly of the Land of Grass, within a smoky black market hub, a tall figure wrapped in stitched cloaks and wearing a green scarf stood silently among the chaos.
His green eyes gleamed with greed.
"Umbrella Company… new liquid medicine…"
Kakuzu's mind whirred like an abacus.
He had been alive since the days of Senju Hashirama. If there was one thing he understood better than assassination—it was profit.
He saw the opportunity instantly.
Obtain a stash of the new medicine. Resell it on the black market. Rinse and repeat.
A fortune was waiting.
He wasted no time.
Tracking down a lone ninja carrying the medicine, Kakuzu ambushed him in a flash, stripping him of his vials.
'Another easy gain.'
Some recognized him and fled, surrendering their stash without resistance.
Thus began a strange phenomenon.
Ninjas who had just acquired medicine on the black market soon found themselves robbed—and that same medicine was resold again the next day… by the same man.
Through repeated theft and resale, Kakuzu amassed a fortune.
"Hmph. Why kill to earn money when you can scalp like this?" he muttered, satisfied.
Just as he prepared to return to the market again, another figure descended from the sky.
Black cloak. Red clouds. Piercing ripple-patterned Rinnegan.
"Kakuzu."
The deep voice froze him in place.
"You were given a mission by the Akatsuki. What are you doing here?"
Kakuzu's heart dropped like a stone.
'Damn it! I got so obsessed with reselling medicine, I completely forgot about the mission!'
*****
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