The brothers approached the weathered tool shed at the far edge of the compound. Hashirama, still reeling from the emotional weight of his failure as a friend and leader, peered at the scattered objects with a distracted eye. "The craftsmanship is quite... beautiful," he murmured, noting the polished wood and clean lines. "Madara's son certainly has an eye for aesthetics."
Tobirama, however, was already on his knees, his breath hitching as he picked up a prototype kunai with an unfamiliar, grooved hilt. His analytical mind raced as he recognized the intricate Fuinjutsu formulas etched into the metal—formulas that were far more advanced than anything being taught in the current Shinobi Academy.
"Aesthetics, Hashirama?" Tobirama whispered, his eyes wide. "These aren't toys. These are... revolutionary."
The Clan Head nodded solemnly as he joined them. "The boy is a prodigy. He mastered Ninjutsu, Genjutsu, and Taijutsu with an ease that mirrors his father. He has already developed his own jutsu and operates at a level well beyond a Chūnin."
Tobirama looked up, stunned. "Then why is he in a tool shed instead of the front lines?"
"Because he finds the traditional path of a shinobi hollow," the Clan Head explained, gesturing to a shelf filled with strange vials and complex mechanical gears. "He is obsessed with creating: unknown medicines that heal faster than standard ointments, strange objects that defy our understanding of chakra flow, and tools that would change how we fight forever. Most of the clan dismisses it as a 'waste of time.' They refuse to even look at his work because they cannot see past his bloodline."
He paused, looking at a small, glowing device on the workbench. "Only a few of us have taken the time to see what he is actually doing. To us, Satoshi isn't a 'disgrace' or a 'weirdo.' He is a vital asset to the Hidden Leaf Village."
Tobirama's suspicion was rapidly being replaced by a rare, intellectual kinship. He saw in these "strange objects" the same spark of innovation that led him to create the Shadow Clone Technique. This wasn't just a child of Madara; this was a mind that spoke Tobirama's language.
Suddenly, a small floorboard creaked in the corner of the shed, beneath a heavy workbench.
The Clan Head led the brothers toward a heavy, reinforced door at the back of the shed. Tobirama reached out, his fingers hovering over the surface, his brow furrowed. "There is no chakra signature on this lock. No Fuinjutsu anchors. How is it sealed?"
"Not by spirit, Lord Tobirama, but by machine," the Clan Head explained. He pointed to a small, glowing glass pane embedded in the frame. "Satoshi calls this a fingerprint scanner. It recognizes the unique patterns on a person's skin. At the moment, only his thumb and mine can grant entry."
Hashirama leaned in, squinting at the glass. "The patterns on a thumb? That's... incredibly specific."
The Clan Head pressed his thumb against the screen. A thin line of light swept upward, and with a series of sharp, metallic clicks, the door hissed open—releasing a puff of cool, pressurized air that smelled of ozone and mint.
"Welcome," the Clan Head said, stepping inside, "to what the boy calls his Laboratory."
As Hashirama and Tobirama crossed the threshold, their breath hitched. The room was unlike anything in the Hidden Leaf Village. The walls were lined with smooth, white panels, and the ceiling glowed with a soft, sourceless light.
Instead of traditional scrolls, there were tables covered in transparent sheets filled with diagrams of human anatomy and complex mechanical gears. In the center of the room sat a series of glass tubes containing brightly colored liquids—medicines that glowed with a faint, internal energy.
Tobirama's eyes darted from one station to the next. He saw a prototype of a metal limb, wires mimicking the Chakra Pathway System, and a device that seemed to measure the atmospheric pressure of the surrounding air. To most, it would look like a madman's collection, but to Tobirama, it was the most beautiful display of logic he had ever witnessed.
"He isn't just a ninja," Tobirama whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and realization. "He is an architect of a new world."
Deep in the corner of the lab, hunched over a desk covered in tiny, glowing components, a small figure didn't even turn around. The only sound was the steady clack-clack-clack of metal meeting metal.
Satoshi was hunched over a glowing anvil, the rhythmic tink-tink-tink of his hammer echoing through the sterile white room. Scattered around his feet were swords that would make any Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist weep with envy. To any shinobi, these were priceless chakra artifacts, but to Satoshi, they were failed prototypes—mere garbage.
In his past life, Satoshi had been a polymath of terrifying proportions. He had unlocked the secrets of his own DNA, granting himself an eternal lifespan that allowed him to master every field of human knowledge. He had pursued the "Truth of the World" for centuries, only for a freak accident to end his reign. Now, reincarnated as the son of Madara Uchiha, he viewed Chakra not as a weapon, but as a new scientific frontier.
He was what Orochimaru would eventually become—a seeker of all knowledge—but with a moral compass that forbade the human experimentation and cruelty that would later stain the Sannin's name.
With a final, precise strike, the blade on his anvil erupted in a low, rhythmic hum. The metal glowed with a deep, volcanic crimson. He had finally done it. He had forged a masterpiece that harmonized perfectly with Fire Nature Transformation.
"Yes! Finally!" Satoshi shouted, hoisting the blade high. "I name you... Salamander!"
Overjoyed, the "prodigy" of the Uchiha forgot all his stoicism. He broke into a frantic, clumsy victory dance, hopping from foot to foot and waving the legendary sword like a glowstick. He looked nothing like a cold Uchiha elite; he looked exactly like Naruto Uzumaki or Obito Uchiha would in the future—pure, unadulterated sunshine.
Then, he froze.
His eyes shifted toward the door. The Clan Head was there, his hand over his mouth as he struggled to contain his laughter. Behind him stood the two most powerful men in the world, looking like they had just seen a Susano'o perform a comedy routine.
Satoshi's face turned a shade of red that rivalled the glow of his new sword. The "Legendary Salamander" was lowered instantly as he tried to regain his dignity.
"Lord Hokage," he squeaked, his voice cracking. "Lord Tobirama. I... was just testing the structural integrity of the floorboards."
Hashirama let out a booming laugh, his heart instantly warming to the boy. "That's quite the 'test,' Satoshi! I haven't seen a dance like that since Madara had too much sake at the village's founding!"
Tobirama, however, wasn't looking at the dance. He was staring at Salamander. He stepped forward, his Sensor abilities screaming at the sheer efficiency of the sword's chakra conduction. "You forged a Chakra-Bladed weapon that filters out impurities in the user's flow... in a tool shed?"