Z-City, in the abandoned district
"Wahaha — !"
A towering mantis-shrimp monster swung its scythe-like raptorial claws, roaring to announce its arrival:
"I was born from humanity's endless hunting of mantis shrimp and its pollution of the seas—"
Slice! Splurt!
Before it could finish, a translucent wind blade flashed past. The upper half of its head was sheared away, blue-green blood spraying everywhere as the creature crashed to the ground, legs twitching once before going still.
Tap.
Orochimaru dropped from a ruined overpass. He unrolled a sealing scroll, sucked the bisected mantis-shrimp monster inside, slid the scroll into a holder at his waist, then—still clutching a bulging supermarket bag—strolled unhurriedly down the empty street.
"This world is a complete mess."
In just one month here he had learned that very thoroughly.
Animals, plants, even humans could twist into "monsters," and the land teemed with bizarre, eccentric "heroes."
Strictly speaking, he himself was now a monster.
Whatever principle Link's Edo-Tensei‐style technique used, after Orochimaru was dragged here his soul fused with some natural energy unique to the planet, turning him into a venom-serpent monster. Hazy, jumbled memories surfaced, trying to fill him with hatred for humanity and the urge to attack humans.
Then Link's jutsu forcibly warped the newborn body, squeezing it into the outward form of a three- or four-year-old child.
Fortunately, although the world was chaotic, its natural energy was absurdly rich. Orochimaru's stored senjutsu chakra let him control that energy enough to re-mold himself into an adult shape with almost no loss of power.
Within hours he had mastered the new body.
Forged from "monster matter," it possessed immense physical strength; its organs and cells were nothing like a human's. Apparently Link's jutsu cared only that the outside looked human.
On the very afternoon he arrived he refined ordinary chakra again; by dusk he had synthesized senjutsu chakra, restoring about eighty percent of his former strength.
The body was glorious: compared with the one he'd once inhabited via Kabuto, it could refine far more chakra, hurl ninjutsu without restraint, endure oceans of energy, heal at frightening speed, and—best of all—faced no risk of petrification from natural energy but could absorb it without limit.
So he simply left Sage Mode on, reveling as his stats ticked upward every second.
Late that first night a garbage-can monster (a human gone mutant) ambushed him.
Over the following week he averaged five monster encounters a day—whether in deserted blocks or bustling downtown, they spawned around him.
Repeated study revealed the pattern. Natural energy—chakra-like force saturating this world—could spontaneously condense into monsters. Because he was in Sage Mode and instinctively absorbed that energy, it pooled around him, and monsters dutifully popped into existence nearby.
He could stop absorbing, of course, but that was unthinkable: even without fusing it into senjutsu chakra, the energy continuously strengthened his monster body. With Sage Mode the process only accelerated; he could feel his raw power and chakra reserves climbing.
The sole downside was the occasional extra monster or two—tolerable. City life being impractical, he moved into an abandoned zone, ventured to the nearest supermarket for supplies now and then, and spent his spare time dissecting monsters. A month flashed by.
…
Orochimaru's senses suddenly tingled. He whipped his head around.
A deadpan, bald man in a polo shirt and beach shorts stood not far away, holding identical grocery bags and staring at him in puzzlement.
Dangerous. With Sage Mode active Orochimaru's perception was razor-keen, yet the bald man felt like a black hole—no chakra, no life-force, just a blank. Every instinct shrieked louder than when Link had targeted him.
"Monster?" the bald man asked, head tilted.
"Hero?"
"See ya."
Muttering oddly, the bald man waved and turned away.
Drip.
Sweat trickled down Orochimaru's temple. Only after the figure vanished did he exhale, pressing a hand to the hammering heart inside his chest. In his old human body he would never have felt fear, but this monster flesh seemed to harbor an instinctive terror of incomprehensible power.
"How fascinating," he chuckled, delighted.
Immortality was old news to him; watching "wind spin a windmill" (in other words, looking for amusement) had become life's hobby. But even he had pride—after being pushed around by Link, he craved greater strength. If people this absurdly strong existed, humanity here might surpass the ninja of his last world—and he might yet reclaim his dignity.
And who knew how much fun might result? That alone was worth celebrating.
…
One month later
"Orochimaru-sama, I found him. He registered as a C-class hero yesterday."
The man in a black suit and sunglasses wiped the sweat from his brow. "Current ranking: C-class, 388th place. Hero name, um… 'Caped Baldy.'"
He honestly could not grasp why his unfathomably powerful master cared about a bald guy who looked like a walking joke.
"C-class… 388?" Orochimaru sat in his office. Every wall, floorboard, and ceiling tile was covered with dark sealing formulae to corral the surging natural energy. Eyes gleaming, he said, "Find his address. Send a letter—tell him I intend to call on him."
A being of that caliber, yet only C-388? Was he hiding his strength, or what?
Orochimaru had shadowed Saitama for a month, personally witnessing monsters obliterated with a single punch. He thought he understood the man's character, so he would inspect the truth himself.
Whatever the reason for that paltry rank, it promised to be entertaining.
The black-suited aide shivered at his master's smile.
That same smile, not long ago, had ended with Orochimaru seizing control of their organization—and turning every dissenter into experimental material.