"This is the BBC. Today, the Protocol on the Termination of the Warsaw Pact has been formally signed. The Warsaw Pact has officially dissolved."
"Next, we bring you an on-site report from East Berlin by our correspondent, Mr. Humphrey."
On the color television screen, dozens of T-72 tanks rolled away from a Berlin military base in crooked formation, carrying soldiers with slumped shoulders. They looked like a pack of beaten strays, retreating in disgrace.
Click.
Orochimaru turned off the television.
His pale yellow, snake-like pupils flickered faintly, as if the darkened screen were still playing images.
"An empire spanning half the world, dissolved without firing a single shot or shell," Orochimaru murmured with a cold smile. "It seems Gorbachev was even softer than my teacher."
He stood up and glanced at the newspapers and magazines spread across the table.
The Sun featured a slim page-three model. Orochimaru judged her physique as frail, unsuitable for reproduction and useless for research.
In another magazine, a princess named Diana was locked in a public cold war with her husband, King Charles.
Orochimaru concluded that Britain had entered a complacent era of peace, much like Konoha after the First Shinobi War.
But there would always be another war.
He cast one last look at the man pretending to be unconscious on the couch, then picked up the knife that had pierced the owl's skull the day before and calmly pushed the door open.
A ninja's Chakra was born from the fusion of physical strength and mental power.
Daily training was essential.
Tap.
Orochimaru lightly touched the ground with his foot and sprinted down Privet Drive at the maximum speed this new body could manage.
It had been a long time since he'd trained his body while sorting through gathered intelligence.
He found himself almost nostalgic.
Following the briefing format used for ninja missions, Orochimaru summarized the information he'd confirmed over the past three days through various means.
First, the "ninja" of this world were completely separated from civilians. They deliberately hid their existence, calling civilians "muggles" and referring to "ninjutsu" as magic.
Second, ninja were forbidden from using ninjutsu in front of civilians or harming them.
That warning had come the previous night, in a letter from a professor named Severus Snape. His wording, of course, had been far from polite.
"Anguis, if you don't want to be sent to Azkaban before you even step foot in Hogwarts, then stop it. Do not use magic in front of muggles again."
Orochimaru didn't know what Azkaban was. Snape hadn't explained it. He assumed it was something like Konoha's Anbu prison.
As for the rest of the message…
It felt strangely familiar.
"I've found some information about your mother, so I'll be a few days late picking you up. Don't do anything excessive. Be patient. Your future is about to change."
Hmm…
That tone. The slightly forced concern.
In Orochimaru's mind, Snape was instantly filed alongside Danzo.
That was exactly how Danzo had started recruiting members for Root back then.
Their methods were crude, both Danzo's and Professor Snape's, but Orochimaru admitted they were at least trying.
Adjusting his breathing and savoring the faint burn spreading through his muscles, Orochimaru searched for today's objective.
A fluctuation.
The fluctuation of a Kekkei Genkai.
He was certain that among the dozens of four-story houses lining Privet Drive, there lived a ninja with the same kind of Kekkei Genkai as his own.
It hadn't awakened yet. Otherwise, the signal wouldn't be so intermittent. That didn't trouble him.
With that thought, Orochimaru suddenly accelerated, cutting through several back gardens. Chakra surged into his feet as he stomped hard against a utility pole at the end of the road.
Tap tap tap!
He ran straight up the pole, flipped in midair, and landed lightly on its highest point.
The entire Privet Drive neighborhood lay beneath his gaze.
Along the way, the barrier techniques he'd set using principles from the Hyuga Clan's lit up one after another within his vision.
They didn't give him total awareness of the area, but they were more than sufficient to pinpoint the source of yesterday's Kekkei Genkai fluctuation.
Orochimaru's eyes sharpened.
He had found it.
Southeast.
A boxy, featureless house stood there. On the black enamel plaque beside the door was the number:
Four Privet Drive.
The woman of the house stood at the living room window, spying on the neighbors across the street, completely unaware that she herself was being observed.
Her son, a fat, sturdy boy, was laughing loudly as he swung his fists, chasing his skinny, undersized cousin around the room.
And on that thin boy's forehead was a lightning-shaped scar.
Main family and branch family?
Orochimaru instinctively analyzed the scene using examples from the ninja world, then let out a self-mocking smile.
Either way, the target was confirmed.
The scarred boy possessed a Kekkei Genkai similar to his own.
"A mistreated 'branch family' child," Orochimaru flicked his tongue over his upper lip. "An ideal candidate."
Recruiting subordinates required tailored methods.
Those who craved power were given power. Those who craved knowledge were given knowledge.
And this scarred boy…
Orochimaru could tell at a glance what he wanted.
Friendship. And family.
Tricky, but manageable.
---
By afternoon, Harry had reached his least favorite time of day.
"Hurry up and get outside, Harry! Stop loitering in the house!" Uncle Vernon waved a fist at him. "Dudley's already waiting at the door!"
He isn't waiting for me. He just wants a moving punching bag.
Harry lowered his head and pretended not to hear.
He had made a terrible mistake before. On Dudley's zoo trip, he had let a snake out of its enclosure and scared Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's "precious Dudley."
Harry denied it, but they insisted it was his fault.
Life had only gotten worse since then. He'd only been allowed out of the cupboard yesterday.
That was what it meant to live under someone else's roof.
Harry dragged his feet, trying to delay going outside. At home, he only had to deal with Dudley alone. Once outside, Dudley's whole gang would beat him together.
"Enough, Harry. Stop dawdling," Aunt Petunia said, gripping his shoulders. "Your friends are waiting outside."
Harry tried to twist free, but failed.
A moment later, Aunt Petunia shoved his thin body straight to the door.
Creak.
The door was yanked open by Dudley, who had been waiting for it.
Blinding sunlight slammed into Harry's face, making him squint.
Before he could adjust, Dudley snatched his glasses and threw them toward his friends.
Piers, the tall, skinny boy with a monkey-like face, caught the round frames easily and burst out laughing.
"Come and get them, punching bag Harry!"
He took off running before Harry could react.
Beating Harry in the neighborhood risked attracting nosy adults, so today they'd prepared a new arena.
The Little Whinging playground.
A deserted playground no adults ever visited. And kids their age were no match for Dudley's gang.
Harry had no choice but to run.
Behind him, Dudley was already swinging his fists.
To the side, Dennis, who looked like Dudley's twin, was cracking his knuckles, as if preparing to smash Harry's nose.
Harry ran with everything he had, chasing after Piers, who held his glasses.
At least Piers' punches were lighter than Dudley's.
That was the only comfort Harry could give himself.
His thin figure darted past house after house on Privet Drive, each with its neat little garden.
Without his glasses, he couldn't see the warm family scenes behind the windows.
Maybe that was for the best.
If he couldn't see them, it wouldn't hurt as much.
His steps faltered. When he looked up again, Piers was already climbing onto a swing.
They'd reached the Little Whinging playground.
Harry's glasses dangled from Piers' hand, swaying with the chains, as if even they pitied him.
"What's wrong? Why aren't you crying yet?" Piers taunted as he rocked back and forth.
Their summer goal was to make stubborn Harry cry.
Piers felt confident today. The playground was deserted, and Harry's glasses were in his hand.
"Aren't you supposed to be fast?" Dudley's voice came from nearby. Dennis echoed him.
"Last time, you ran straight up onto a roof. Too bad there aren't any roofs here. Get ready for training, Harry!"
Harry spun around at the sound.
Without his glasses, he could only make out two boar-like shapes charging at him.
He turned back just in time to see his glasses flying toward him.
Harry didn't panic.
Sometimes he wondered where his courage came from.
In that split second, he reached out and caught his glasses. His body rolled to the side, narrowly slipping past Dudley and Dennis as they charged by.
The movement was smooth, instinctive, as if he'd done it a thousand times before.
Before the collision behind him even finished, Harry crouched and looked toward the carousel.
A large, circular platform.
Dudley's gang had terrible balance. They'd have a hard time grabbing him if he kept moving.
He crawled forward to build speed, straightened, sprinted a few steps, planted a hand on the peeling head of a wooden horse, and vaulted onto the rusted platform.
The carousel let out a harsh creak, like a challenge thrown at Dudley's group.
Harry's chest heaved as he caught his breath.
Not far away, Dudley and the others had picked themselves up.
Harry hurriedly put his glasses back on and watched them.
After one look, his brow furrowed.
Their faces were twisted with fury. Today, they meant to beat him to death.
He wasn't afraid. But three against one meant he was in for pain.
Harry clenched his fists.
Tap.
Crack.
A very light footstep sounded on the rusted platform beneath him.
Before Harry could turn, the owner of that step let out a gentle laugh.
"Are you playing ninja games?" the man asked. "Mind if I join? I'm not very good at it."
His voice sounded… strangely like a snake.
Harry thought so without knowing why.