Chapter 84: The Crucible of the Mind
The heavy stone door of his quarters shut with a final, echoing thud, sealing Ren in a bubble of oppressive silence. The only light came from a single, guttering oil lamp, its flame fighting a losing battle against the pervasive gloom of the underground base. He stood for a moment in the center of the sparse room, the events of the morning replaying in his mind—the confrontation with Sasuke, the grotesque transaction with Orochimaru. But it was the weight of the small glass vial in his hand that commanded his full attention now.
He sat on the room's lone, unforgiving chair, holding the test tube up to the feeble light. The cluster of cells within seemed almost mundane, yet they pulsed with a latent, terrifying potential. This was the genetic legacy of Hashirama Senju, the God of Shinobi, the power that had built Konoha and subdued tailed beasts. The key to Wood Release.
"System," he whispered, the word a quiet invocation in the stillness. "Hypothetical: if I were to directly transplant these cells into my own body, what is the probability of successfully awakening Wood Release?"
The system's response was immediate, a cool, analytical voice in the confines of his consciousness. **"Answering Host: The probability of a successful integration leading to any Wood Release manifestation is approximately 17.4%. However, this outcome is classified as a 'corrupted success.' The resulting kekkei genkai would be unstable and severely limited, likely granting access only to the most rudimentary techniques. Furthermore, the risk of catastrophic biological rejection is 68.9%. The host's body would be perceived as a hostile environment, leading to potential cellular warfare, uncontrolled growths, and significant physical deformity. This course of action is not recommended. It would constitute a waste of a unique resource."**
Ren's grip on the test tube tightened. He'd suspected it wouldn't be simple, but the clinical breakdown of the grisly risks was sobering. He couldn't afford to become a failed experiment, not when so much was at stake.
"Is there a stable method? A way to ensure a perfect integration?" he asked, a sliver of hope threading through his caution.
**"Affirmative. For a cost of 50,000 points, the system can execute a bio-feedback-assisted cellular merger. This procedure would optimize the assimilation process, mitigating all rejection risks and ensuring a 99.97% stable integration. The host would gain full access to the Wood Release kekkei genkai—excluding Sage Arts—a significant boost to chakra reserves, markedly accelerated healing capabilities, and enhanced physical vitality. The genetic material would be fully utilized."**
*Fifty thousand points.* The number landed like a physical blow. He mentally tallied his recent expenditures: the two A-rank Fire Release jutsu, the constant drain of maintaining his cover, the new clothes and supplies. A sinking feeling settled in his gut as he checked his balance.
**"Host's current point reserve: 11,000."**
The dream of immediately wielding the Shodai's power, of turning that legendary strength against his enemies, evaporated into the cold, damp air of his room. The frustration was a sharp, bitter taste in his mouth. He had the key, but he couldn't turn the lock.
"Damn it," he hissed, the curse loud in the quiet room. He carefully, almost reverently, placed the test tube back into his personal storage space. The points system was a relentless grind. He needed more, a steady and significant influx. But to earn points efficiently—to take on the kind of high-value targets that yielded real rewards—he needed to be stronger, smarter, and faster. Not just on paper, but in practice.
His battle with Kakashi replayed in his mind's eye, not as a victory, but as a catalogue of failures. He'd been reactive, not proactive. He'd wasted chakra, misread feints, and was ultimately backed into a corner, forced to reveal his Mangekyō to secure a win. It had been a clumsy, brute-force solution. He'd had the power of a legendary dojutsu and the combat instincts of a talented genin. The disconnect was terrifying.
"System," he began again, a new, more pragmatic determination taking root. "I lack practical combat experience against high-level opponents. Are there any functions that can simulate real-world combat scenarios for training purposes without the associated physical risks?"
**"Answering Host: The Host can exchange 10,000 points for permanent access to the Neural Combat Simulator. This advanced function creates a high-fidelity virtual reality construct within the Host's consciousness. Within this space, the Host can simulate combat against any opponent whose data parameters are known or can be conceptualized. All sensory input—pain, chakra depletion, ocular strain—is simulated with 100% accuracy but is contained within the neural interface. Upon exiting the simulation, the Host's physical body remains unaffected. The simulator also operates on a time-dilation principle; for every one hour that passes in the physical world, the Host can experience ten hours within the simulation."**
Ren's breath caught. *A training ground in my own mind.* It was more than he had dared to hope for. He could fight Kakashi a hundred times, a thousand times, until every one of the man's tricks was etched into his muscle memory. He could experiment with his Mangekyō without fear of going blind. He could push his body to its absolute theoretical limits again and again. The strategic value was immeasurable.
Ten thousand points was a devastating cost, leaving him with a perilously low reserve. But it was an investment in his most critical deficit: experience. Points could be regained through mission completions and new system objectives. Incompetence in a life-or-death situation, however, was permanent.
*I won't be forced to reveal my trump cards out of desperation again,* he vowed. *I will be the one controlling the fight. I will be flawless.*
"Do it. Exchange for the Neural Combat Simulator."
**"Neural Combat Simulator. Function Rank: S-Rank. Exchange Cost: 10,000 points. Confirm exchange?"**
"Confirm."
**"Ding! Exchange successful. Points deducted: 10,000. Host's remaining points: 1,000."**
A wave of warmth, strange and intangible, flowed from the core of his being directly into his mind. It wasn't quite pain, but a profound pressure, as if new pathways were being forged in his brain. A flood of information followed—not in words, but as innate understanding. He knew how to access it, how to shape it, how to command the reality within.
Eager to test this new weapon, Ren lay down on the thin, lumpy cot. Closing his eyes, he shut out the distant dripping of water, the chill of the air. He focused his will, reaching for that new part of his consciousness.
*Access Neural Combat Simulator. Initiate program.*
His awareness didn't fade; it *migrated*.
He opened his eyes—or the mental equivalent of them—to a vast, featureless expanse of pure white. There was no ground, no sky, no sound, no scent. It was a void, an infinite blank slate waiting for his command. The silence was absolute, a canvas of pure potential.
*This is it,* his thought echoed in the stillness. *Now... design the arena.*
He poured his intent into the void, visualizing it in vivid detail. The stark white bled away, replaced by the deep, vibrant greens and rich browns of a dense forest. The scent of damp earth, decaying leaves, and pine resin filled the air, so real he could taste it. The solid, uneven feeling of packed soil and tangled roots was under his feet. Above, the dappled light of a hidden sun filtered through a thick canopy, creating a shifting pattern of light and shadow. The gentle murmur of running water reached his ears. He looked down; he was standing effortlessly on the surface of a clear, shallow stream, the coolness of the water a palpable sensation against the soles of his feet.
The environment was perfect. Now, for the opponent.
He focused again, drawing on a recent, potent memory. He built the image from the ground up: the height, the build, the slouched posture that hid tensile strength. The spiky, unruly silver hair. The dark mask covering the lower face. The flak jacket, the pouch on the thigh. The hitai-ate tilted to cover the left eye. And most importantly, the right eye—dark at first, then shifting, spinning to life with the cold, predatory focus of the Sharingan.
Standing opposite him, on the water's surface precisely ten yards away, was his chosen opponent.
It was Hatake Kakashi. A perfect, system-generated simulation, rendered in flawless detail. It held a kunai loosely in one hand, its posture the picture of casual readiness, a coiled spring disguised as nonchalance. Its single visible eye held no emotion, no recognition, no past—only the cold, analytical focus of a master shinobi. A program designed for a single purpose: to fight, and to win.
This was his first test. His crucible.
Ren's own Sharingan snapped to life without a conscious thought, the world sharpening into hyper-detailed clarity, every leaf, every ripple in the water, every minute shift in the simulation's posture magnified. Adrenaline, real and potent even in this virtual space, flooded his system, setting his nerves alight.
"Round one," Ren said, his voice firm, the words seeming to hang in the forest air.
The Kakashi simulation didn't reply. It didn't need to. It simply shifted its weight a fraction of an inch, the kunai rising into a textbook guard position.
The fight was on.