Chapter 2: The System's First Test
Calling this thing a "Point System" was too generous. A more accurate name would be the "Get-Me-Killed-Early System." The reward for its first mission was a paltry 100 points, but a glance at the shop's prices made my stomach churn. The Rinnegan cost more points than there were probably grains of sand in the Naka River. This wasn't a path to power; it was a cruel joke.
The Uchiha clan was a mess, split right down the middle. On one side was the militant faction, led by the Great Elder. These were the hardliners, the ones who still saw my father, Madara, as a visionary. The Great Elder was supposedly as strong as the clan head himself, but his followers were few. They'd missed their chance at the leadership.
It made a bitter sort of sense. Madara had been their patriarch, after all. He'd wanted to take them all away from Konoha, but when the clan voted against him, he'd just… left. He abandoned them. The loyalty of his remaining fans felt more like stubborn nostalgia than a real political movement. Their group was small, maybe a hundred fighters, but they were all soldiers—every last man, woman, and even the elderly. They were a hardened, prickly bunch. The problem was, aside from the Great Elder, they lacked any truly top-tier shinobi.
The other side, the moderates, was led by the current clan head, Uchiha Kiyotaka. They were the ones who had chosen peace and stability over Madara's warpath. They liked their lives here, however marginalized they were. They outnumbered the militants ten to one. And crucially, they had the clan's authority and its real heavy-hitters: the Patriarch himself, and worse for me, Uchiha Kagami, who had the distinct honor of being personally taken as a student by the Second Hokage himself, Tobirama Senju.
And Uchiha Ying, the guy the system wanted me to humiliate, was a member of this dominant moderate faction. He wasn't just some fresh-out-of-the-academy genin; he was an elite, knocking on the door of becoming a chunin. Me? I had the raw chakra and the bloodline, but with only the three academy jutsu to my name, I was, at best, a standard genin.
The more I thought about it, the hotter the anger burned in my chest. This damn system. If it wanted me dead, it should just get it over with. Why go through the charade of giving me a mission just to set me up for a fall?
Ding!
A new notification flashed, almost smugly.
[Newcomer Gift Pack distributed. Host may choose one (1) of the following:]
[Option A: One (1) A-Rank or lower Ninjutsu.]
[Option B: Unlock One-Tomoe Sharingan.]
I stared, dumbfounded. "You really are a piece of work, you know that?" I muttered to the empty air. "You only cough up a gift after I curse you out?"
Looking at the two options, the choice was… irritating. Giving up an A-rank ninjutsu was painful, but what good was a high-level technique if I didn't have the chakra reserves to fuel it? It'd be like giving a toddler a legendary sword—heavier than it was useful.
The One-Tomoe Sharingan, though… that was a different story. The enhanced perception, the ability to track movements—that was a direct, immediate boost to everything I could already do.
I was about to select it when my eyes drifted to the system shop's price list. My jaw tightened. A One-Tomoe Sharingan cost only 500 points. This "choice" was an illusion. It was just giving me a ninjutsu.
Gritting my teeth, I made my decision. I chose a ninjutsu. But not an A-rank. I selected the one that was the most iconic, the most fundamental for an Uchiha, and the most practical for my level: the C-Rank Fire Release: Great Fireball Jutsu.
Knowledge flooded my mind—the precise chakra flow, the hand seals, the feeling of heat gathering in the chest. It was as if I had practiced it for a thousand hours. I could probably perform it in my sleep. This was what I needed. With my current chakra, I could manage it maybe three times. If I could land a single, solid hit on Uchiha Yo, the fight would be over. The mission would be complete.
As for the hand signs? I'd had nothing to do for years but practice the three academy jutsu and my hand seal speed. I could flash through the ram, snake, tiger, horse, bird… sequence for the Great Fireball faster than most jonin. It was the one thing I had truly mastered.
Now, I just had to wait.
I sat in my silent house, my senses stretched thin, listening for any footstep that wasn't an Anbu's soft tread.
Half an hour passed.
Then an hour.
Three hours.
Five.
The sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. The shadows in my room grew long and deep. My initial tension had curdled into a restless, simmering anxiety.
"Hey, system," I finally said, my voice loud in the silence. "What kind of scam are you running? You said he'd come. Where is he?"
I got nothing but silent, blue-screen contempt.
"Fine. You think you can ignore me?" I launched into a tirade, listing every flaw in its programming, its design, and its utterly sadistic nature. After ten solid minutes, my throat was dry and I was out of creative insults. The system didn't so much as flicker.
"Unbelievable. You're crueler than Tobirama." If the mountain wouldn't come to me… I had to go to the mountain.
I stepped out of my house and into the cool evening air. I started wandering, moving with a purpose I didn't feel, away from the desolate edge of the compound and toward where the lights were brighter and the sounds of life could be heard.
And there, near a cluster of homes where the smell of cooking dinner hung in the air, I saw him. Uchiha Ying, laughing with a couple of other genin.
Finally.
I didn't look at him, just kept walking, my posture casual, but every nerve was alight.
Ying noticed me. A slow, nasty smirk spread across his face. The adults might have told him to leave me alone, but I could see the disregard in his eyes. To him, I wasn't a person; I was a political pariah, a stress-relief doll, the perfect target for his frustrations.
We walked toward each other on the narrow path. Just as we were about to pass, he deliberately shifted his weight and slammed his shoulder into mine.
"Hey, watch it—" he started, his voice dripping with fake surprise. "Oh! If it isn't our little clan heir. Oh, wait. My mistake. The former heir."
"What do you want, Ying?" I asked, my voice flat, meeting his gaze.
"What do I want?" he sneered, stepping closer. "It's because of your traitor father that our whole clan got shoved out to this dump! We lost our place in the village center. We lost the chance for the Second Hokage's seat! It's all your family's fault! And you have the nerve to walk around like you belong here?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He just threw a punch.
I leaned back, the fist whistling past my chin. I countered with a sharp kick to his side, which he blocked with a grunt. We fell into a brutal, close-quarters exchange of fists and kicks. He was strong, but I was faster, my movements sharpened by years of solitary practice. For a moment, we were evenly matched.
I saw the frustration growing on his face. He couldn't dominate me as easily as he'd expected. With a snarl, he broke the rhythm, his hand flashing to his kunai pouch. The steel gleamed in the twilight as he hurled it at me.
It hit my chest with a thud.
Ying's eyes widened in shock for a split second—he hadn't expected it to be that easy.
Then, with a poof, the "me" he had stabbed dissolved into a chunk of wood. Substitution Jutsu.
"Too slow," I whispered from behind him, pressing my own kunai against his throat.
For a heartbeat, I thought it was over. But Ying didn't panic. He let out a low chuckle. "Not bad. But don't get cocky."
Poof.
The Ying in my grasp turned into a log as well.
We faced each other again, both of us breathing a little heavier now. The real fight began. He came at me harder, his attacks more refined, leveraging his experience on actual missions. My advantage in raw speed began to erode under his superior technique and stamina. A fist caught me in the ribs, making me gasp. A kick swept my legs out from under me. I was being pushed back, forced onto the defensive.
From the shadows of a nearby roof, the Anbu team watched.
"Captain, should we intervene? They're fighting in the village," the cat-masked one said, his voice uneasy.
The Hound-masked captain didn't move. "It's a squabble between children. Let them be."
"But Tenchi is losing."
"Good," the captain replied, his voice devoid of emotion. "Let the Uchiha deal with their own problems. It's a dog-eat-dog world. If the Hokage asks, we can report that the boy provoked a fight and got what he deserved. It simplifies things."
The other Anbu fell silent, their discomfort palpable but their obedience absolute.
On the ground, I was tiring. I could feel it. My blocks were getting slower, my dodges less precise. Yo knew it, too. A triumphant grin was spreading across his face.
I couldn't win a battle of attrition. I had one shot. I started to give ground more deliberately, letting him think he had me on the ropes. I focused not on hitting him, but on creating an opening. I needed him overconfident. I needed him to commit.
He lunged for a final, decisive tackle, sure I was too winded to avoid it.
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