Uchiha Clan District – Mikami's Courtyard
The moon was high when Uchiha Mikami finally stopped.
His body, pushed past its limits, crumpled to the cool grass. He lay there, chest heaving, staring up at the tapestry of stars scattered across the night sky. Exhaustion weighed on every muscle, yet a fierce, bright ember of satisfaction glowed in his chest.
A soft, tired smile touched his lips.
"Ling'er," he breathed out, the name carried on a puff of visible air in the chilly evening. "Thank you."
He didn't turn his head, simply letting the quiet breeze play through his sweat-damp, dark hair as he addressed the presence that had become his constant companion, his secret salvation.
Ling'er was the name he'd given to the mysterious system consciousness that had awakened in his mind half a month ago. She was the reason the chakra pathways in his body, once barren and sealed, now hummed with energy. She was the reason he was no longer a ghost, but a shinobi in the making.
"Gratitude is unnecessary. As a system consciousness, my function is to serve the host. I am an extension of your own will." Her voice was its usual serene, melodic chime, meticulously calibrated to sound detached. But Mikami, after weeks of their silent communion, could sometimes detect the faintest ripple beneath the placid surface—a hint of something more.
"I'll thank you anyway," Mikami said, his voice softer than it had been in years. The habitual coldness, the defensive shell of indifference he'd worn since his exile, had begun to crack. "Even if you are a 'system,' a mechanism… you've given me more than anyone in this world ever has."
For the first time since being discarded, his tone held the warm, vulnerable cadence of human connection, not just survival.
"…" A brief, static-like silence. "Your physiological readings indicate severe fatigue. Recommended rest period: eight hours."
Mikami chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Soon. But first…" He pushed himself up on trembling arms, the resolve hardening his features once more. "Thank you, Ling'er. For a second life."
As if fueled by that very declaration, a surge of renewed energy coursed through him, burning away the worst of the lethargy. He moved to stand, intent on running through one more hand-sign sequence.
"Host Mikami." Ling'er's voice interrupted, adopting a more formal, announcement-like tone. "A system notification. For every five-year period of host existence, one lottery draw opportunity is granted. As you are now ten years of age, two unused draws are available."
Mikami froze, halfway to his feet. "A lottery?"
"Affirmative. The system repository contains theoretical and practical data, techniques, and objects from across dimensional possibilities. The outcome is subject to a random entropy algorithm."
"You mean… I could draw something from another world?" Mikami's heart rate spiked, anticipation cutting through his fatigue.
"It is a statistical possibility. The result is dependent on host fortune parameters."
Mikami didn't hesitate. His current growth, while miraculous to him, was a crawl compared to the giants he needed to face. The Third Great Shinobi War raged on distant borders, and the Third Hokage's requests for Uchiha reinforcements grew more frequent. Fugaku, his father, saw him as a stain on the clan's honor. What better way to erase that stain than to send a "useless" son to die honorably on the battlefield? Family ties were thin currency in the shinobi world, and Fugaku was young, powerful, and fully capable of siring a new, more suitable heir.
"I'll draw. Now." His voice was iron.
"Commencing first system lottery."
The world before Mikami's eyes dissolved.
He wasn't in his courtyard anymore. He stood in an endless, dark-blue space that felt both vast and intimate. Above, not stars, but constellations of glowing data-streams and symbols drifted peacefully. The air itself thrummed with a silent, potent energy.
Before him, a colossal, intricate wheel of light materialized. Its segments flickered with glimpses of impossible things: glowing eyes, swirling energies, weapons of strange design, and scripts from forgotten tongues. The sheer scope was overwhelming.
With a silent command, the great wheel began to spin, faster and faster until it became a brilliant blur of potential. Mikami watched, breath held.
It slowed… hesitated on a segment depicting a complex, wheel-like eye…
"Result: Rinnegan variant. Probability mismatch. Re-spinning allocated draw." Ling'er's voice reported, clinical.
Mikami's hope plummeted, a sharp sting of disappointment. So close…
The wheel spun again, slower this time, its segments clicking past his yearning gaze. It drifted… slowed… and finally stopped.
The illuminated segment held the image of a bizarre, golden-yellow fruit, its skin swirled with intricate, spiral patterns. The label beneath it burned into Mikami's vision:
Pika Pika no Mi – Glint-Glint Fruit.
Mikami's breath hitched. The Admirals… Kizaru… Light itself…
"Ling'er," he managed, his voice tight. "This fruit… it would grant abilities like that naval admiral's? The power of light?"
"Affirmative. Furthermore," Ling'er's tone took on a subtle note of pride, "as a system-manifested entity, this fruit operates outside local metaphysical constraints. It is not bound by the standard weakness to large bodies of water or sea-prism stone. Its energy source is independent."
No weakness. The implications detonated in Mikami's mind. A Logia-type power, one of the most devastating in its home world, rendered truly invincible in this one. He might not have the raw chakra of a tailed beast or the hax of a Mangekyō, but with this… speed, offense, defense—it was a foundation of absolute power. He would master it in ways its original user never dreamed.
"Host has one remaining draw opportunity. Proceed?"
Mikami dragged his eyes from the image of the glowing fruit, his jaw set. "Proceed."
The wheel of light spun once more. This time, his heart was a steady drumbeat, not a frantic flutter. He watched the parade of wonders pass, his desire tempered by the incredible prize already secured.
The wheel decelerated, ticking past segments with agonizing slowness… until it settled.
The symbol now glowing before him was intimately familiar, a part of the very blood that ran—however thwarted—in his veins. A tomoe-shaped pattern, red and black, spinning with silent menace.
Sharingan – Three Tomoe Stage.
A laugh, short and sharp, escaped Mikami. Of course. The very power his clan worshipped, the birthright he was denied, delivered to him by a gift from beyond the world. It wasn't the Rinnegan, but it was a key—the key to mastering Uchiha techniques, to understanding his own heritage, and to unlocking everything that might come after.
He stood in the silent, starry system space, a smile of grim, boundless possibility spreading across his face. The powerless heir was gone. In his place stood a young man with the power of light in one hand and the cursed eyes of his ancestors in the other.
The game had just changed entirely.