Namikaze Minato's blind trust in Uchiha Kei moved him deeply—but also stressed him out enormously.
After all, a man knows his own limits. There was no way he had the kind of god-tier creative genius like that naturally evil geezer from the Senju clan.
He was just a plagiarist, okay?
Anyone can copy homework.
Sure, in the typical plotline, even being a copycat could lead to becoming a "master." But to be a "master," you at least need the talent to replicate what you copied, right?
In the modern world, that meant an unbeatable memory to recall classics from a past life. In the shinobi world, it meant having baseline ninja aptitude.
Unfortunately, Uchiha Kei lacked even that fundamental aptitude. His so-called "creativity" was just cheap gimmicks—once used, they were gone.
Self-awareness is a virtue. Uchiha Kei knew his worth, so he never took Namikaze Minato's praise seriously.
Still, Minato's suggestion to further develop the Genjutsu game did get through to him.
Even though the Genjutsu game wasn't some top-secret shinobi technique—it was a bizarre fusion of system black tech and the Sharingan—it didn't hurt to pass it off as a clan secret.
After all, secret techniques are called "secret" for a reason. They're exclusive to individuals or clans and aren't required to be disclosed to others.
Yes, sometimes the Hidden Leaf kept records of such techniques, but only when the owners willingly donated them.
Even if that "willingness" was... questionable, as long as you had the power and background to protect your secrets, no one could touch them.
And Uchiha Kei? He was a noble Uchiha. Sure, his clan didn't like him and he didn't feel much loyalty back—but the Uchiha were famously protective of their own.
They might ignore you inside the clan, but if an outsider tried to bully or coerce you? Entirely different story.
Some clan members might want Kei to hand over the "secret technique" to the family, but the Uchiha were too prideful to rob their own.
If you handed it over, you'd get rewarded. If not, people might grumble, but they wouldn't force you. They'd just smugly believe that you'd come around eventually—many Uchihas who developed secret techniques had followed that same path.
But if an outsider tried to force it out of you? Good luck. The Uchiha were known for their unity and xenophobia. Try bullying one, and you'd be hounded by a pack of red-eyed lunatics.
That's the Uchiha way.
And before the Nine-Tails Incident, the Uchiha may have had no say in the village's upper echelons, but their authority within the village was unquestioned. Even Danzo Shimura, the shadow Hokage, only dared to scheme in secret—he wouldn't dare confront the Uchiha directly.
Do you even understand the gold-standard pedigree of the village founders?
It was only because of the massive Sharingan that appeared during the Nine-Tails Incident—controlled by the traitor Uchiha Obito—that the Hidden Leaf's higher-ups found an excuse to pin everything on the Uchiha. Using "the Nine-Tails was controlled by a Sharingan" as justification, they crushed the clan's prestige and pushed them out of the village's core area.
Even then, the Uchiha clan merely lost influence. Their secret techniques remained safe.
The Hidden Leaf didn't get its hands on Uchiha secrets until after the clan was wiped out by the dutiful son, Itachi Uchiha.
With the clan gone, of course, their secrets couldn't be protected.
So right now, Uchiha Kei could easily keep his "secret technique" safe.
And later?
In a few years, he'd either escape the village or gain enough power through the system to protect himself. At that point, would he still care what the higher-ups thought?
If the system's rewards were strong enough, maybe he'd even confront the Hidden Leaf's F4 with: "I just want to protect *my* Hidden Leaf. Do you old men who betrayed the Will of Fire even understand that?"
Just imagining it got him fired up.
Of course, even if he wanted to become a beef-free messiah, that was for later. Right now, he was still a nobody—and he had to fix the game's promotion issues first.
Improvements were absolutely necessary. The current "operation" method was way too inefficient: only one player at a time, and playtime was limited by Uchiha Kei's own stamina. It was clunky and inconvenient.
Still, he had to think carefully about how to improve it.
Next, the two headed to the village's famous Ichiraku Ramen shop for a meal. After all, it was almost noon after a long gaming session.
Unlike in the "original" story where he appeared as a middle-aged man, the Ichiraku owner in Year 46 of the Hidden Leaf was still a young guy in his twenties. He'd only been in the village for a few years. His daughter Ayame wasn't even born yet. The shop itself was still just a humble street-side noodle stand, barely known.
But thanks to the filter of nostalgia, ever since it opened, Uchiha Kei had become a regular.
And honestly? The taste was pretty good.
Even Namikaze Minato, after being introduced by Uchiha Kei, grew to love Ichiraku Ramen.
After enjoying a delicious bowl of ramen, the two went for a stroll. During the walk, Minato returned to the game topic: "Kei, when can I play again?"
Uchiha Kei raised an eyebrow. "Didn't get enough?"
Minato scratched his head sheepishly. "It was really fun... and I want to know how the story ends."
He paused, then added, "I want to know what happens to the character I was playing."
Uchiha Kei: "Oh? I thought you were too busy dodging traps and battling ghosts to notice the story. Turns out you dug into the plot too?"
Minato chuckled: "Hey, I'm a jōnin of the Hidden Leaf. Gathering intel is ninja 101."
"Even though the story fragments were scattered throughout the game, the key info was all there."
Uchiha Kei nodded. "True. With your skills, uncovering the narrative is only natural. Even if it's fragmented, you can still piece it together."
The Genjutsu game, titled "Homecoming," didn't use traditional storytelling. The narrative was hidden in fragments, embedded in text and clues scattered throughout the game.
All this info was just sitting around in the scenes—not collectible. If you weren't paying attention, you'd miss it.
It wasn't necessary for beating the game, but first-time players who weren't into lore would probably finish it clueless about the actual plot.
But Namikaze Minato? The most brilliant man in the Hidden Leaf? He made it look easy. While others charged blindly and fought enemies, he quietly picked up every narrative thread.
And now, even after leaving the game, he had mentally pieced together a fairly complete story.
According to Minato's analysis, his character was a Hidden Leaf shinobi who fought in the Great Ninja War. Scarred by the horror of it all, he carried heavy emotional trauma.
That negativity attracted malevolent spirits. On top of that, having taken lives, he was cursed by the souls of the dead.
So when the war ended and he was supposed to return home to rest, he found himself trapped in a cursed realm conjured by vengeful spirits. He had to break through every obstacle to finally return to his real home.
That was the story Minato deciphered.
To this, Uchiha Kei simply said, "You're not 100% right, but you're not far off either."
Minato scratched his head. "Ah? So it's not entirely accurate? There's more going on?"
"Hmm... now I really want to know the full truth. Wonder when I can play the rest."
He sighed. He wanted to continue that afternoon, but he had other obligations. So it had to be a "next time, for sure."
To that, Uchiha Kei could only think—
You really don't have to, actually. I've already harvested all the emotion points you could possibly offer. I don't need you anymore.
Yes, even though Minato hadn't finished the game, he'd already provided all the emotion points Uchiha Kei could extract. In other words, his "usefulness" had expired. Letting him continue would just be like hogging the bathroom without going.
Of course, Uchiha Kei wasn't about to kick Minato out. He wasn't one of those game dev weirdos who saw old players as "malicious whales ruining growth." Even if Minato weren't a close friend, Kei would still treasure a loyal player like him.