Hiruzen Sarutobi had begun a brand-new journey—within the game, he was transformed into a young man, reliving a life filled with tragedy and hardship.
And this time, it didn't feel melodramatic or over-the-top. It felt… hauntingly familiar. Because the story of this boy was just a smaller echo of what had always played out across the shinobi world. A microcosm of the same old tale.
Having lived through so much, Hiruzen felt a mixture of emotion and helplessness. It became clear that his student had poured all his life's insight, pain, and understanding into this game.
And as a narrative? Hiruzen had to admit—it deserved praise.
Even though the story left a painful weight in his heart, he still gave it a thumbs-up in the rating system.
That was his experience with the story side of the game.
As for the more… adult segments?
Heh. Best not to speak of those.
All Hiruzen would say was—it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that made him crack an embarrassingly pervy grin.
The next morning, Hiruzen promptly filed for leave. He didn't even bother showing up at the Hokage Office. He holed up in his study and kept playing.
This continued for days.
Eventually, when he finally stopped, he felt physically drained, lightheaded, with dark circles under his eyes—like his chakra had bottomed out. But his face was glowing with satisfaction, like a monk who had attained enlightenment. He radiated the aura of a sage who had transcended mortal pleasures.
Naturally, his family started worrying. They even discussed calling in Tsunade.
Which Hiruzen adamantly refused.
"Are you kidding me?" he had exclaimed. "If Tsunade comes in, she'll immediately diagnose that I've been spending my days appreciating the greatest artistic creation in shinobi history! No way! Absolutely not!"
"If I must be shattered into dust, so be it—but I must protect my purity!"
As for his lingering physical fatigue, that was easily fixed—with one of Orochimaru's enhancement pills. After taking it, Hiruzen felt reinvigorated and ready to dive back in for another three-hundred-round battle.
To him, savoring *Tales of Shinobi Tempest* was like leafing through a rare and elegant old tome. He had to go over it again and again, savoring every line and every frame to truly comprehend its brilliance.
Hmm? His duties as Hokage?
Pfft. He was on the verge of retirement anyway. Better let the younger generation shine, instead of hogging the spotlight.
Besides, retirement was bliss. Only a fool would want to go back to work after tasting this freedom.
Being Hokage had its charms, sure—but compared to these leisurely days spent enjoying "art"… it wasn't even close.
Whistling cheerfully, Hiruzen headed back into his study to start today's game session.
But then—he paused.
"…Wait a minute. Am I forgetting something?"
Scratch scratch. He rubbed his head.
Scratch. Scratch scratch.
Still couldn't remember.
Had he been playing too much "art" and fried his memory?
Well, no point worrying about it. *Tales of Shinobi Tempest* was calling.
With a righteous expression, Hiruzen launched the game and returned to the world within.
Meanwhile, at the Shimura estate, Danzo lay in bed, eyes full of despair.
"Hiruzen… It's been almost eight days. You haven't come to see me even once. Have you truly abandoned me, like all the others?"
The old man sobbed in solitude.
And the Shimura family? Their expressions toward Danzo were growing increasingly… disdainful.
——
At the same time, Uchiha Kei had kicked off his next big project.
While there would still be updates for *Ultimate Storm*, he wasn't planning to invest too much energy into it.
Instead, he was gathering a group of competent, trustworthy people to handle ongoing maintenance of the old game.
After all, look at Jiraiya—he created his first "art game" all by himself.
Kei didn't even need to give these recruits full access. A custom Genjutsu-based micro world would do just fine.
With the foundation of the genjutsu network already laid, creating virtual game spaces wasn't hard. If even Jiraiya could make polished titles, then surely these folks could handle basic operations.
Kei was confident: once word got out that he was recruiting for a genjutsu game operations team, the response would be overwhelming.
Even spies from other shinobi villages would come running. It would be total chaos—a recruitment event more intense than the Chūnin Exams.
And he wasn't exaggerating. Genjutsu games had already proven to be incredibly valuable.
So no, Kei wasn't boasting—just stating facts.
Still, the recruitment would wait until the new project launched.
For now, he just wanted to finish and release it.
This project wasn't quite a traditional game—or rather, not just a game. It required only minor adjustments. No balancing nightmares.
So Kei estimated: one week. That's all he'd need before the official launch.
Yes. *Launch.*
This new product required an internet connection. Without it, players couldn't even start the game.
His slogan?
"No internet, no fun. Take it or leave it."
Pure monopoly energy.
Sure, the system's mission encouraged mass player engagement—but with the way shinobi society worked, Kei was stuck with just 400,000 players.
To reach them all, the old paid model wouldn't cut it.
So? Time for the "free-to-play" strategy.
Yes, it was predatory. Yes, he knew it. But one thing couldn't be denied—FTP models exploded user bases and made bank.
Back in his previous life, that model had crushed traditional game sales worldwide. Only a handful of stubborn studios had survived. Their player counts didn't even compare.
Of course, the shinobi world couldn't replicate that model 1:1. But Kei could build something close—a test run.
If it worked, he'd go all in. Push for full adoption. And with it? Roll out the infrastructure to bring the genjutsu network to every household.
No doubt, it would be tough. Technical constraints meant the network only covered a 300km radius around the Hidden Leaf Village—and that too, sliced into modules to avoid provoking other nations.
But Kei didn't care.
Success wasn't about waiting for permission. It was about trying.
He'd complete the system missions.
He'd grow his strength—and his faction's.
Because if you tied yourself up in fear of others… you might as well stick your neck out and surrender now.