Chapter 3: The Powerhouse System
The quiet of the Uchiha training ground was absolute, broken only by Ren's ragged breathing. He lay on his back, staring at the sky, the initial thrill of his rebirth now tempered by the cold, hard reality of the future.
*The Sharingan is powerful,* he thought, his mind racing through everything he knew. *But will I even awaken it? And even if I do, can I evolve it into a Mangekyo?* The conditions for that evolution were seared into his memory: the traumatic death of someone you loved most. It was a horrific price, one he desperately wanted to avoid.
*And without the Mangekyo, what chance do I have?* A cold dread settled in his stomach as he mentally listed the monsters that populated this world. *Orochimaru with his forbidden jutsu. Danzo and his Root operatives, lurking in the shadows. The Akatsuki, hunting down Jinchuriki. Pain, with the terrifying Rinnegan. And behind them all… Uchiha Obito and Uchiha Madara.*
The memory of Madara Uchiha's power in the original story—a single man capable of battling an army of Shinobi—made a helpless, bitter smile touch Ren's lips. The gap between his current, six-year-old self and that level of power was an impassable chasm. His heart ached with a desperate, clawing need for strength.
*It's too early to think about this,* he chided himself, forcing his exhausted body to sit up. *I need to focus on the now. On push-ups and shuriken throws. On building a foundation.* He laughed at himself, the sound hollow in the empty clearing.
***Ding!***
The sound was crystalline and artificial, utterly alien to the natural sounds of the forest. It seemed to originate from inside his own skull.
***Due to the host's extreme desire for power, the Powerhouse System has been activated. Binding in progress.***
Ren froze. Every muscle in his body went taut. He sat bolt upright, the lingering pain from his workout completely forgotten.
*What was that? Who's talking?* His eyes darted around the training ground, searching for the source, but he was utterly alone.
***Ding! Binding successful. Host: Uchiha Ren.***
***Scanning host's current world... Ding. Scan complete. Current World: Naruto.***
This situation… it couldn't be… His spirit, his very soul, seemed to vibrate with sudden, electrifying comprehension. As a 21st-century otaku, he'd consumed countless stories of transmigration. The protagonist's golden finger—the cheat, the system—was a staple of the genre.
*Is this it?* he thought, his excitement a live wire in his chest. *Is this the benefit for a transmigrator? Has my golden finger finally arrived?*
***Ding! As the host's current strength is assessed as 'Insufficient,' the system is providing one complimentary lottery draw. Does the host accept?***
*A lottery?* Ren's mind screamed. *Accept! Of course I accept!*
"Start the lottery!" he whispered, his voice trembling with anticipation.
A phantom wheel, visible only to him, materialized in his vision. It spun in a blur of dazzling light, segments flashing with glimpses of incredible items and abilities before slowly grinding to a halt.
***Ding! Congratulations to the host for drawing: Rokushiki Technique - Finger Gun.***
A wave of warmth, like molten energy, flooded through his body. Knowledge, muscle memory, and chakra control patterns he'd never learned seared themselves into his mind. It was the complete understanding of the Finger Gun technique, as if he had trained in it for a decade.
**Finger Gun:** One of the Rokushiki of the Navy. A technique that mimics the power of a firearm. By focusing chakra and physical strength into a single fingertip, the user can unleash a thrust with bullet-like penetrative power, capable of piercing human flesh and even steel.
The technique felt instinctive, a part of him. He flexed his index finger, feeling a strange new potential coiled within it.
"System," Ren said, his voice steadier now. "Explain all your functions."
***Answering Host: The Powerhouse System is designed to facilitate the host's ascent to ultimate strength. Primary functions include an Exchange Interface and a Mission Protocol.***
***The Exchange Interface allows the host to acquire any combat skill, bloodline, or item, provided the host possesses sufficient System Points.***
***Points are acquired by completing system-issued missions, discovering rare techniques or treasures, or eliminating powerful enemies. Additionally, the system provides a daily survival stipend of 3 points. Surviving for one full year grants one complimentary lottery draw. This stipend is active for the first three years only.***
A daily stipend? Not bad. "How many points do I have now?" Ren asked.
***Host's current point value: 3. Would you like to open the Exchange Interface?***
"Only three?" he couldn't help but complain, a flicker of disappointment surfacing. "Couldn't you be a little more generous?"
***Cannot!*** the system replied, its tone utterly flat and final.
"Tch. Stingy. Fine, open the Exchange Interface."
A holographic display, intricate and glowing, superimposed itself over his vision. It was a vast, scrolling list of every power he had ever dreamed of.
**Rinnegan:** Item Level: SSS. Exchange Cost: 1,000,000 Points.
**Senju Hashirama's Cell-Graft (Wood Release Compatible):** Item Level: SSS. Exchange Cost: 1,000,000 Points.
**Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan:** Item Level: SS. Exchange Cost: 500,000 Points.
Ren's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. He scrolled further, seeing legendary weapons, ultimate jutsu, and kekkei genkai of unimaginable power. He was drooling, his mind reeling with possibilities.
Then he looked back at his point total: 3.
The sheer, astronomical gap between his current means and his desires was laughable. A profound sense of despair threatened to wash over him. *Three points a day… I'd have to save for centuries!*
***Ding! The system has issued a mission: Enroll in the Konoha Ninja Academy within ten days.***
***Mission Reward: 300 Points.***
***Time Limit: 10 days.***
***Failure Penalty: None.***
***Does the host accept?***
A mission! Three hundred points! It was a fortune. "Enter the Ninja Academy? I'm the right age. Accept!" he said without hesitation.
The interface vanished. The reality of his aching muscles returned. "Right. First, I need to tell my parents," he muttered to himself, getting to his feet. "And then food. I'm starving."
He began the slow, tired walk back towards the main compound, his mind buzzing with systems, points, and the technique now etched into his very being.
***
"I'm back," Ren announced as he slid open the door to his home.
The main room was warm and lit by soft evening light. Three people were there. His father, Uchiha Fugaku, sat in his usual chair, eyes closed in contemplation. His brother, Uchiha Itachi, now a seasoned Genin at ten years old, was on the floor. And with him was Ren's mirror image, his twin, Sasuke, who was currently trying to wrestle a practice shunai from Itachi's grip.
At Ren's voice, they all looked up.
"Father. Brother," Ren greeted Fugaku and Itachi with a respectful nod.
"Ren," Itachi said, his voice calm and kind. "Where did you go today?"
"Just training within the compound grounds," Ren replied evenly.
Sasuke made a sound of disgust. "Hmph! Brother, don't mind him. Let's keep playing. He never wants to play with me. It's so boring when you're not here." He shot a glare at Ren, his expression a mix of annoyance and childish hurt. Itachi was often away on missions, and when he was home, Ren consistently rejected any attempts to play, leaving Sasuke feeling perpetually abandoned.
Ren ignored Sasuke's complaint, walking past them to sit silently at the low dining table.
"Ren is back? Dinner is almost ready," Mikoto's gentle voice called from the kitchen. Soon, she emerged carrying plates of steaming food, filling the room with delicious aromas.
The family gathered around the table. "Brother, I want some of that!" Sasuke insisted, pointing to a dish beside Itachi.
Ren, who looked identical to his boisterous twin, sat in stark contrast—quiet, composed, his thoughts hidden behind a placid mask. It was a silence that worried his parents. Most five-year-olds were open books of emotion, but Ren was an enigma, showing neither the arrogance of the Uchiha nor the simple joys of a child.
"Here, Ren, this is for you," Mikoto said, placing a choice piece of grilled fish in his bowl, her eyes soft with concern.
"Thank you, Mother," Ren said simply, a flicker of complex emotion—gratitude, guilt, sadness—passing through his eyes before he shuttered it away.
"Brother, I want one too!" Sasuke whined, jealous of the attention. "You have to play hide-and-seek with me after dinner! Ren never plays, I'm bored!"
"Ren," Itachi said, turning to his other brother. "Would you like to join us?"
"No," Ren declined, standing up. "I'm full. I'll be in my room." He left the table without another word, retreating down the hallway.
"Hmph! That boring guy! Forget him, brother, let's go!" Sasuke jumped onto Itachi's back, already moving on.
After the younger boys had left, Mikoto turned to her husband, her worry evident. "Fugaku… do you think Ren is too withdrawn?"
Uchiha Fugaku sighed, a rare show of uncertainty on his stern face. "I cannot read that child. For a boy of six, he is… closed off. He doesn't seek approval or complain. He shows no interest in anything. It is… concerning."
***
Back in his room, Ren lay on his futon, staring at the ceiling. He let out a long, weary sigh that seemed too old for his small body.
"Tch," he muttered to the empty room. "I keep telling myself not to get attached to this family. Because…"
He knew the script. In a few short years, the Uchiha clan's discontent would boil over into a planned coup. And to stop it, to protect the village and his brother Sasuke, Itachi would be forced to make an unimaginable choice. He would eradicate their entire clan.
The memory of that future was a cold stone in his gut. He maintained this distance, this indifference, as a shield. He was terrified that if he let his walls down, if he truly embraced them as his family, the pain of losing them would destroy him all over again.
He had already lost one family. He didn't know if he could survive losing another.
"I forgot to tell them about the Academy," he suddenly remembered, sitting up and smacking his own forehead. The system mission was his priority now. "Whatever. I'll tell them tomorrow."
The thought of the three hundred points was a tiny, bright spark in the darkness of his future. It was a start.
With a groan, he pushed himself up. "A bath, then sleep. I'm exhausted."
He walked toward the bathroom, the weight of his knowledge and his new system a heavy burden on his small shoulders. The path to power was open, but it was longer and darker than he had ever imagined.