The last thing Marcus Chen remembered was the antiseptic stench of the prison infirmary and the rhythmic beep of machines counting down his final hours. Stage four pancreatic cancer—poetic justice, the guards had called it, for a man who'd poisoned three business rivals and framed two others for his crimes. He'd smiled through the morphine haze, because even dying, Marcus Chen won. He'd hidden twelve million in accounts they'd never find, and his enemies had spent their fortunes trying to prove what everyone knew but couldn't prove in court.
Then—nothing.
Then—*everything*.
Consciousness returned like a slap, but wrong. His body felt compressed, wrapped in warmth and wet darkness. Muffled sounds vibrated through him—voices speaking words he somehow understood despite never hearing this language before. Panic should have seized him, but Marcus Chen hadn't panicked since he was eight years old and learned that fear was just another tool to sharpen.
The pressure increased. His body moved without his control, pushed and pulled by forces beyond comprehension. Light exploded across his vision—too bright, too sharp—and cold air shocked his skin. Hands, impossibly large, lifted him.
*Oh.*
*Oh, fuck.*
Marcus Chen—no, not Marcus anymore, that life was *gone*—opened his mouth and screamed with lungs that had never tasted cigarette smoke or felt the weight of lies. The scream came out as a newborn's wail, thin and reedy and pathetic.
And then, floating in his vision like some cosmic joke, translucent text materialized:
**[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE]**
**[Welcome, Shingen Yamazaki]**
**[Gacha System Successfully Bonded]**
**[Would you like to view tutorial? Y/N]**
The baby that had been Marcus Chen, now apparently named Shingen Yamazaki, would have laughed if he possessed the motor control. Instead, he fixed his unfocused newborn eyes on the floating text and thought, with all the vindictive glee of a man who'd just been handed a second chance:
*Yes.*
-----
**Five Years Later**
"Shingen-kun, please stop trying to convince the other children that you're secretly a wolf spirit trapped in human form."
Yamazaki Keiko, his mother in this life, stood in the doorway of their modest home with her arms crossed and that *look* on her face—the one that said she was three seconds from deploying the wooden spoon. She was a handsome woman in her early thirties, with laugh lines around her eyes and calluses on her hands from working in her brother's restaurant. Patient, kind, everything Marcus's original mother hadn't been.
Which made it almost sad how easy she was to manipulate.
Shingen—he'd mostly adjusted to thinking of himself by that name now—widened his eyes to maximum innocence. At five years old, he'd perfected the expression: round-eyed, trembling lower lip, head tilted just so. "But Mama, I was only *educating* them about the spirit world! The Academy teaches about summoning contracts, don't they? I'm just preparing them for—"
"You made three children cry and convinced Takeshi that he needed to leave offerings of fish at the shrine or you'd curse his family."
"I didn't say I'd curse them! I said the *spirits* might look unfavorably upon—"
The wooden spoon appeared in her hand like a kunai. Shingen knew when to retreat.
"Sorry, Mama," he said, executing a bow so perfect it could have graced a daimyo's court. "I'll apologize to Takeshi and the others tomorrow."
Keiko's expression softened—*too easy*—and she ruffled his hair. "You're a strange boy, Shingen. But you're *my* strange boy. Now wash up for dinner. Your father will be home soon."
She disappeared back into the house, and Shingen dropped the innocent act like a mask. He caught his reflection in the window—messy black hair that stuck up at odd angles, bright amber eyes that were just *slightly* too intense for a five-year-old's face, a grin that split his features with manic energy. He looked like a feral cat someone had dressed in human clothes as a prank.
Perfect.
**[Daily Quest Complete: Cause Minor Chaos]**
**[Reward: 10 Gacha Points]**
**[Current Total: 2,847 GP]**
The system interface appeared with a thought, visible only to him—a shimmering display that had become as familiar as breathing. Five years he'd been playing this game, learning its rules, exploiting every loophole.
The Gacha System was beautifully simple and horrifyingly random. Everything came from pulls: skills, techniques, bloodline limits, weapons, even raw stat boosts. Common pulls cost 100 GP, Rare cost 500, Epic cost 2,000, and Legendary cost 10,000. He earned points through quests—daily tasks, achievements, and something the system called "Significant Actions."
Five years, and he'd pulled exactly *one* Epic item. Everything else had been Common and Rare trash.
But Shingen Yamazaki, formerly Marcus Chen, hadn't become one of Hong Kong's most successful con artists by giving up when the odds were stacked against him. He'd become successful by *rigging the game*.
"Status," he muttered, pulling up his current specifications:
**[Name: Shingen Yamazaki]**
**[Age: 5]**
**[Chakra: 42/42]**
**[Strength: 8]**
**[Speed: 11]**
**[Stamina: 9]**
**[Intelligence: 87 (Retained from Previous Life)]**
**[Current Skills:**
- **Basic Chakra Control (Rare)**
- **Enhanced Perception (Rare)**
- **Silver Tongue (Epic) - 15% increased effectiveness of verbal manipulation**
- **Various Common Skills: 17 total**
**[Bloodline: None]**
**[Affinities: Unknown - Test at Academy]**
Pathetic by shinobi standards. Any six-year-old clan kid with a half-decent bloodline could crush him. But Shingen hadn't survived twenty-three years as a criminal by fighting fair. He'd survived by being *smarter*, more ruthless, and willing to do what others wouldn't.
The intelligence stat was the key—it had transferred from his previous life, making him a five-year-old with the accumulated cunning of a man who'd orchestrated corporate takeovers and contract killings. Combined with Silver Tongue, he'd spent the last year positioning himself perfectly for the Academy entrance in six months.
He'd befriended (manipulated) the children of several merchant families, planted seeds of debt and obligation that would mature in years to come. He'd convinced his uncle to let him work in the restaurant, where he'd "accidentally" impressed several chunin with his precocious understanding of poisons—sorry, *herbs*—and their applications. He'd even managed to get himself noticed by a retired jonin who now occasionally mentioned "that weird Yamazaki kid" in reports.
All according to plan.
The door slid open and his father trudged in—Yamazaki Hiroshi, a nondescript man who worked in the village's logistics division. Boring job, stable income, utterly unremarkable. Exactly the kind of background that would let Shingen fly under the radar until he was ready to make his move.
"Papa!" Shingen bounded over with enthusiasm that was only partially faked. Say what you would about his manipulative tendencies, but Hiroshi was a decent father. Better than the drunk who'd sired Marcus Chen, at least. "How was work? Did you see any ninja? Were they cool? Did they do any jutsu?"
Hiroshi smiled tiredly and picked him up—Shingen still found the casual strength of adults in this world mildly disturbing. "Just paperwork today, sprout. But I did hear that the Academy's accepting applications early this year. The Hokage wants to expand enrollment."
Shingen's mind raced behind his wide-eyed expression. Early enrollment? That wasn't in the original timeline—at least, not from what he remembered of the anime he'd watched in his previous life. Then again, he'd only made it through the Chunin Exams arc before his arrest.
"Can I apply, Papa? Please? I've been practicing my chakra control every day, and Mama says I'm too smart for regular school anyway, and—"
"We'll discuss it with your mother," Hiroshi said, setting him down. But Shingen caught the thoughtful look in his father's eyes, the same expression he wore when considering a ledger that didn't quite balance.
Hook set. Now to reel it in over dinner.
-----
Later that night, after successfully manipulating his parents into agreeing to let him apply early (some tears, some logical arguments, and a dash of "I'll be the safest in the village if I learn to defend myself"), Shingen lay in his futon and stared at his Gacha interface.
2,847 GP. He'd been saving for months, resisting the urge to pull even Common items. The mathematics were simple: one Epic pull, or save for three more months and try for a Legendary.
But six months until Academy enrollment. If he entered with nothing but his current skills, he'd be cannon fodder—noticed enough to be dangerous, powerful enough to be expendable. He needed an edge.
"Fuck it," he whispered into the darkness. "One Epic pull. Live dangerous or die trying."
His finger—still pudgy with baby fat, God, this body was ridiculous—selected the Epic option.
**[EPIC GACHA PULL INITIATED]**
**[Cost: 2,000 GP]**
**[Remaining: 847 GP]**
The interface exploded with light, colors swirling in patterns that suggested some cosmic slot machine. Shingen watched with the detached interest of a man who'd once bet his life on a loaded dice game and won.
The colors settled.
Text appeared:
**[CONGRATULATIONS!]**
**[You have received: TECHNIQUE SCROLL - "Puppeteer's Whisper" (Epic)]**
**[A subtle genjutsu technique that plants suggestions in the target's mind, making them believe the ideas are their own. Effectiveness scales with chakra control and intelligence. Warning: Excessive use may result in personality fragmentation in the user.]**
Shingen stared at the notification for a long moment.
Then he started laughing—quiet, manic giggles that he muffled in his pillow. Of *course*. Of fucking *course* the universe would give a reincarnated con artist a technique literally designed for manipulation.
He'd been a monster in his previous life. Killed people who trusted him, destroyed families for profit, smiled at funerals of his victims. The cancer had been karmic justice.
And here was the universe, handing him the tools to be even worse.
"Thank you," Shingen whispered to whatever cosmic force had granted him this second chance. "Thank you for understanding that redemption arcs are boring."
He pulled up the technique scroll, feeling the knowledge pour directly into his mind—muscle memory he hadn't earned, understanding of chakra flow paths he'd never studied. This world's power system was bullshit in the best possible way.
The technique was subtle, perfect for his purposes. No flashy hand signs, just a whisper of chakra and a carefully chosen phrase. Plant a suggestion during a conversation, water it with repetition, and watch it bloom into conviction.
Perfect for a five-year-old who needed adults to underestimate him while simultaneously doing exactly what he wanted.
Shingen closed the interface and settled into his futon, mind already spinning with possibilities. Six months until the Academy. Six months to master this technique, to position himself perfectly for what was coming.
Because Shingen Yamazaki remembered enough of the Naruto timeline to know: the Third Shinobi War was ending, yes, but peace was an illusion. The Kyuubi attack, the Uchiha massacre, the Chunin Exam invasion—disasters were coming, and each one was an opportunity for someone ruthless enough to exploit them.
He'd died in a prison cell, eaten from the inside by disease, unable to enjoy any of the wealth he'd accumulated.
This time would be different.
This time, Shingen Yamazaki would survive, thrive, and enjoy every goddamn minute of the chaos.
He drifted to sleep with a smile on his face—the same smile that had preceded three murders and twelve frauds in his previous life.
Some things, even reincarnation couldn't change.