Makoto Uchiha hitched up his pants, staring at the glowing text on the pale-gold panel that synced perfectly with the chime in his head. A huge grin spread across his face—couldn't help it.
He ignored Fugaku's yelling for a sec and claimed the mission reward.
The moment his mind clicked, a burst of golden light exploded in front of him—his eyes only.
A massive golden roulette wheel popped up on the virtual panel, edges rimmed with flowing light patterns like it was forged from molten sun. It spun, scattering tiny gold flecks that warmed his knuckles like sitting by a campfire.
The wheel was packed with S-rank jutsu… every name sparkling like Vegas lights. The sheer flex of it all blinded him for a second.
His heart skipped beats; fingers went white-knuckle tight.
The rush hit harder than winning the lottery in his past life—this was real superhuman power.
What guy says no to that?
Deep breath. Mental click: [Start]
The wheel blurred into gold streaks, dragging the whole starry sky with it.
Makoto locked eyes on the S-rank names whipping past, buzzing with hype. Doesn't have to be god-tier… just don't hit the pity pull. Free S-rank? He wasn't picky—contentment is key.
Mostly he was bracing for disappointment. Lower expectations, happier life.
The spin slowed. The gold needle wobbled between [Reanimation Jutsu] and [Flying Thunder God Technique].
Makoto held his breath, face practically glued to the wheel.
Reanimation was busted, sure, but practicality? Flying Thunder God ate it for breakfast.
The needle teetered… and landed on [S-Rank Jutsu: Flying Thunder God Technique].
Pale-gold particles floated off the wheel like fireflies and drilled straight into his forehead.
A warm wave spread from his brow to his toes. His brain flooded with Flying Thunder God memories—crystal clear, like he'd drilled it a thousand times. One hand motion and boom.
Makoto blinked, grin fighting to take over his whole face. Flying Thunder God… the Fourth Hokage's signature move. Yellow Flash, Minato Namikaze.
Sure, Tobirama Senju invented it, but Minato made it legend.
Top-tier S-rank, no question. Sneak attacks, escapes—this thing did it all.
He was officially "Homecoming Makoto."
Piss him off? Slap a seal on you, teleport in every time you walk through the door. Annoy you to death.
The thought alone had him pumped. Wanted to test it now, but bad timing.
With Flying Thunder God plus revival coins? Invincible escape artist.
He glanced down at the Third Hokage statue under his feet, scooted aside to avoid the puddle, and said super politely, "Thanks, buddy."
Down below, Fugaku was losing patience. "Makoto, get down here now!"
Makoto, riding the high, yelled back, "You want me to come down right now?"
Fugaku grunted yes.
Makoto scanned the crowd, spotted Itachi's ghost-white face, and—click—perfect exit strategy.
Risky? Sure. But ever since snagging the [Naruto World Online] cheat, he'd been thinking like a gamer.
Deep breath. He stepped off the hundred-meter Hokage Rock.
Freefall hit like a gut punch. Wind screamed past his ears, cheeks flapping.
Face drained of color. So this is what almost-dying feels like?
Revival coins meant no real death, but pain still sucked. Still, he trusted Itachi to catch him.
This stunt? Building his brand. Do something wild later, people just shrug—"Classic Makoto." Reputation matters.
Today's Hokage Rock prank? He'd wrap it up himself.
Itachi saw him jump—pupils shrank to pinpricks. Brain lagged, body didn't. He shot forward like an arrow, outrunning even "Shunshin Shisui" Uchiha.
Left the whole rescue squad in the dust.
Black cloak blurred, practically skimming the ground. Pure emotion triggered his two-tomoe Sharingan on instinct.
Crimson tomoe spun like wildfire.
His mind flashed to Makoto splattered like a pancake. The tomoe whirled faster, trembling with terror.
Heart clamped in an invisible vice, every breath like swallowing glass.
Cracks spider-webbed across the tomoe edges—something trying to hatch. Eye-searing pain, like hot needles, but Itachi didn't care.
Only one thing in his sights: the falling figure. Chakra roared through his veins.
The two tomoe spun, cracked, fused.
Buzz—
A new blood-red tomoe burst free, forming a perfect triangle with the others—three-tomoe Sharingan.
The world sharpened.
Makoto's fall broke into data points: air currents, wind resistance, trajectory nodes—all crystal clear.
Insight leaped past two-tomoe into a whole new league. Chakra surged; power spiked hard.
Speed doubled. The stone under his feet cracked.
He was almost there—then it hit him: Wrong!
Catching a kid falling from that height? Impact alone would pulp Makoto's tiny body.
Makoto could just off himself and respawn. Itachi had to think smarter.
Genius brain kicked in. Hands blurred through seals, bit his finger. "Summoning Jutsu!"
CAW-CAW!
A murder of crows exploded from the smoke, wings thundering.
They dove like lightning, precision-grabbing Makoto's collar, pants, sleeves—hundreds of living tethers yanking his descent to a crawl.
Poof. Feet touched ground gently.
Makoto's face was pale, but Itachi looked like wet paper—lips trembling, translucent.
He rushed over, scanning for injuries.
Makoto stared at the three-tomoe Sharingan, stunned.
Past-life Naruto binge-watcher Makoto knew Itachi's timeline cold.
Fugaku—missing a few screws—dragged four-year-old Itachi to the Third Great Ninja War.
That war was brutal. Kid Itachi saw the worst, hated conflict, craved peace hardcore.
Graduated top of his class at seven, got groomed—and emotionally abused—by the Third Hokage.
"Thinks like a Hokage," the old man said. Yeah, real sus. An Uchiha can't be Hokage, but sure, think like one. Straight-up brainwashing.
Eight years old: mission gone wrong, teammate killed by Obito, rage-unlocked two-tomoe Sharingan—skipped single entirely.
Now? Straight to three-tomoe, way ahead of canon.
His butterfly effect was already rippling. The ninja world was about to get wild.
"Quit staring," Itachi muttered, uncomfortable. He flicked Makoto's forehead—hard.
First time ever sounding dead serious: "Never joke with your life again."
Voice shaky but firm. The three tomoe spun slow, reflecting the dust on Makoto's face.
Itachi hid the Sharingan, grabbed Makoto's hand, and headed for the Hokage Building.
This wasn't over.
Makoto eyed the all-star Konoha lineup waiting ahead and thought:
Forget me—even Ultraman rolls up to this squad and his timer starts blinking red.