Truth be told, Uchiha Kei wasn't exactly unfamiliar with making games. Before his big "lucky break" of transmigrating, he had worked as a game designer—a so-called "dog planner" cursed endlessly by players. He had helped develop several cheap cash-grab mobile games, the kind designed to scam money through recycled skins and gacha systems. He deserved every bit of criticism.
But hey, a guy's gotta eat.
Of course, he still had ideals. He dreamed of creating top-tier, world-class games.
If he had gotten this dumb A.I. system before transmigrating, he would've been laughing in his sleep, ready to enter inspiration-overdrive mode and punch through MiHoYo, kick NetEase, and bulldoze Tencent—leading the Flower Kingdom's game industry to global domination.
Too bad the world never changes based on one person's will. All Uchiha Kei could do now was reminisce about his lost youth.
Then, he got to work.
Even though he doubted whether the system's mission reward would be of any use in the shinobi world, he figured—what if?
What if the reward actually *could* be used here?
So he decided to try completing the beginner mission, just to see.
He dove completely into the mental world constructed using his Sharingan as a platform and followed the system's skillset to program a basic game development engine.
It wasn't hard. With spiritual networks and bio-computer control, most functions could be built just by imagining them.
And game dev software itself was common in his past life. Basic tools for simple games could be created with just a few key scripts.
Sure, top-tier tools like the Unreal Engine were in another league—but Kei didn't need anything that powerful.
Using the Sharingan as a foundation and genjutsu as a medium, his spirit-network-based game-making didn't require high-end hardware to create incredibly realistic visuals.
Genjutsu of the shinobi world: underrated tech.jpg.
Half an hour later, he finished the tool—"My World 1.0."
It was a simple toolkit: create a few scenes, insert NPCs and monsters, throw in some traps.
On Earth, it would've been a pixel-style engine. But here, fused with Sharingan, genjutsu, and the system's black-box know-how, what Kei saw was a world *more real than real*.
A flawless plain stretched before him, touching the sky. Every blade of grass moved in the wind. The breeze brushing past made him feel like he was actually standing in a vast prairie.
To quote a netizen from his past life: "I can't even tell what's real anymore."
"It actually worked!"
Kei was shocked. He had only given it a shot—and it had really succeeded.
The system's future-tech and the shinobi world's unique abilities had combined in ways beyond imagination. The visual fidelity of what he'd created would take a Hollywood budget and a truckload of GPUs back on Earth.
And even that wouldn't compare. What he had now offered a full sensory experience—players could *feel* the game.
Without a doubt, this was the holy grail every game developer dreamed of.
Only problem? It consumed Uchiha chakra like crazy.
Because this spiritual world required his Sharingan to stay active. And the Sharingan always consumed chakra and mental energy.
Even if Uchihas didn't burn out as fast as a certain Copy Ninja, they still couldn't keep it on forever.
Kei was already feeling exhausted.
As a standard-issue Chūnin, his chakra capacity had hit its limit. No amount of training could push it further.
In this world, bloodline and talent were cruel constants. After 18 years alive and 14 years of effort, Uchiha Kei had fully accepted reality.
At best, his chakra pool let him keep the Sharingan active for 70 minutes. And that was with minimal usage like making games.
If he tried fighting with it, casting a few B-rank jutsu would drain him dry.
Having spent 30 minutes already, he had to finish the game quickly.
Luckily, as a former game designer, his skills and habits hadn't faded. Despite 18 years, his pre-death memories remained perfectly intact—likely a transmigrator bonus.
Every detail he remembered before dying stayed vivid. His old IT-level brain wasn't what it was during college entrance exams, but it was enough.
His knowledge and experience might not matter in the shinobi world—but they kept him sane. Even after getting crushed by cruel bloodline realities, he never broke down.
And now, with a chance to make a game, his "dog planner" skills could shine.
Kei had played tons of games in his past life, even obscure ones. And he remembered them all clearly.
He wasn't going to plagiarize, but in game development, "borrowing" ideas was common. Most of the so-called creative classics were just refined takes on lesser-known concepts.
As someone in the industry, he knew this all too well.
And he wasn't trying to build a masterpiece—just a simple game to clear the mission.
He already had something in mind.
He summoned his dev panel. A transparent UI appeared before him, filled with assets—trees, grass, rocks, buildings, NPCs—all preset.
All he had to do was build the map using his plan, drop in some NPCs and monsters, and boom—basic interaction achieved.
But halfway through, he hesitated.
What if the reward was another useless thing for the shinobi world?
Wouldn't all this effort be pointless?
He suddenly felt a wave of unease.
Understandable, really. He'd been disappointed so many times.
First, the "lucky" transmigration—into the Uchiha clan, doomed to be wiped out by the weasel.
Second, his bloodline sucked. He was from a side branch. Thin blood, garbage talent.
Still, he believed in "hard work beats talent." Surely effort would be rewarded, right?
Nope. The world gave him a brutal truth: no matter how hard he tried, he'd never rise above average Chūnin.
Only protagonists get the power-up arcs. Side characters like him? They get to watch the geniuses make history.
Damn it. This world sucked.
He was a transmigrator, damn it—and they gave him a background character's script!
The more he thought, the angrier he got. The angrier he got, the darker his thoughts became.
And then, a realization hit him.
Why make a cheerful, happy game?
This world treated regular people like trash. Maybe it was time to get some revenge.
No, Kei wasn't going to become a psycho killer.
But making rage-inducing troll games? That... sounded fun.
Just imagining someone getting wrecked by his game gave him a strange, wicked joy.
And with that, he had an epiphany.
This shinobi world had broken him. He was officially mentally warped!
What's that? Everyone in this world is messed up?
Well, that's fine then.
Having completed his mental prep, Uchiha Kei flipped the script.
He scrapped his original plan and went full "Hell Mode."
And as he worked, a grin began to tug at his lips, harder to suppress than an AK recoil. His mood only grew brighter.
Turns out, bottling up frustration really did make you sick. But once you let it out? Things got better.
He made a promise to himself: no matter what the system's reward was, he would make people *play* his game—and he would enjoy every second of their suffering.
The very thought made his heart race with excitement.
Fueled by this new obsession, Kei overextended himself.
He burned through his chakra and mental energy, forcing himself to finish the hell game. Only when it was fully compressed and saved into the mental network did he finally black out.
This—this was the last stand of a bitter dog planner, once doomed to rework an entire project after forgetting to hit save.
And so, Uchiha Kei never heard what reward the system gave when the game was complete.