“Yoru… are you okay? If you’re not feeling well, we can go see the school doctor…”
Obito’s voice trembled as he scrambled to press himself further into the corner, hugging his knees tight.
［Emotional Damage Points from Uchiha Obito, +120!］
Yoru paid no attention whatsoever to the commotion beside him.
Because inside the system space, the final pillar of light had finally changed.
Instead of shattering like the rest, it suddenly erupted with a blindingly brilliant golden light!
The glow swept across the entire system space in waves, so radiant that Yoru could barely keep his eyes open.
This spectacle!
Yoru’s heart hammered like a drum, his very soul trembling with excitement.
An absolute masterpiece!
The ultimate weapon was here!
The golden light swirled through the air, slowly condensing, until at last it took the form of a slip of talisman paper wrapped in a faint golden halo, hovering quietly in midair.
The system’s emotionless mechanical voice boomed solemnly in Yoru’s mind:
［Ding!
Congratulations, host, on triggering the ten-pull pity.］
［Obtained premium item: Premium · Explosive Tag That Will Absolutely Never Explode ×1!］
As the voice faded, the system space fell into dead silence.
Yoru stood there as though hit with a freezing jutsu.
His eyes locked onto the gold-trimmed talisman paper, his brain flat-out frozen for a full five seconds.
The wind blew through the corridor.
Then Yoru sucked in a sharp breath of cold air.
He roared, hysterical, in his mind:
*”System!
Get out here and explain this to me!
What the hell do you mean, ‘premium, absolutely never explodes’?!”*
*”What on earth is the difference between this and that scrap of paper from the first pull?!”*
The system was silent for two seconds.
A line of meticulous text popped up on the screen:
［In response to the host: the standard version is a battle-damaged, secondhand item, whereas the premium version is brand new from the factory, its edges outlined in gold powder, making it highly collectible.］
Yoru felt like his heart had been stabbed clean through.
Highly collectible?
Who in the ninja world wants to collect an explosive tag that doesn’t explode?!
Am I so worried I won’t die fast enough that I’m stockpiling high-end funeral paper for myself?!
Just as Yoru’s legs went weak and he was about to slide down the corridor wall onto the floor —
An extremely eye-catching notice suddenly popped up in his mind:
［Ding!］
［Emotional Damage Points from Uchiha Yoru, +999!!!］
He’d actually triggered a 999-point breakdown from himself.
Yoru tilted his face up toward the corridor ceiling at a forty-five-degree angle.
From the corner of his eye, a single tear of pure, heartbroken misfortune rolled silently down.
“Yoru… why — why are you crying?”
Obito watched, dumbfounded.
Yoru didn’t answer.
*I’m tired.
Let the world burn.*
A gentle breeze drifted down the corridor.
Yoru leaned against the cold wall, gazing up at the ceiling at a forty-five-degree angle.
He closed his eyes; the tear of pure misfortune had already been dried by the wind.
He drew a deep breath, forcibly swallowing back the urge to strangle the system.
Was getting angry any use?
No.
As a working stiff who’d been beaten down by society in his past life, he knew all too well: even when the boss turns on you, you still swallow it and reply, “Understood.”
Right now, the system was his boss.
Sure, pulling a “highly collectible, explosion-proof explosive tag” out of the ten-pull pity was maddening — but this breakdown system was his one and only bargaining chip for surviving the Clan Massacre to come.
As long as he could keep shearing the sheep and mining points, then one day, when he finally pulled a Rinnegan or a Sage Body — he’d pay today’s rage back to Uchiha Itachi, with interest.
At that thought, Yoru’s breathing steadied.
He opened his eyes again, and in his gaze was the resolve of a man who had seen through the mortal world yet still refused to give up.
Not far off, at the base of the wall, Obito crouched two meters away, still pinching a flake of wall plaster between his fingers.
He’d watched Yoru’s face contort, then watched the tears well up.
And now Yoru had suddenly clenched his fists with a look of grim determination, leaving Obito thoroughly unnerved.
Obito’s throat bobbed as he shrank his neck and asked cautiously,
“Yoru… is something wrong with your head? I really don’t think that eraser even hit your forehead.”
“How about I ask the teacher for leave and we go to the clinic to get your brain checked? I’ll even cover the bill, okay?”
Along with Obito’s shaky voice, a faint notice sounded in Yoru’s mind.
［Emotional Damage Points from Uchiha Obito, +12!］
Looking at this trickle of income, Yoru ignored Obito’s “concern.” Instead, a bright spark of inspiration flashed through his mind.
Wait.
He began rapidly reviewing every single thing he’d done, from awakening the system this morning until now.
Whether it was wall-slamming Rin Nohara to her face, or mocking Kakashi Hatake about hemorrhoids, or yanking Obito over to use as a human shield against the eraser — every one of these point-exploding acts had been in-your-face, provocative trolling.
Which raised a critical question of logic: did the system’s scoring mechanism require a “named breakdown”?
Meaning — did the victim have to clearly know “it was Uchiha Yoru who got me,” and only then, from that emotional swing, would the system award points?
If he dug a pit in the road and someone fell in, cursing as they climbed out but with no idea who’d dug it — in that “anonymous state,” would the system still pay out?
This was too important.
Yoru quickly weighed the pros and cons.
If he could pull a sack over someone’s head or play dirty behind their back and still earn points even when the victim had no clue it was him — then he could operate entirely from the shadows in the future.
A harmless model student by day, a gleeful scheming bastard by night, farming points like mad.
But if it didn’t work — if only face-to-face mockery and open confrontation raised his points — then at his current rate of courting death, he wouldn’t even make it to the day, years from now, when that devoted big brother raised his blade.
He figured he’d be hacked to death by the entire village’s ninja, all working together, within a few days.
He needed a scapegoat to run this blind test on.
Just as Yoru was wracking his brain for candidates, there came a loud *clatter.*
A chaotic din of desks and chairs banging together spilled out of the classroom.
The door was yanked open.
The Chunin instructor, his face still black as the bottom of a pot, strode out with great heavy steps.
Holding a thick grade book, he announced loudly down the corridor,
“Everyone, quiet down this instant! Assemble on the playground, now!”
“Today’s the first day of school. For the first period, we’ll go straight into the basic Ninja Tool Throwing test!”
“All of you, get your ninja tools ready — this affects your starting rating for the semester!”
The words were barely out before a chorus of wails erupted from the classroom.
For kids who’d just entered the academy, throwing ninja tools was a difficult, technical skill.
Not everyone could nail the bullseye with their eyes closed like a prodigy such as Kakashi.
At the words “Ninja Tool Throwing test,” Yoru’s dead-fish eyes suddenly blazed with a piercing light.
A golden opportunity.
Like someone handing him a pillow the instant he started to nod off.
His gaze locked straight onto Obito, still crouched on the ground nearby.
That look was like a wolf starved for three days and nights suddenly spotting a lost, plump little lamb in the snow.
Obito was just about to stand when Yoru’s deeply bizarre stare pinned him in place, breaking a layer of cold sweat down his back.
Instinctively, he clapped a hand over the ninja tool pouch at his waist, forcing himself to slide back half an inch along the wall.
He swallowed hard.
“D-don’t look at me like that, you’re kind of freaking me out…”
Yoru swiftly reeled in his slightly perverted expression and replaced it with one of utter sincerity — self-righteous, even.
He took a few steps until he stood right in front of Obito, then thrust out his hand, palm up.
“Obito, I left in a rush today and forgot to bring my kunai.”
“How many do you have? Lend me some to get through the test.”
At that, Obito’s eyes went wide as copper bells, and he protested loudly, his face full of disbelief.
“Are you out of your mind?!”
“At yesterday’s freshman registration, the teacher told us over and over to bring every one of our ninja tools on the first day!”
“Who the hell forgets his sword before going to war?!”
Obito got more and more worked up as he spoke.
“How do you forget the tools of your own trade? Why didn’t you just leave your brain at home?!”
［Emotional Damage Points from Uchiha Obito, +88!］
But even as his mouth fired off words like a machine gun — being the famously pure-hearted simp and good brother of the Uchiha clan that he was —
Obito grumbled the whole time as he obediently unfastened the ninja tool pouch from his waist.