Naruto: The Architect

'Itachi Uchiha is suffering from a severe autoimmune disease,' Nova reported. 'If untreated, it will significantly shorten his lifespan. Would you like to cure him?

Hiroshi scratched his chin, considering. "Hmm, ... What's the catch?"

"You'll need to spend Energy Points (EP) to create the skill. The cost will depend on the skill's complexity and rank," Nova explained cheerfully.

"Alright, let's see how much this'll set me back," Hiroshi said, standing up. "Activate system core."

Instantly, his consciousness shifted. He found himself in a white, endless room where countless holographic screens floated around him like a swarm of digital fireflies. A futuristic keyboard appeared before him, cracking his knuckles. "Alright, Nova, let's cook."

He began typing on the holographic keyboard, defining the parameters of the healing skill: instant cure for any diseases + restoration of damaged tissues + restoring severed nerves + no side effects, and, of course, it had to look cool when used!

As he finalized the skill, the EP cost calculation appeared on a large screen in front of him.

[Cost: 100,000 EP]

"Are you kidding me?" Hiroshi's jaw dropped. "That's every single EP I earned fighting the Nine-Tails!"

"Correct! Would you like to proceed?"

Hiroshi groaned, running a hand through his hair. "No way. I'm not blowing my entire EP stash on one skill. Sorry, Itachi."

Instead, he turned back to the keyboard, a mischievous grin forming. "Nova, how much EP to awaken some affinities instead?"

"What type of affinities would you like to awaken?" Nova asked.

"Let's go big: Space, Gravity, Yin, Yang, Dark, and Light," Hiroshi said, typing furiously.

[Calculating …. …. …. ….Calculating …. …. …. ….Calculating…. …. .. . ?!]

'You already have those affinity in dormant state because of your blood line!'

[Total cost: 60,000 EP]

"Now that's a bargain. Let's do it." Hiroshi nodded with satisfaction.

As he confirmed the purchase, a rush of power coursed through his virtual self. He could almost feel the dormant energies within him stir to life.

"Affinities awakened," Nova confirmed. "Congratulations, Hiroshi! You are now slightly less average!"

"Gee, thanks," Hiroshi rolled his eyes.

After basking in his newly unlocked potential, he turned to Nova again. "Alright, let's settle this once and for all. How much EP do I need to fully awaken my Otsutsuki bloodline?"

Nova calculated, her holographic avatar spinning dramatically. Finally, the number appeared.

[Cost: 100,000,000 EP.]

Hiroshi froze. "One hundred... million?"

"Correct!" Nova chirped. "Would you like to proceed?"

"Would I—?" Hiroshi waved his arms in frustration. "Nova, do I look like I'm sitting on a mountain of EP? I just spent 60,000! How many time I have to fight nine tail to gather that much??"

"Only 1000 time,"

"Thanks for answer you dumb AI." Hiroshi grumbled, shutting down the system core. As his consciousness returned to the real world,

"Looks like I have to find other way to gather EP" he muttered. and with that, Hiroshi lay back on the bad, plotting his next steps, while Nova hummed cheerfully in the background.

…

Dubai,

The 'Chef' leaned casually against the steel door of the chamber, spinning his dagger in his hand like a toy. Beside him, his assistant—childhood friend, and occasional something-more-than-friend—stood with her arms crossed, surveying the carnage behind them.

A trail of bodies lay scattered down the hallway: security guards, hired thugs, and a few unfortunate souls who thought they could outgun them.

"You know," she said, stepping carefully over a particularly messy pile of what used to be a guard, "you really need to work on your cleanup skills. This is just sloppy." She waved her hand at the bloody scene, wrinkling her nose. "I mean, look at this guy! What did he ever do to you?"

Alex smirked, not even bothering to glance back. "Oh, please. You're not exactly clean in this either." He pointed at her gun, which was still smoking slightly from the recent firefight. "That guy over there looks like he was turned into Swiss cheese."

"He tried to shoot me. Rude, really."

He chuckled, turning his attention back to the door. "Focus, will you? The reactor's in there, and we're on a schedule."

She sidled up beside him, leaning closer than necessary. "Oh, I'm focused. Just maybe not on the reactor."

Alex rolled his eyes, though he couldn't help the faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You've got terrible timing, you know that?"

"I've got great timing. You're just bad at multi-tasking."

"Fine," he sighed mockingly. "You want to multitask? Start figuring out how to answer this." He gestured toward the console next to the steel door, its interface displaying a small biometric scanner and a question prompt blinking on the screen:

"Insert implant and verify credentials to proceed."

His assistant raised an eyebrow. "Oh, great. A riddle. Just what we needed."

Alex crouched in front of the console, pulling the small metal implant from his vest—the one they'd retrieved from the Russian guy earlier. It was still coated with a bit of blood, but he brushed it off and held it up to the scanner.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered, pressing the implant against the scanner. A brief hum of acknowledgment followed, and the screen flickered to reveal the first question:

"In what year was the third global trade agreement signed?"

His assistant groaned. "Are you kidding me? They're testing us on fucking history now?"

"It's not a test," Alex replied, already flipping through his mental archive of geopolitical trivia. "It's an authentication protocol. They want to make sure we're the people who're supposed to be here—or at least smart enough to fake it."

"Great. You're the nerd. Answer it."

"1947," Alex said confidently, typing it in.

The screen flashed green, and a second question appeared:

"Code name of the operation during the Moscow Embassy Incident?"

His assistant whistled, leaning against the wall. "That's a deep cut. You were there, weren't you?"

"Obviously," Alex replied, typing "Operation Iron Fog". The screen flashed green again.

But then a third question appeared:

"What's the circumference of a standard NATO field ration can?"

His assistant stared at the screen, blinking. "Okay, now they're just messing with us."

"Ten centimeters," Alex said flatly, entering the answer.

"Of course, you'd know that," she quipped.

"I eat a lot of rations," he shot back.

The console beeped, and the scanner lit up again, this time with a handprint prompt.

"Alright, here we go," Alex said, pressing his hand to the screen. But instead of unlocking, the system let out a loud error tone, and a robotic voice announced: "Credentials incomplete. Verify implant authenticity."

"Uh-oh," his assistant muttered. "That doesn't sound good."

Before Alex could respond, the chamber's lights dimmed, and a klaxon blared. The console screen now displayed a new message:

"Intruders detected. Lethal countermeasures initiated."

"Perfect," Alex muttered.

The steel door began to slide open, but instead of revealing the reactor, it revealed a small army of automated machenical arm's loaded with guns emerging from the walls.

"Well," his assistant said dryly, pulling out her gun, "this is cozy."

Alex grabbed the implant and quickly slotted it into a hidden compartment on the console. "Hold them off!" he shouted as he typed commands, bypassing the system's countermeasure protocols.

"You owe me dinner!" she yelled back, firing at the turrets and ducking behind a pillar for cover.

"Deal!" Lines of code appeared on his wrist screen,

"Any day now!" she yelled, narrowly avoiding a burst of bullets.

"Done!" Alex exclaimed, just as the last turret shut down. The steel door fully opened, revealing the chamber's interior.

At the center of the room, bathed in an eerie blue glow, was the device they had been sent to retrieve—a sleek, ominous object resting on a pedestal.

Alex and his assistant stepped inside cautiously. "There it is," Alex said, letting out a low whistle. "The miniaturized nuclear fusion reactor. Looks like we're in business."

Before either of them could act, the chamber's lights flickered, and a large monitor on the far wall blinked to life. The screen revealed the smug face of the same man who had sent them here—the Pakistani politician funding the operation.

"Ah, Smith," the man said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Did you really think it would be that easy?"

"You son of a—"

The man cut him off, his smile widening. "Let me save you the trouble. That's not a reactor. That's your death sentence."

As he spoke, the device on the pedestal began to beep ominously. The monitor displayed a countdown:

00:02... 00:01... 00:00

"Well, Fu*k—