Minato with a Gacha

The world swam in and out of focus. White ceiling tiles. Sterile, antiseptic air. The hum of machinery. My body felt like it had been fed through a woodchipper, every nerve screaming in unison.

[Ability Activated: Wolverine's Regeneration (X-Men). Penalty: Cellular Agony – Pain receptors amplified by 300%.]

Fire. Acid. Lightning. Every shattered bone knitting itself back together felt like a serrated blade carving through my flesh. I tried to scream, but my jaw was still fused shut, the mandible reforming with a sickening crunch.

This… is worse than death.

"—vitals stabilizing, but his chakra network is… fluctuating. Like it's rejecting his own body." A muffled voice. A medic in Konoha's standard-issue mask leaned over me, hands glowing green with medical ninjutsu. Useless. My borrowed healing factor was already outpacing their efforts, muscles and sinew squirming like live wires under my skin.

"Let him suffer," growled another voice. Kushina. She stood in the doorway of the underground medical bunker, arms crossed, her face a mask of simmering fury. A fresh scar ran from her collarbone to her ribs—the parting gift from Tifa's Final Heaven. "He's earned it."

The medic hesitated. "Lady Kushina, his nervous system is—"

"Leave."

They fled. Kushina waited until the door hissed shut before limping to my bedside. Her scent hit me first—blood, burnt ozone, and the faintest trace of Minato's old cologne clinging to her jacket.

"You look like hell," she said flatly.

I managed a wet, gurgling laugh. My vocal cords were still regrowing.

She leaned down, her crimson hair curtaining us from the security cameras. "Listen carefully, impostor. Whatever you did out there… it wasn't enough. The real Minato would've ended that fight in three moves. Clean. Precise. No theatrics."

A spark of defiance cut through the pain. I forced my half-formed tongue to work. "But… he's… dead."

Her fist slammed into the wall beside my head, cracking steel. "And you're alive. So act like it."

She stormed out, leaving me alone with the agony and the cold glow of the system interface.

[Penalty Report]

Kratos' Spartan Rage: Muscular atrophy detected. Penalty reduced from "Berserker Rage" to "Localized Tissue Necrosis". Reason: User's physical form incompatible with divine-tier output.

Goku's Kamehameha: Skeletal fractures downgraded from "Full-body paralysis" to "Left arm immobilization". Reason: Chakra capacity insufficient to replicate Saiyan biology.

Tifa's Final Heaven: Recovery time reduced from 72 hours to 12 hours. Reason: Chi saturation levels suboptimal.

So that's why I lost.

The system wasn't just limiting me with penalties—it was diluting the abilities themselves. Kratos had slaughtered gods with his rage, but in my hands, it was just… enhanced strength. A knockoff. Because I wasn't strong enough, not spiritually or physically, to handle the real thing. The penalties were milder because the powers were neutered.

A bitter laugh bubbled up, tearing at my raw throat. All this time, I'd thought the system was my lifeline. Turns out it was a leash.

[Warning: Shinigami's Mark – Soul Debt Payment Due in 23:59:12.]

A task given to be by the shinigami who sucked Minato's soul

The skeletal handprint on my ankle pulsed, icy tendrils creeping up my leg. I'd used Minato's body, his chakra, his very soul as collateral in that Dead Demon Consuming Seal. Now the bill was coming due.

The door slid open again. Not Kushina. A young gray-haired medic with tired eyes and a mask covering his face and left eye. He injected a syringe of murky fluid into my IV.

"Adrenaline cocktail," he muttered. "Might take the edge off."

It didn't. Wolverine's healing burned through the drugs in seconds, my liver metabolizing them into useless ash.

"Why… bother?" I rasped.

The medic paused. "Because you're the Hokage. And Konoha needs you."

He left before I could tell him the truth—that Konoha's Hokage died months ago, replaced by a fraud with a stolen face