Of course, the so-called Mangekyō was just Uchiha Fugaku's way of sarcastically expressing his disbelief. He knew very well that Uchiha Kei hadn't awakened the Mangekyō Sharingan—if he had, there'd be no need for his targets to offer zero resistance for the jutsu to work.
After all, if it really were the legendary Mangekyō, resistance wouldn't make much difference. You'd be doomed regardless.
It's just that the activation conditions for Kei's jutsu were incredibly strict, while the effects—once successful—were overwhelmingly powerful.
Still, unlike Minato Namikaze, Uchiha Fugaku had no thoughts of refining this jutsu into something on par with Wood Style. While Kei was talented in his own way, his aptitude as a shinobi was simply too low.
As the head of the Uchiha clan, Fugaku was a staunch believer in the supremacy of bloodlines. He didn't share Minato's belief that with the right chance and effort, one could break past their bodily limits or bloodline shackles.
That said, this technique did give Fugaku hope—hope for a way to dramatically increase the Uchiha clan's Sharingan awakening rate and accelerate its evolution.
The realism of the illusion, and the fact that even powerful three-tomoe Sharingan couldn't see through it, made this an ultimate secret technique tailor-made for the Uchiha.
Forget everything else—even just the extreme terror one experienced inside it was enough. Anyone with decent bloodline purity might awaken their Sharingan from sheer trauma.
Frankly, Fugaku believed that if he hadn't already awakened his Sharingan, the experience just now would've done the trick.
And now, as blood-red figures surged toward him in that domain—being mobbed, fighting desperately, and ultimately overwhelmed and killed—Fugaku was more convinced than ever.
Because the experience of dying was terrifyingly real. The pain of his body being torn apart by weapons felt all too authentic. It made him question whether this was illusion or reality—
If his Sharingan weren't completely ineffective here, Fugaku might have believed it was real.
Note: "Ineffective" doesn't just mean the Sharingan couldn't dispel the illusion—it means the Sharingan was basically useless in this game-world.
Don't forget, Fugaku was playing a character. One marked to die.
Sure, the game didn't stop him from using a "cosmetic" version of the Sharingan, but cosmetics can't override the base code. There was no actual buff.
So Fugaku's Sharingan in-game was just a fancy eye filter. His stats stayed the same. Updates are released by 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝·𝘧𝙞𝙧𝙚·𝔫𝔢𝔱
In fact, without his usual Sharingan boost, Fugaku's actual combat ability dropped.
He already wasn't as skilled in combat as Minato. With equal conditions, and without the Sharingan's support, Fugaku was like a total noob playing Dark Souls—pure cannon fodder.
What Kei saw was Fugaku dying, respawning, and dying again in every possible way—
Stabbed, stomped, crushed, slashed, pierced, dismembered, split apart... even turned into "2.5 Fugakus."
A true gallery of artistic death.
Fugaku's initial fear of death gradually gave way to numbness. Then, driven by unwillingness and fury, he entered a red-hot, obsessed state. Fueled by the will of "I will beat these blood fiends no matter what," he began pushing forward, fighting with everything he had.
His desperate and relentless stance left Kei momentarily silent. Then he scratched his head.
"Should I tell him... he doesn't actually need to beat every single blood fiend? He just has to reach the final point?"
"Looking at how fired up he is, he might get mad if I told him that now."
"Eh, forget it. I'm not looking for users to actually clear the game. I just want their emotional value."
Muttering to himself, Kei glanced at the system panel. The number he saw made him nod in satisfaction.
Fugaku had already contributed 1,024 emotional points.
Though it had plateaued, and wasn't as high as what Minato had given, it was still a significant amount. Kei's mission progress had made a big leap.
And this was probably Fugaku's limit.
The game had barely begun, and yet he'd already maxed out his emotional output. Just showed how intense his emotional swings were.
Kei felt a little regretful.
He regretted making the game *too big*.
While it seemed like a short game to him—under two hours of content—the feedback from players suggested that even a half-hour microgame would have been enough.
Even if it didn't max out emotional values, it'd earn the bulk, and he could conserve chakra and ocular power to run more games per day.
"Still overestimated the mental strength of elite shinobi... Or maybe these Earth-style horror mechanics are just too advanced for this world. Even shinobi elites can't stop themselves from triggering loot drops."
Thinking aloud, Kei considered another approach—splitting the current game into a shorter, thirty-minute "demo version."
Standalone games often had demos. A full-length game might have 5–6 hours of content, with a 20–30 minute slice as the trial. Kei would take his 2-hour game and cut it to 30 minutes.
Since the goal was to complete the beginner mission by gathering 5,000 emotional points, this approach was entirely valid.
Kei asked the system if it was allowed.
The system—still a dumb AI—gave a rare useful answer: Yes.
As long as it's the first game, and players engage for at least ten minutes, emotional points can be harvested. The shorter runtime just means you can't reach max value.
Kei was very satisfied with that answer.
He did feel some regret—if he'd known sooner, he might've completed the mission today.
Still, the flexibility the system offered was impressive. One demo could squeeze nearly the full emotional yield out of each player. Based on how Minato and Fugaku reacted, most players would reach their emotional limit within 30 minutes.
So for mission completion, a demo might be all he needed.
But this was only true in the shinobi world.
In this entertainment desert, Kei's genjutsu-powered game was a dimensional sledgehammer.
If this were Earth, forget the lack of tech to build spiritual networks—
Even if you made the most immersive game ever, modern folks already saturated by entertainment wouldn't be nearly as affected.
A mere demo, no matter how well-made, would at most get them hyped or intrigued. Their emotional points couldn't compare.
Kei knew that once his games became widespread, shinobi would develop resistance to these tricks.
Eventually, even this "tiny" game might only make their hearts beat a little faster... if that.
But that's the way of things. Humans always raise the bar for joy.