If This World Is Twisted, Then I'll Design the Game Accordingly
Before transmigrating, he had been a game designer.
Not a visionary director.
Not an indie genius.
A planner.
The kind players cursed whenever a patch introduced "limited-time monetization adjustments."
He had worked on commercially successful mobile titles. Reskinned frameworks. Refined progression traps. Optimized retention curves.
He had understood the machinery of addiction.
And he had understood compromise.
Ideals came later—after KPIs.
If he had received this system in his previous life, he would have treated it as a miracle.
Now?
It was absurd.
Still.
Absurd did not mean useless.
Inside the illusion framework constructed through his Sharingan, Itachi began formal structuring.
Unlike external genjutsu, this construct was internal—a controlled cognitive simulation space. It did not hijack another's senses. It created a stable illusion field sustained by chakra precision.
He first built the development interface.
The system's mental-network architecture did not require keyboards, engines, or code editors. Thought was command. Structure was syntax.
Within minutes, a modular creation framework stabilized.
Scene templates.
Entity definitions.
Behavior trees.
Environmental variables.
Unlike conventional engines such as Unreal or Unity from his previous world, this "engine" operated through chakra-to-perception translation.
In simple terms—
Genjutsu rendering.
He tested a baseline environment.
Grassland.
Wind simulation.
Sky gradient.
Depth scaling.
The result stunned even him.
The realism exceeded cinematic special effects. This was not visual fidelity alone—it was five-sense immersion.
Sound, tactile feedback, airflow simulation, even subtle ground resistance underfoot.
Because it did not simulate reality.
It replaced perception.
"This… is dangerous."
Not as entertainment.
As a weapon.
The only limitation was chakra consumption.
Maintaining a three-tomoe Sharingan continuously consumed chakra, though not excessively at his current level. As an Anbu captain, his reserves were already above standard Chūnin benchmarks. Canonically, Itachi's chakra control was refined enough to perform high-level genjutsu with minimal waste.
Even so, sustaining a complex mental framework would drain him over time.
He estimated:
Rough sandbox simulation — manageable.
Full-scale interactive illusion — taxing.
Mass multi-target deployment — currently unrealistic without preparation.
Half an hour passed while he constructed the foundational toolset.
Fatigue began to creep in—not from weakness, but from precision strain. Sharingan-based cognition demanded continuous mental clarity.
Still, the framework held.
Now came the design question.
Originally, he had intended to create something simple. A minimal construct. Complete the beginner task. Observe the reward.
Efficient.
Clinical.
But as he structured NPC logic and environmental triggers, a thought surfaced.
What if the reward was meaningless?
What if this system was as unreliable as its world-detection logic?
He paused.
This world was already unstable.
The Uchiha clan was under suspicion.
The coup was advancing quietly.
Danzo maneuvered in shadows.
The village elders calculated.
Peace was an illusion long before he began designing one.
And he—armed with future knowledge—stood at the center of a tragedy that canon dictated must occur.
He had accepted many things since awakening in this body.
Duty.
Surveillance.
Sacrifice.
But now he possessed something new.
A different battlefield.
He adjusted the environmental parameters.
Flattened terrain became distorted geometry.
Safe NPC paths became unpredictable.
Reward triggers inverted into punishment mechanisms.
Expectation became misdirection.
What if—
Instead of comfort—
The experience forced adaptation?
Instead of power fantasy—
It imposed constraint?
Instead of victory—
It demanded survival under pressure?
The ninja world did not reward innocence.
Why should his game?
A faint smile touched his lips.
Not madness.
Clarity.
If this was to be his weapon, then it would reflect reality honestly.
Unforgiving.
Interactive.
Consequential.
He refined the core loop:
Player enters illusion.
Objectives appear simple.
Environmental logic subtly shifts.
Trust becomes dangerous.
Complacency becomes lethal.
Not lethal in reality—not yet.
But psychologically taxing.
A controlled hell.
His chakra began thinning.
Precision faltered slightly.
Still, he pushed through the final structuring phase, compressing the completed construct into a stable mental seed—an illusion module that could be deployed when needed.
At the exact moment the compression locked—
His vision blurred.
He disengaged the Sharingan instantly to prevent excessive drain.
Even so, the backlash hit.
Mental exhaustion overtook him.
He collapsed onto the tatami floor, breathing steady but heavy.
Darkness crept in.
Just before consciousness slipped—
A system notification echoed faintly.
[Beginner task complete.]
[Evaluating game construct…]
But he did not hear the reward.
Sleep claimed him first.