Minato with a Gacha

MC's POV

The applause still echoed in my ears as I stepped off the stage, heart pounding like a drum. Somehow, I'd managed the speech without stumbling over my words or giving myself away. The crowd had cheered, Kushina had smiled softly, and for the first time since I'd arrived in this world, I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could pull this off.

The stone path stretched ahead, flanked by tall buildings and rows of villagers who still lingered in the square. An ANBU guard walked to my left, his masked face betraying nothing, his movements quiet and precise. He had been standing on the platform with me, an unmoving shadow, offering silent protection during my speech. Now, his presence should have been comforting.

Instead, it made my skin prickle.

There was something off about him—something I couldn't quite place. His steps were too deliberate, too measured, and when I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, he was closer than he had been before. Too close. My unease grew, curling in my chest like a cold knot.

"Is everything alright?" I asked, trying to sound casual. My voice wavered slightly, but I hoped he wouldn't notice.

The ANBU didn't answer. His blank mask remained fixed forward, cold and impenetrable.

Then, in a blur of motion, his hand shot out.

I barely had time to react before his fingers clamped down on my shoulder like a vice, steadying me with brutal efficiency. His other hand came up, too fast to follow, the glint of a blade flashing in the corner of my vision.

The realization hit me like ice in my veins—he's attacking me.

The kunai slashed clean across my throat.

The pain was instant, blinding. Fire erupted in my neck, and a hot, wet gush of blood spilled down my chest. My windpipe—my windpipe!—was severed. I staggered back, choking, clutching at the wound, but my hands came away slick and useless. Air whistled out in a wet, hollow gasp, my body desperate for oxygen that wasn't coming. I collapsed to my knees, the world tilting around me as my vision blurred at the edges.

This was it. I was dying. My head spun with panic as blood pooled at my feet. Everything felt too sharp, too real. There was no respawn button, no safety net. Just pain and the cold, undeniable reality that death had come for me.

The ANBU stood back, watching me without a word. He was calm, assured, his stance relaxed as if the job was already done. He was waiting for me to fall, waiting for the life to drain from my body.

But something deep inside me refused.

A spark ignited in the back of my mind—a low, insistent hum from my system, like the flicker of a flame fighting against the darkness. Heat surged through my veins, washing over the pain, and before I could fully grasp what was happening, the wound on my throat began to knit itself back together. The torn muscles, the ripped flesh—they healed in seconds, leaving no scar, no trace of the attack.

I blinked, my hands trembling as I touched my neck. Whole. I was whole.

The ANBU saw it, too. His calm wavered for the briefest of moments, a flicker of confusion flashing across his body language. But it was enough.

Anger flared in me—cold, instinctual, like a predator baring its fangs. My hands curled into fists as I locked eyes with him, and something unfamiliar surged within me. It wasn't fear or hesitation—it was power. Raw, untamed power.

It built behind my eyes, hot and unrelenting, and before I could stop myself, I let it loose.

A blinding red beam shot out of my vision, cutting through the air like a blade of fire. It struck the ANBU square in the chest, and the force of it ripped through him in an instant. Flesh and bone disintegrated, his torso reduced to ash, leaving behind only his legs and the shattered remains of his mask. The burnt scent of scorched flesh filled the air, sharp and acrid, mixing with the metallic tang of my blood still staining the ground.

And then, silence.

I dropped to my knees, gasping for air, the adrenaline crashing through me like a tidal wave. My hands shook as I wiped at my face, my mind spinning with what had just happened. My throat—it was fine. My vision—the beams, the heat, the destruction—I had done that. Somehow, in that moment of desperation, my system had responded, granting me powers I hadn't chosen, hadn't even known I could use.

[Cyclops' laser vision]

[Wolverine's regeneration]