POV Ninja Leader
The rain hammering against the steel hull of the cargo ship was the only sound filling the silence after the X-Men's departure. My senses, refined by years of hellish training, were on maximum alert.
Behind me, my forty-nine brothers remained motionless. We were not merely soldiers; we were extensions of the Master's will.
Like most ninja clans, the Foot Clan gathered its soldiers from childhood. Street children, orphans, human trafficking victims—they took as many as they could and trained them into adulthood, molding them into top-tier lethal assassins. But in the end, we were nothing to the clan leader, merely cannon fodder to do the dirty work, children who owed their lives to the "generosity" they had been granted.
I was no different. I was a street child recruited by the Foot Clan. They trained me, fed me, gave me shelter and clothes, and in return they asked only that we live for them, that we be their tools.
I was fine with that. They gave me everything I had ever wanted, so why not? I thought I would serve the Foot Clan until I died.
That changed on the day we fought those mutant turtles. We were badly injured, trapped in a building on the verge of exploding from explosives we ourselves had planted to use against the turtles.
Our former master? He fled at the first opportunity, leaving us to die. I don't blame him. Why bother collecting broken tools when you have thousands working perfectly back home? It simply makes no sense.
I still remember the fire. The suffocating heat and the collapsing beams—until that red-and-blue figure pulled us to safety. He took us in, healed us, and gave my brothers and me a new purpose.
The Master says he is not a "Master," but to us—who were shaped to serve—he is the sun around which our existence orbits.
Normal POV
"Spidey," Tony's voice came out metallic and laced with not-so-subtle curiosity. "Can we talk about the fact that you have a private army of ninjas crouched on the ceiling? Because, honestly, that's way more Daredevil or Wolverine than it is you."
Peter sighed. He made a discreet hand signal, and the fifty ninjas, in a movement that defied gravity and sound, leapt down from the beams and landed on the lower deck, kneeling behind him. The synchronization was so perfect it sounded like a single muffled thud.
Red Hulk stared for a moment.
"So… you become the Shogun of Queens or something?"
"Uh… Shogun of Queens. I like the title, Ross. Fits my royal heritage of overdue bills," the master replied, trying to inject his usual humor while thinking up an excuse.
"They're… volunteers," Peter improvised, gesturing vaguely at the fifty motionless ninjas. "I helped them with a… rehabilitation project. You know, 'Friendly Neighborhood' stuff. They decided helping me save civilians was a better way to repay their debt than their old job."
"Rehabilitation?" Tony Stark landed, the plates of his armor adjusting with a mechanical whine. He walked up to the Ninja Leader, who didn't even blink. "They seem awfully well-trained for a bunch of community-center volunteers, Spidey. That carbon fiber on their wrist guards isn't exactly easy to find, let alone cheap. And their silence? Creepy. Even Black Widow makes more noise."
Spidey looked at him.
"Okay, I exaggerated. But my point stands."
"Give the kid a break, Tony," Steve Rogers intervened, though his blue eyes were still on the ninjas. "However Spider-Man recruited them, they saved lives today. They pulled more than two hundred civilians out of Whirlwind's blast radius while we were busy. That's what matters."
"Thanks, Cap," Peter said, feeling genuine relief. "But, uh… guys, if you don't mind, I need to take my 'interns' somewhere safe. They're still adjusting, you know… to everything."
"Just don't let them park their katanas in restricted areas," Sam Wilson joked, testing the joints of his mechanical wings, now free of green fluid. "And Spidey, thanks for the bomb. I owe you one."
With a nod to the heroes, Peter jumped off the ship. "All right, guys! Dispersal movement, Delta pattern!"
He didn't even know what a "Delta pattern" was, but the ninjas seemed to understand perfectly. In seconds, the shadows on the deck shifted, and the cargo ship looked emptier.
Twenty minutes later, in an abandoned warehouse in Queens that Peter occasionally used to stash extra web-shooters, the group regrouped. The rain still drummed on the tin roof, creating a steady rhythm.
Peter pulled off his mask, revealing a face clearly exhausted from days without proper sleep. He looked at the fifty men and women kneeling before him.
As he analyzed his new memories more closely, Peter now knew exactly who they were—each and every one of them.
Akari, Hana, Haruto, Hiroshi, Kaito, Takeshi, Mei, Ren, Yuki… all of them. Peter had memories with all of them—happy, sad, funny, even embarrassing ones. It was so familiar, yet at the same time strange.
Peter let out a long sigh. It would take time to adjust. "Kenji, come here."
Quickly, Kenji—until now known as the ninja leader—stepped forward and knelt again.
"Master."
"As you all know, I currently don't have the means to house you—either where I live or anywhere else," Peter admitted. "So for now, while I sort out housing for you, as well as identities—which you also don't have—stay here in this warehouse. If you want, you can look for work during this time as well."
With his job at Horizon Labs, Peter finally had a decent salary and a good apartment, but neither could support fifty-one people.
"Work, Master?" Kenji asked, his voice devoid of irony. "Our skills are geared toward infiltration, intelligence gathering, and elimination. I don't believe local bakeries or delivery companies would appreciate our… methodology."
Peter gave a dry laugh, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, you've got a point. But what I mean is I don't want you rotting here. You're free—within reason, of course. You can even come with me on patrol sometimes if you want, just make sure to stay off the radar of curious eyes. If S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Hand Clan catch one of you, it'll be a headache."
"Understood, Master," Kenji replied, his voice firm as the steel of his blade.
"We will maintain vigilance."
With a nod, the ninjas dispersed among the beams and dark corners of the warehouse, moving with such efficiency that the place seemed empty in seconds. Peter stood alone in the center, the silence broken only by the drip of a distant leak.
He looked at the translucent interface still floating in his field of vision.
[Current GP: 70]
"Seventy points," Peter muttered to himself. "Thirty more and I get a Bronze Rank pull. Or I could try seven more Iron Rank pulls and see if I get… I don't know, an infinite set of cutlery?"
He shook his head and put the mask back on. The adrenaline from the fight against Cable and the Lethal Legion had faded, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. Having an army was useful, but the logistics of feeding and hiding fifty ninjas in New York was a nightmare.
[Ding! Long-Term Mission Unlocked!]
[Title: The Path of the Grandmaster]
[Objective: Establish a legitimate base of operations for your subordinates.]
[Reward: 300 GP + Bronze Rank Item (Random)]
"Great. Now the system wants me to become a real estate broker," Peter quipped as he left the warehouse through the skylight. "Like everything else wasn't already enough of a problem."
Peter Parker's Apartment, 02:15 AM
Peter slipped in through his bedroom window—already in civilian clothes—with maximum caution, his feet barely touching the wooden floor so as not to wake the neighbors. He collapsed onto the bed and closed his eyes.
Sleep didn't come. Instead, the implanted memories began to play like a film reel. He saw Akari's face as she thanked him for saving her from a collapse; saw the look of respect on Hiroshi's face when Peter supposedly taught him how to use an opponent's momentum against them—a little strange, since he already knew how to do that before.
System, he thought silently. These people… do they have dreams? Do they have desires of their own beyond serving me?
[Ding! Subordinates generated by the system possess full consciousness and individual personalities based on their original archetypes. Loyalty is a fundamental instinct, but their minds are free to evolve, learn, and feel. They are not robots, Host. They are lives bound to yours.]
Peter stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of that answer. He hadn't just gained tools; he had gained a family of strangers who would die for him without hesitation.
"That's a lot of responsibility, Ben," he whispered into the empty room.
The Next Day…
The New York sunlight was relentless, and Peter was late—again—for his shift at Horizon. He ran through crowded sidewalks, dodging tourists and hot-dog carts, when he felt that familiar sensation.
It wasn't his Spider-Sense screaming danger, but the feeling of being watched.
He glanced at the top of a building across the street. For a fraction of a second, he saw the glint of a lens and the outline of a ninja mask before the figure vanished behind a chimney.
Are they following me? Peter thought.
As he neared an alley, a low female voice echoed from behind a dumpster.
"Master, you forgot your coffee."
Peter nearly tripped over his own feet. He stopped and stepped into the alley. Leaning against the damp wall was Akari—one of the ninjas he now remembered as having exceptional skill with poisons and first aid—holding a thermal cup from a cheap café.
She stepped out of the shadows, dressed in surprisingly normal civilian clothes—an oversized hoodie and jeans—though her posture was far too defensive for an ordinary teenager.
"Akari? What are you doing here? I told you to stay in the warehouse!"
"You showed elevated cortisol levels and signs of adrenal fatigue," Akari replied calmly, handing him the cup. "Kenji ordered a rotating protection detail. I am the morning guard."
Peter took the coffee, feeling the warmth. "Rotating protection? Akari, I'm Spider-Man. I fight guys who knock down buildings. I don't need you exposing yourselves in daylight just to bring me caffeine."
"With all due respect, Master, Spider-Man can face extreme danger, but Peter Parker often forgets to look both ways before crossing the street when distracted by… 'bills,'" she said with a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Also, Haruto got a job on a platform called Uber Eats. He is already generating funds for the clan. And I have a job interview later today at McDonald's."
Peter blinked, dumbfounded. "You… what? Already? Wait, how did he even sign up for the platform?"
"He bought a phone on a twelve-month installment plan."
Peter blinked again. "Oh… that makes sense."
He took a sip of the coffee—it was surprisingly perfect, with exactly the amount of sugar he liked—and processed the information. Fifty ninjas from a clan were infiltrating New York's low-wage economy. If the situation weren't so bizarre, he'd probably be proud.
"Akari, just… try not to draw attention, okay? If someone sees a ninja delivering Big Macs with a somersault, I don't think it'll go unnoticed."
"Understood, Master. We will be like the wind. Or like a very efficient outsourced employee," she replied, before vanishing among the cardboard boxes in the alley with agility that defied any civilian's peripheral vision.
"I forgot they picked up some of my humor."
Peter headed to Horizon Labs, his mind racing. He needed money. He needed a place. And above all, he needed to understand how far this Gacha system would take him.
Horizon Labs, 10:45 AM
The lab was bustling. Max Modell rushed around with holographic tablets, while Grady Scraps tried—unsuccessfully—to contain a small controlled fire in a Tesla coil.
"Parker! Good that you're here," Max said without even looking up as he passed Peter. "I need you to review the stability calculations for the new carbon polymer. We're having issues with shear stress."
"On it, Max," Peter replied, already booting up his terminal.
As his fingers flew across the keyboard, a small system notification glowed discreetly in the lower corner of his retina.
[Ding! Daily Mission Generated!]
[Objective: Successfully use the 'Persuasion' skill in a professional conversation.]
[Reward: 10 GP]
Seriously? Even at work? Peter thought, letting out a long sigh.
He glanced into the next room, where Grady was arguing with one of the company's investors about the budget for the new propulsion project. The investor, a heavyset man in an expensive suit named Mr. Henderson, looked ready to slash the funding in half.
Well, now or never.
Peter stood up and walked into the room.
"…Mr. Henderson? Grady? Sorry to interrupt, but I was reviewing the energy efficiency data Grady proposed."
Henderson snorted. "And who are you? Another prodigy kid with expensive ideas?"
Peter felt a strange tingling at the base of his throat—the Persuasion skill activating. It wasn't mind control; it was more like suddenly knowing exactly which words to choose, what tone to use, and how to position his body to seem like the most trustworthy person in the room.
"Listen, Mr. Henderson," Peter began, his voice taking on a calm, magnetic cadence that even surprised him. "I understand the current numbers look like a leap of faith. But if you look at the projection curve for Grady's propulsion project, we're not just talking about spending capital; we're talking about patenting the first 'zero-friction' technology applicable to commercial aviation."
Peter leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady but inviting. "You don't want to be the investor who cut the budget on the project that makes fossil fuel obsolete in the next ten years, do you? Imagine the legacy. Imagine the valuation of your shares when the next quarter opens."
Mr. Henderson, pen poised to strike through the budget, hesitated. His eyes, once irritated, softened. He looked at the graphs, then at Peter's sincere face.
"I… I hadn't thought about it from a legacy perspective, Parker," the investor murmured, wiping sweat from his brow. "Maybe… maybe we can keep the original budget for another six months to see the prototype's results."
Grady stared, mouth agape, looking from Peter to Henderson as if he had just witnessed a magic trick.
[Ding! Daily Mission Completed!]
[Reward: 10 GP added.]
[Current Total: 80 GP.]
"Wow, Peter," Grady whispered after Henderson left the room. "What was that? You looked like Tony Stark selling ice to Eskimos. I almost wanted to invest my own salary in the project!"
"Oh, you know, Grady… sometimes the right words just show up at the right time," Peter deflected, feeling a slight pang of guilt. The skill was useful, but it felt almost like cheating.
Queens, 7:30 PM
After his shift, Peter didn't go home. He suited up and headed to the warehouse. Along the way, he stopped only two armed robberies and one car theft—a surprisingly small number for that time of night.
Inside the warehouse, the scene was bizarre. About twenty ninjas sat in a circle. In the center, Haruto—still wearing his delivery vest—was counting a pile of one-dollar bills and coins.
"The Master has arrived!" Kenji announced.
Everyone stood and bowed instantly.
"Guys, seriously, stop bowing," Peter said, removing his mask. "How was the day? Nobody got arrested?"
"Everything proceeded within parameters, Master," Kenji reported. "Haruto was rated a 'Diamond Courier' on his first afternoon due to rooftop delivery speed. Mei secured a night security position at a jewelry store—the owner was impressed that she didn't blink for four hours straight. We have already accumulated seven hundred dollars for the clan fund."
Peter sat on a wooden crate, impressed. "Seven hundred dollars in one day? You're already doing better than I did when I worked at the Bugle."
He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing at the irony. While he had spent years selling photos of himself for pocket change to J. Jonah Jameson, his new subordinates were basically "hacking" New York's gig economy with elite training.
"Good work, everyone. But don't work yourselves to death at McDonald's or Uber," Peter said, looking around the group. "I need you to start mapping specific areas of the city. Not just for surveillance, but to identify places that could serve as a legitimate base. The system—I mean, I—needs us to have somewhere that isn't a collapsing warehouse."
"Understood, Master," Kenji replied. "Yuki and Takeshi have already begun monitoring commercial properties under judicial auction in Brooklyn and Queens. Locations with underground infrastructure are our priority."
Peter nodded, feeling things fall into place—even if in a completely surreal way. He stepped away from the group for a moment of privacy and opened the system screen.
[Current GP: 80]
"Well… I was going to save for Bronze Rank, but with these people, I need something that helps everyone. Maybe Iron Rank will give me something useful…"
He paused. The "Compensation Mechanism" said a character card was guaranteed every ten pulls. He had already done five. If he did five more now, he'd gain another ally.
"System… do five Iron Rank pulls at once!"
[GP: -50]
[Remaining GP: 30]
[Drawing… Please wait.]
The light boxes on the screen spun frantically. Peter closed his eyes and crossed his fingers, ignoring the curious stares of fifty ninjas watching their Master glare into empty space with an expression of agony.
[Lottery Results:]
Karai: An elite kunoichi, former heir of the Foot Clan, master of blades and guerrilla tactics. Possesses a sharp sense of honor and superior leadership abilities.
Basic Nutrition Pills x10: A small pill capable of satisfying hunger and providing the necessary nutrients for an adult human for 24 hours. (Tastes like wet cardboard.)
Long-Duration Smoke Bomb x5: Produces a dense smoke screen that blocks thermal vision and infrared sensors for 3 minutes.
Stealth Training Scroll x1: A consumable item that permanently increases stealth proficiency by one rank (Up to Expert rank).
Skill: Basic Carpentry (Iron Rank): (You now know the difference between oak and pine, and can fix a wobbly table so it doesn't collapse the next day.)
Peter stared at the screen for a few seconds, processing the result. The carpentry skill earned a resigned sigh—at least he could fix the warehouse leaks now—but his eyes locked onto the first item.
Karai.
Unlike the common members of the Foot Clan, her name didn't come with just a technical description. It came with an aura—iron-toned, bright, and alive.
Peter whispered, "Come… Karai."
The air didn't merely ripple this time; it seemed to split with the precision of a blade. At the center of the circle formed by the ninjas, a figure appeared. She was taller than Akari, wearing black-and-silver armor far more ornate and functional than the others'. Her hair was short, black with dyed streaks, and her gaze—Karai's gaze—was like ice under the sun.
She fixed her eyes on him. She smiled.
"Hey, Peter."