Ichiban Kasuga Saves The Multiverse.(A Multi-World fiction-jumping Time Loop)

[Zackman2k12]

The townhouse was a goddamn palace, all marble floors, fancy chandeliers, and enough bedrooms to house a small army. But the security system? A joke. It was so primitive, so laughably outdated, that it took me all of five minutes to disable it. Just a quick trip to the fuse box, a little jiggery-pokery with the wiring, and the whole system went dark. I ripped out the rest of the security crap, just to be safe, then flipped the power back on. Easy peasy.

Benny was right; this place was ripe for the taking. I found a journal in the study, the owner's neat handwriting detailing his travel plans. Three months in the Hodot Mountains, some remote range halfway across the continent. Wherever the hell that was.

I shrugged. Didn't matter to me. This place was mine for the next few days.

Time to get to work.

I spread the books Benny had given me out on the coffee table, their leather covers gleaming in the dim light. I started with the one titled "Shu, Your Weapon and You," figuring a guy called "The Swordsman" probably knew a thing or two about fighting.

I opened the book, and my breath caught in my throat.

Every page seemed to glow, a faint, pulsating light that felt like concentrated Ten. But the words… there were no words. Just a single image on each page: an eye, its pupil a flickering flame, with a finger pointing towards it.

I flipped through the pages, my brow furrowing. The image was the same, but the positions of the eye, the finger, and the flame shifted slightly on each page.

What the hell was this supposed to mean?

I moved on to the next book, "Modifying Your Ten." This one had actual words, at least for the first twenty-five pages. It was dense, technical stuff, filled with diagrams and explanations of how to manipulate your aura, how to refine your Ten, how to… well, how to modify it, I guess.

But then, on page twenty-five, the text abruptly stopped. The rest of the pages were blank, except for a single sentence scrawled at the bottom: "Refer to information about 'The Way to See with a Go'".

"The Way to See with a Go?" I muttered, flipping back to the cover. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

I checked the other books. "Nen of the Flame" just had a meditation technique that seemed good for focusing, but not much use in an actual fight. "Nen Handbook" explained how to use Ren to enhance your body, by pushing out your aura all at once. It claimed there was a limit to how much you could push out, and the goal was to extend the time you could maintain that full blast. The last three readable pages of that one had an image of a finger, with the word "force" written next to it, then a fire labeled "Ren," and then an eye with the word "fill."

I figured it out pretty quickly. They wanted me to shove Ren into my eye so I could read the rest of these damn books.

But would it work? Or would my eyeballs just explode?

I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.

But first, I had to try using Ren the way the book described. It was almost five in the morning, and I hadn't slept a wink since…

Well, since I freaking died.

Again.

I took a deep breath, focusing on the energy swirling within me. I pushed it outwards, feeling a surge of power as my aura flared around me. It was exhilarating, intoxicating…

But then it was goddamn exhausting.

Within two minutes, I was drained down to my ass as my aura flickered out like a dying candle.

I forced myself to stumble towards the nearest bedroom, my legs trembling with fatigue. I didn't even make it to the bed. I collapsed onto the plush carpet, my vision blurring, and passed out cold.

---

My eyes snapped open, and a jolt of the feeling of my head exploding with pain and extra-memorization, then a snapping sensation ran through me.

It was like the knowledge from those books, the parts I'd managed to read, were burned into my brain. I could still see the diagrams, the explanations, the cryptic images, even with my eyes closed.

I grabbed the nearest book, "Nen Handbook," and flipped it open.

My stomach dropped.

The pages were blank.

Empty.

Like they'd never been written on in the first place.

"What the fuck?!" I shouted, scrambling back from the book like it was about to explode.

I checked the other books. Same thing. The sections I'd read… gone. Vanished.

"No, no, no…" I muttered, my heart pounding. "This can't be happening. Those books… they were my only chance…"

Panic surged through me, a cold wave of fear that made my hands tremble. I'd been counting on those books, on the knowledge they held, to help me survive this crazy world. And now they were gone. Erased. Like they'd never even existed.

"Think, Ichiban, think!" I said to myself, pacing back and forth, my mind racing.

I flipped through the "Nen Handbook" again, my eyes frantically scanning the pages. And then I noticed it. The sections I hadn't been able to read, the ones that had been visibly blocked- they were still there.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. Okay, so the books weren't completely gone. The knowledge was still there, jus hidden. Locked away behind some kind of barrier I couldn't break.

I remembered the cryptic message in "Modifying Your Ten": "Refer to information about 'The Way to See with a Go.'"

"The Way to See with a Go…" I muttered, my brow furrowing. "What the hell does that even mean? Is that some kind of Nen technique? Some kind of secret code?"

This was more messed up than a Yakuza initiation ceremony where the initiate ALSO died for being a traitor trying to get into a rival family after shooting up a charity gala and shitting in a chairman's soup or something.

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 6:00 PM. Shit!

Benny had said to be at the bar by 6:30 for the pre-fight prep. Which meant I had thirty minutes to get my ass in gear and fucking be there!

I pushed myself to my feet, my body aching from the previous night's training. I felt stronger, that was for sure. But when I tried using Ren, pushing my aura outwards I only managed to hold it for two minutes and thirty seconds. A measly thirty-second improvement.

"Yamcha level talent, huh?" I grumbled, shaking my head. That stupid goddess and her Dragon Ball comparisons… I was starting to think she was messing with me.

I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. I had a fight to win, and even with my limited Nen skills, I wasn't going down without a fight.

I froze, my blood turning to ice.

What the hell had I just done?

Two minutes and thirty seconds. That's how long I could hold Ren. Or rather, that's how long I could have held it. If I hadn't been a goddamn idiot and blown my entire load of Nen just to see how much I'd improved.

Now? I had maybe ten seconds left. Ten seconds before my aura fizzled out, leaving me as vulnerable as a newborn kitten in a den of wolves.

And those wolves? They were expecting a goddamn tiger.

Benny and his crew… they weren't just thugs. They were Nen users. Powerful Nen users. They were expecting a fighter, a contender, someone who could hold their own in a ring full of guys who could probably punch through concrete.

Me? I was a fraud. A pretender. A weakling with a fancy new power I barely understood.

And if I stepped into that ring tonight… I was dead. No question about it.

I had to get out of here. Now.

I grabbed the stack of Nen books, their leather covers digging into my arms, and bolted out of the townhouse. I didn't even bother closing the door behind me. I just booked it the hell out of there.

My lungs burned, my legs screamed in protest, but I didn't slow down. Every second counted.

I had to get out of the city. Had to find a place to hide, a place to train, a place to figure out how the hell to survive this goddamn mess.

Because if Benny's boys caught me…

Well, let's just say I didn't want to find out what a Nen-powered beatdown felt like.

I hit the streets running, my lungs burning, my legs screaming in protest. I weaved through the crowds, dodging startled pedestrians and street vendors hawking their wares. The setting sun cast long shadows that stretched across the cobblestones, turning the city into a maze of light and darkness.

My heart hammered in my chest, a frantic drumbeat against the rising tide of panic. I could feel my aura dwindling, the precious seconds ticking away. Ten… nine… eight…

I burst out of the city gates, the sprawling cityscape shrinking behind me as I plunged into the relative darkness of the surrounding forest. The air here was cooler, the scent of pine needles and damp earth replacing the stench of exhaust fumes and sweat. But the sense of danger, that primal fear gnawing at my gut, didn't fade. It intensified.

I kept running, my feet pounding against the forest floor, branches whipping at my face. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of blood orange and deep purple. Shadows deepened, turning the familiar trees into menacing silhouettes.

My breath came in ragged gasps, my legs ached, but I didn't dare slow down. I could feel Benny's men closing in, their presence a shadow looming over me, a pack of wolves on the hunt.

An hour passed. Then another. The moon rose, casting an eerie glow over the forest, turning the familiar into something strange and unsettling. I stumbled over roots, tripped on fallen branches, my body screaming for rest. But I couldn't stop. Not yet.

Finally, I burst out of the forest, into a small clearing bathed in moonlight. I collapsed onto the soft earth, my chest heaving, sweat stinging my eyes. I was exhausted, my muscles trembling with fatigue, my aura reserves dangerously low.

I had to keep moving. Find a place to hide, a place to rest, a place where Benny's goons couldn't find me.

I pushed myself to my feet, my legs wobbly beneath me, and started walking again. In the distance, I could see the faint glow of another town, its lights twinkling like fireflies in the darkness. Maybe there I could find a place to lay low, to figure out my next move.

I'd been walking for about twenty-five minutes, my body aching, my mind racing, when it happened.

One minute, I was alone, surrounded by the whispering trees and the chirping crickets. The next… he was there.

Benny.

Standing in the middle of the path, blocking my way.

He hadn't been there a second ago. He'd just… appeared. Like a phantom, a nightmare materialized from the shadows.

His face was a mask of fury, his eyes cold and dead, devoid of the amusement I'd seen in his office. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't chuckling. He was… pissed.

"I really thought we could do business, Ichiban," he said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down my spine. "I deal with my own messes, and you certainly can't pay the debt those books cost me."

He took a step towards me, his massive frame casting a long shadow that stretched towards me, swallowing me whole.

I didn't even have time to react.

Didn't even feel the blow.

One moment, I was standing there, facing my doom. The next…

---

I was back in the hallway, my heart pounding, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The familiar white walls, the endless row of doors… it was like I'd never left.

The duffel bag I'd stuffed the Nen books into was still slung over my shoulder. I unzipped it, my fingers trembling, and pulled out one of the books. It was still there. The pages, blank where I'd read them, but the rest… the rest was still intact.

"Well, shit," I muttered, a shaky laugh escaping my lips. "At least I got something outta that shitshow."

 

[Zackman2k12]

I slumped down onto the cold floor of the hallway, the weight of my recent failure pressing down on me. I'd gone into that world expecting a quick power-up, a shortcut to becoming some kind of badass Nen master. But reality, as it always seemed to do, had a way of kicking me in the teeth.

I glanced at the stack of Nen books beside me, their leather covers gleaming in the dim light. The unread sections, those tantalizing glimpses of advanced techniques, mocked me with their inaccessibility. I needed that on the go thing, that much was clear. But how the hell was I supposed to learn a technique I couldn't even read about?

"This is gonna take time," I muttered, rubbing my aching temples. "Time I don't have."

The Hunter Exam world was a death trap. Every second I spent there was a gamble, and the odds were stacked against me. I needed a safer place to train, a world where I could focus on mastering Nen without constantly looking over my shoulder.

I shoved the books back into the duffel bag, deciding to leave them here for now. They were useless to me without Gyo, and I didn't want to risk losing them in another pointless death.

As if sensing my thoughts, a screen materialized in front of me, the familiar blue light flickering to life.

Booting… Error. Skill/stat relay damaged. Gains are display-only and training-only. You may purchase items from the worlds you have visited with your achievements now. Quantifying… You have 0 PP from advancing the world. You have 5 PP for personal power growth. Please choose an item at or below 5 PP.

"Five PP? That's it?" I frowned. "That's probably barely enough to buy a decent meal back in Kamurocho."

But as I scrolled through the list of available items, I realized that PP went a lot further than I'd expected. Two PP got you something called a "Gospel," which supposedly told you exactly what you needed to do to achieve any goal. Sounded tempting, but the side effect— "Increased insanity per use"— made me steer clear. I'd dealt with enough crazy lately.

Then I saw it.

Perfected Serum #12

**Description: An experimental serum developed by a rogue scientist in the Hunter x Hunter world. Designed to enhance physical strength and endurance without altering outward appearance. **

Cost: 5 PP

Effect: Increases Body stat by 0.5

Half a point! That was huge! Sure, it was a small number, but those stat boosts were no joke. I'd seen what a 1.3 Body stat could do. A 1.8 body… I could practically feel my muscles bulging just thinking about it.

I didn't hesitate. I slammed my hand against the "Purchase" button, the screen flashing as the PP deducted from my total. A small vial materialized in my hand, filled with a swirling, iridescent liquid.

"Bottoms up," I muttered, uncorking the vial and chugging it down in one gulp.

It tasted like… well, like fried space ass. Or maybe burnt motor oil mixed with battery acid. Whatever it was, it was nasty.

A moment later, it hit me.

Pain.

Excruciating, mind-numbing pain.

I crumpled to the floor, my body convulsing, my muscles spasming as if they were trying to rip themselves apart. I could see my Body stat ticking upwards in the corner of my vision, but it was moving too damn slow.

"Come on, come on…" I groaned, gritting my teeth against the agony. "Just… hurry the hell up…"

Hours later, the pain finally subsided, leaving me weak and trembling, but… different.

I pushed myself to my feet, testing my new strength. It was there. A raw, primal power that hummed beneath my skin.

"No side effects, my now-even-more-sleekly-muscular ass," I croaked, a triumphant grin that trembled at the corners spreading across my face.

I glanced at my stats, expecting to see a nice, clean 1.8 in the Body category. Instead, I got this:

Body: 1.96
Mind: 1.2
Soul: 1.5
Mystic: 0.5

"Hey, I don't think that's how math works," I muttered, scratching my head.

Where the hell had that extra 0.16 in Body come from? And my Mind and Soul stats… they'd gone up too! I hadn't even bought anything for those!

Answering query: Training and struggle in an area increases stats related to that area.

The screen flickered with those words, and I felt a flush of heat creep up my neck.

Of course. I feel like an idiot for even asking.

Time to pick a new door.

The Phantom Blood door seemed less menacing this time around, its aura less oppressive, less… soul-crushingly depressing. I glanced at the Fate Enforcement counter as I stepped through: -955 ticking up to -954. Still a goddamn mess, but a slight improvement nonetheless.

Maybe this world wouldn't be a complete shitshow.

I opened my eyes, finding myself sitting on a familiar park bench. Before I could even get my bearings, a crumpled piece of paper bounced off my head. I snatched it out of the air, my brow furrowing as I unfolded it.

Instead of instructions or a cryptic message, I was greeted by a giant, childishly drawn frowny face.

"Mean! You were supposed to read the other note last time too!"

I grimaced. That stupid goddess… what did she expect? I wasn't exactly planning on following her insane quests last time. I was just trying to survive.

I shoved the note in my pocket, a wave of annoyance washing over me. Great. Another world, another blind mission. Just my luck.

Before I could dwell on it, a scene unfolding across the park caught my eye. A flash of blond hair, a cruel laugh, a small dog yelping in pain.

My blood ran cold.

A kid, couldn't have been older than ten, with slicked-back blond hair and a smug, almost predatory grin, was kicking a small brown dog. The dog whimpered, trying to crawl away, but the kid just kept kicking, laughing as if it were all some kind of hilarious game.

What the hell was wrong with this kid?

A taller boy, with dark hair and a kind, but kinda dopey-looking face, rushed forward, his eyes wide with distress.

"You can't just harm the family dog, Dio!" he pleaded.

"Jonathan kicked Danny! I saw him do it, Dad!" the blond kid—Dio—declared, his voice dripping with faux innocence. But his eyes, those cold, calculating eyes, were fixed on the other boy, Jonathan, with a look that sent shivers down my spine.

An older man, with a stern face and a neatly trimmed mustache, emerged from a nearby mansion. He was clearly the father, and he was heading straight for Jonathan, his expression darkening with anger.

I didn't even think.

I was already halfway across the park, my fists clenched, my anger boiling over. That little shit… hurting a defenseless animal, framing the other kid… it was too much. I'd seen enough of that kinda crap back in Kamurocho, and I wasn't about to stand for it here.

"Hey! You little shit!" I roared, my voice echoing through the park. "You think you can treat people who've been kind enough to take you in like that?! You're gonna apologize and explain yourself right the hell now, or I'll goddamn drag you there myself!"

Silence descended upon the park. The blond kid, Dio, gaped at me, his smug grin replaced by a look of stunned disbelief. Jonathan, the dark-haired boy, stared at me with wide, surprised eyes. Even the old man, George, seemed taken aback by my sudden outburst.

Except for the two guards flanking him. They moved with a practiced swiftness, their hands darting to the swords at their hips.

"Hold it right there!" one of them barked, his voice sharp with authority. "This is a private matter. Step away from the young master."

I ignored them, my gaze fixed on Dio. This little shit needed a lesson in respect, and I was just the guy to teach it to him. The guards lunged, their swords flashing in the sunlight, but I didn't even flinch. Their blades met an invisible barrier, my Ten deflecting their attacks as they met my skin and not making it a millimeter further. They were nothing more than annoying flies.

"What the…?" one of the guards exclaimed, his eyes widening in disbelief. He tried again, his sword striking my chest with a resounding clang, but I didn't even budge.

"Do I have to start counting?" I growled, my patience wearing thin.

Dio, finally recovering from his shock, started babbling, a torrent of excuses and half-truths spilling from his lips. "It… it wasn't me! It was Jonathan! He kicked Danny, and then he tried to blame me!"

"That's a lie!" Jonathan protested, his voice trembling with indignation. "I would never hurt Danny! He's my friend!"

George, still frowning at Jonathan, seemed to be weighing their words, his gaze shifting back and forth between the two boys.

"Three…" I began, my voice low and menacing.

The guards exchanged a nervous glance, their hands hovering near the flintlock pistols tucked into their belts. They'd never encountered anything like this before. My Ten, invisible to their untrained eyes, felt like an impenetrable wall of force.

"Two…"

George's head snapped up, his eyes widening as he finally grasped the situation. "Enough!" he boomed, his voice commanding attention. "I would believe this man. Explain yourself, Dio."

Dio's face flushed, his eyes darting around as he desperately searched for a way out of this mess. But the words wouldn't come. He couldn't explain himself, not without revealing his true nature, the darkness that lurked beneath his charming facade.

He looked down, his blond hair falling across his face, hiding the murderous glare that flashed in his eyes.

"You will go to your room," George said, his voice heavy with disappointment. "There will be no supper. A maid will show you there."

Dio, still silent, turned and stalked towards the mansion, his shoulders hunched, his every step radiating a silent fury.

George turned to me, his expression softening. "I thank you for your… interference," he said, his voice laced with genuine gratitude. "Would you like to stay the night? We have plenty of room."

I hesitated, my ingrained politeness battling against my desire to get the hell away from this messed-up family drama. "That's… that's very kind of you, sir," I stammered. "But I wouldn't want to impose…"

"Nonsense," George insisted, waving away my protests. "It's the least we can do. Come, let's go inside."

I sighed, knowing I wasn't going to win this one. "Alright, sir. Thank you."

I followed George into the mansion, my mind still reeling from the encounter. That kid, Dio… there was something seriously wrong with him. And I had a feeling this was just the beginning of a very long, very bizarre night.

 

[Zackman2k12]

Dinner was a quiet affair. Jonathan, still shaken by the earlier incident, barely touched his food. George, lost in thought, pushed his peas around his plate with a distracted air. And me? I just ate, savoring the surprisingly good food and trying to wrap my head around this whole "adopted son who kicks dogs and frames his brother" situation.

Once we'd finished, George sent Jonathan off to his room with a pat on the head and a weary sigh.


I nodded, watching as Jonathan disappeared down the hallway, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed. The kid didn't deserve any of this.

A few minutes later, George returned, his expression grim. He poured himself a glass of brandy, took a long sip, and then turned to me, his eyes filled with a troubled intensity.

"I… I was suspicious about the death of his father," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Dio's father, I mean. The London police… they were overworked, rushed the investigation. But seeing those eyes… those eyes of rage and hate and greed… coming from a child I've taken in, from someone I trusted…"

He shook his head, his lips pressing together in a thin, hard line. "The apple seemingly fell very far from the tree. And I fear… I fear that the child who was raised murdered the tree that grew it."

He took another sip of brandy, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace. "I'll be sending my own investigators to his home. The modern autopsy… the one they use now, in this nineteenth century we live in… I know it will find the truth. The truth that I hope… will not be true."

He turned to me, his eyes pleading. "I request… someone like you. With eyes of burning justice. Who has the power of the Ripple… can you teach him? Teach him to not be the child I saw… and become the man I hope he will be."

He leaned forward, his voice earnest. "Please. I would like to hire you. To tutor my son, and my adopted son. So they can be good. And just."

I stared at him, my mind racing. The Ripple? What the hell was that? Sounded like some kind of kung fu movie move. But I wasn't about to admit my ignorance. If this "Ripple" thing looked anything like Nen, maybe I could use it to my advantage. Learn a new power system, gain an edge in this crazy world.

I nodded slowly, a plan forming in my mind. "I will do it," I said, my voice firm. "On one condition."

"Name it," George said, his eyes brightening with hope.

I smiled, a genuine smile this time, not the predatory grin I'd used to scare those thugs. "Invite any masters of this 'Ripple' ability. I will teach them what I know of the power I have… Nen. In exchange for them teaching me this… 'Ripple.' I'm sure they will agree."

George nodded, his face breaking into a relieved smile. "It will take a few months, but a man by the name of Zeppeli is in charge of the local Ripple users. They live in Scotland, so they may be a few months yet."

"I will teach them what it means to fight for good in the meantime, then," I replied, my mind already sifting through my favorite inspirational quotes from Dragon Quest and a few other RPGs I'd grown up with.

---

The morning sun streamed through the windows of my lavish guest room, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. I stretched, my muscles protesting after yesterday's impromptu workout and the sleepless night spent poring over those cryptic Nen books.

I had a job to do. A mission, of sorts. To teach these kids, Jonathan and Dio, how to be… well, how to be good. How to be just.

But how the hell was I supposed to do that? I wasn't exactly a role model. A high school dropout, a street fighter, a guy who'd spent more time in underground fighting rings than in classrooms… What kinda qualifications were those for a goddamn tutor?

My mind drifted back to those inspirational speeches from my favorite RPGs, those rousing calls to action that always got my blood pumping. Maybe I could use those. Teach these kids about courage, about standing up for what's right, about facing down evil, even when the odds are stacked against you.

Yeah, that's it. I'd be like… a Dragon Quest hero. Lead by example, show them what it means to be a good guy.

But which Dragon Quest hero?

I started ticking off the games on my fingers. Dragon Quest 1? Nah, that hero was basically a silent protagonist. Didn't really say much, just went around slaying monsters and saving the princess. Dragon Quest 2? Same deal. Silent hero, epic quest. Dragon Quest 3? Okay, that one had a bit more of a story, but the hero was still mostly a blank slate.

I froze, my eyes widening as a horrifying realization dawned on me.

All five Dragon Quest games… the heroes… they didn't talk! They were just there. Empty vessels for the player to project themselves onto.

"Shit," I muttered, my shoulders slumping. "I can't teach them how to be a Dragon Quest hero. Because Dragon Quest heroes don't actually exist."

I paced back and forth, my mind racing. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't just spout off random lines from those games; that'd just make me look like a weirdo.

Then it hit me.

George had seen something in me. Something… good. Something… just. He'd called me a man with "eyes of burning justice."

Maybe that was it. Maybe I didn't need to be some fictional hero. Maybe I just needed to be myself. To teach them what I'd learned on the streets, in the fighting rings, in the face of death itself.

I took a deep breath, a newfound sense of purpose settling over me. I'd teach them about my kind of justice. The kind that doesn't back down from a fight, the kind that stands up for the weak, the kind that protects those who can't protect themselves.

I glanced at the clock. Time to get to work.

I focused my aura, pushing it outwards, testing my limits. Two minutes and fifty-five seconds. Still not great, but an improvement nonetheless.

I headed towards the study, where Jonathan and Dio were waiting for their first lesson.

---

Jonathan, bless his heart, seemed eager to learn. He was a good kid, kind and compassionate, with a strong sense of right and wrong. Dio, on the other hand… that kid was a different story. He sat there, his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I don't agree."

I knew it was going to be an uphill battle. But I wasn't about to give up. Not on Jonathan. And not on myself.

---

"Dio," I said, my voice firm but calm, "You can't trick me. Faking being altruistic after a single week is both irrational and easily seen through. And those veiled hostile looks you keep shooting Jonathan after being chastised? They don't help your case either."

Dio's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a defiance that belied his carefully crafted facade of obedience. He clearly didn't agree with my assessment, but he knew better than to argue openly.

"Yes, teacher," he muttered through gritted teeth.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. This kid was a tough nut to crack. He was smart, cunning, and possessed a natural charisma that could charm the birds out of the trees. But beneath that surface charm, there was a darkness, a coldness that chilled me to the bone.

"Dio," I said, my voice softening, "They know what you did to your father. They know about the poison. They are actually trying to help you. No one else would do anything but throw you in a cell and let you rot. They are reaching out a hand in charity. Why won't you take that hand and let us help you?"

Dio's carefully constructed mask shattered. His eyes widened, his face paling as a wave of shock and terror washed over him.

"They… know?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

I nodded, my gaze steady. "The investigators came back two days ago. They found traces of poison in your father's medicine. We also found out what he did… and what he's been doing. Even if your father wasn't the man George thought he was… we still want to help you, Dio."

Dio stared at me, his eyes wide and unblinking, his body frozen in place. It was like the weight of his crimes, the secrets he'd buried so deep, had suddenly crashed down upon him, crushing him beneath their weight.

And then, to my utter astonishment, a smile spread across his face. It wasn't the smug, predatory grin I'd come to expect. It was a genuine smile, shaky and uncertain, but filled with a raw, unfiltered emotion that I'd never seen from him before. He looked… baffled. Confused. Like the logic he'd lived by his entire life, the twisted worldview that had shaped his every action, had been shattered, replaced by a glimmer of hope, a possibility he'd never dared to imagine.

"—want to help me?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

It was the only thing I heard before he bolted from the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he disappeared into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

---

A week crawled by, each day a strange mix of peaceful routine and simmering tension. I spent my mornings training, pushing my Nen to its limits, trying to squeeze every last second out of my paltry five-minute reserve. Each time I drained my aura, I'd collapse onto the floor, my body aching, my mind buzzing with exhaustion. But something was different this time. My recovery was faster. The fatigue didn't linger as long, and my aura seemed to regenerate more quickly.

Progress. Slow, agonizing progress, but progress nonetheless.

I made my way to the breakfast table, my stomach growling. The smell of freshly baked bread and sizzling bacon filled the air, a welcome contrast to the metallic tang of blood and sweat that had permeated my life for the past few weeks.

George was already seated at the head of the table, a newspaper spread out before him, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looked up as I entered, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"Good morning, Ichiban," he said, folding the newspaper and setting it aside. "Sleep well?"

"Like a rock," I replied, taking a seat across from him.

A maid bustled in, setting a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, and sausages in front of me. I dug in, savoring the simple pleasure of a good meal.

"Ah, I received a return letter from Zeppeli," George said, his voice laced with a hint of excitement. "He will be arriving in three months. He is… very interested in finding new ways to fight the darkness of the world, even if they are simply other secrets from hidden ways. He also asked me to ask you… if the secret involves the legends that involve things that 'stand together' with the user. I don't know what that means, but he said to ask you with those exact words."

I shook my head, my brow furrowing. "I don't think that has anything to do with Nen," I said. "I've never heard of any abilities that would work with those words specifically."

George nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Very well. I will inform him."

After breakfast, I headed towards the riverbank, our usual spot for Jonathan and Dio's daily lessons. Jonathan was already there, sitting on a fallen log, a book in his hand. He looked up as I approached, a bright smile spreading across his face.

"Good morning, Teacher Ichiban," he said, closing his book and standing up.

"Morning, Jonathan," I replied, returning his smile.

But then my gaze shifted to the figure standing beside him. Dio.

He hadn't joined us for lessons since that day in the study, the day I'd revealed that George knew about the poison. He'd been withdrawn, sullen, spending most of his time locked in his room.

Now, he stood there, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on me with a mixture of defiance and… something else. Hope? Vulnerability? It was hard to tell.

"I… I will accept your help," he said, his voice low and hesitant. "Just… I hope you aren't lying. I can't… trust anything else for it to be a lie. I'll go insane after opening my heart up to an alternative and it not being true."

I stared at him, my heart aching for this kid who'd been so twisted by his past, by the darkness that had poisoned his soul.

"I'm not lying, Dio," I said, my voice firm and sincere. "I promise."

---

"I believe… that yes, it is moral to kill an enemy before he does an immense evil," I said, my voice firm, "But only just before the evil is committed. I think that giving them enough chances to not do something so evil is important. Also, that only applies to great evils. If the evil is… well, not as evil as murder or rape, then there is a chance of redemption. Rehabilitation. Otherwise… execution is what I'd do."

I paused, surprised by my own words. I hadn't realized I felt so strongly about it. But it felt… right. Just.

Jonathan, bless his pure heart, looked pale. It was clear he wasn't comfortable with the idea of taking a life, even to prevent a greater evil. But Dio… he just nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Remember," I continued, "Your good and your justice should be unique to you. Even if you don't agree with my justice or my idea of good, creating your own must have a basis in common morality. You can't just decide that kicking puppies is okay because it makes you feel good."

I shook my head, surprised by how philosophical I was being. I'd been devouring books from the mansion's library in my spare time, everything from history and philosophy to classic literature and even a few trashy romance novels. It was like my brain was making up for lost time, soaking up knowledge like a sponge. I was actually… enjoying it.

Who would have thought that a street-fighting punk like me would find solace in the pages of a book?

"Class is over," I announced, clapping my hands together. "Tomorrow is Sunday, so we have a break. Go have fun. Just not too much fun, eh? Jonathan, be nice to that Erina girl."

Jonathan nodded stiffly, his cheeks flushing a bright red, and practically bolted from the room.

Dio lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made me uneasy.

"Teacher…" he began, his voice hesitant.

"Yeah?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you… do you really think I can change?"

His question caught me off guard. I stared at him, searching his face for a hint of his usual deception, but all I saw was… uncertainty. Vulnerability.

"I don't know, Dio," I said honestly. "But I believe everyone deserves a chance. It's up to you to decide what you do with that chance."

He nodded slowly, then turned and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

I leaned back in my chair, a sigh escaping my lips. Two months. Two months I'd been in this world, teaching these kids, trying to make a difference. And I still wasn't sure if I was making any progress.

But I had to keep trying. For Jonathan. For Dio. And for myself.

Because maybe, just maybe, in this world of darkness and despair, even a street-fighting punk like me could find a way to be a hero.

---

The dining room buzzed with a warmth I'd never truly felt before. The table was set with gleaming silverware, crystal glasses, and a centerpiece overflowing with fragrant lilies. Jonathan sat across from me, chatting excitedly about some new book he'd discovered in the library. Even George, usually so reserved and stoic, seemed to radiate a genuine warmth, his eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile that reached all the way to his neatly trimmed mustache.

It was… unsettling.

The past few months had been a whirlwind of impossible contradictions. They'd discovered my secret, the poison, the cold-blooded murder of my own father. And they hadn't cast me out. They hadn't turned me over to the authorities. They'd offered me… forgiveness.

Then, they'd uncovered the truth about my father, the man I'd hated, the man I'd killed. A scheming, opportunistic bastard who'd only saved George and his family for profit and connections. And still, they hadn't rejected me. They'd looked at me with pity, with understanding, with a compassion that made my stomach churn with an unfamiliar mix of shame and… something else.

Hope?

Could it be?

Every day, every lesson with that… that infuriatingly earnest teacher, Ichiban, chipped away at the walls I'd built around myself, the defenses I'd erected to protect myself from a world that had only ever shown me cruelty and betrayal.

His words, his actions, his unwavering belief in the possibility of good- a crack in the foundation of my mental reality. A crack that threatened to widen, to shatter the cynical worldview I'd clung to for so long.

Could I truly change? Could I shed the skin of the serpent I was made of and become something… better?

The question gnawed at me, a persistent doubt that whispered in the shadows of my mind.

And then, they entered the room.

George and Ichiban, carrying a massive cake adorned with a single, flickering candle shaped like the number thirteen.

"Happy thirteenth birthday, Dio," George said, his voice warm and genuine.

The last vestiges of my resistance crumbled. The carefully constructed walls I'd built around my heart, the defenses I'd erected to protect myself from a world I'd believed to be inherently cruel… they shattered, leaving me exposed, vulnerable, and… terrified.

But beneath the fear, a flicker of something new.

The flickering candle of hope ignited by those classes on morality- burst into a bonfire.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe there was more to this world than darkness and betrayal.

Maybe I could be good.

Tears fell from my face as I smiled. "Thank you, father."

---

The mansion buzzed with anticipation. It was April 3rd, the day Zeppeli, the master of the Ripple, was due to arrive. I'd spent the past few days drilling Jonathan and Dio in the basics of Nen, focusing on meditation, in preparation to open their nodes. I also emphasized the importance of using their power for good.

They both grew exponentially.

Much faster than me.

I hoped Zeppeli's arrival would help guide them towards the path of good.

A carriage pulled up to the front of the mansion, and a tall, imposing figure emerged. Zeppeli. He wore a long, flowing, white coat, a wide-brimmed hat perched atop his head, and a pair of round spectacles that magnified his piercing blue eyes. He exuded an aura of power and wisdom, a beacon of light in the darkness.

"Welcome, Master Zeppeli," George said, extending his hand in greeting. "It is an honor to finally meet you."

Zeppeli smiled, a warm, genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "The honor is all mine, Mr. Joestar," he replied, grasping George's hand in a firm shake.

He started towards George, but then he stopped, his smile vanishing, replaced by a look of absolute terror. His eyes, wide and unblinking, were fixed on something behind George, something in the hallway beyond.

I followed his gaze, my brow furrowing. What the hell had spooked him so badly?

Zeppeli recovered quickly, his expression shifting from fear to a steely determination. He turned to George, his voice urgent.

"Mr. Joestar," he said, pointing towards a glass display case lining the hallway, "The Order will pay you any amount of money, or any similar asset, if you will allow me to destroy that… abomination. I have been searching for it for many years. Seeing it in person… knowing its evil can be stopped from being repeated by anyone foolish enough to put it on… to wear that mask that creates evil beyond reckoning-"

He paused, his voice trembling with emotion. "I must destroy it."

I stared at the display case, my curiosity piqued. It contained a collection of ancient artifacts: a chipped vase, a tarnished silver goblet, and a mask.

The mask was made of white stone, its surface smooth and cold. It had a series of holes carved into it, resembling eyes and a mouth, and a series of strange, angular protrusions that extended from its forehead. It looked unnatural. Unsettling.

George blinked, clearly surprised by Zeppeli's request. "Very well," he said, shrugging. "You are the expert. And it is simply a trinket I picked up at an auction because it looked interesting."

Zeppeli nodded, his gaze still fixed on the mask. "Thank you, Mr. Joestar. You have done the world a great service."

He strode towards the display case.

I watched him, a shiver crawling up my spine. There was something about that mask… something dark, something dangerous.

Even without my danger sense tingling, I knew that bizarre thing was unnatural.

Zeppeli's expression hardened as he reached into the display case. He grasped the stone mask, his fingers tightening around its smooth, cold surface. His eyes narrowed, a fierce determination burning in their depths.

"Sunlight Yellow Overdrive!" he whispered harshly, his voice echoing with a low, resonant hum.

A surge of golden energy erupted from his hand, engulfing the mask in a blinding flash of light. The air crackled with power, the room trembling as if struck by a bolt of lightning.

The mask shattered, exploding into a thousand pieces, a black mist swirling from its fragments, accompanied by an earsplitting shriek that seemed to claw at my very soul. The mist writhed and pulsed for a moment, then dissipated, vanishing into the air as if it had never existed.

Zeppeli lowered his hand, his breathing slightly ragged, but a triumphant smile spread across his face. He turned towards us, his eyes twinkling.

"There," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. "That should take care of that little problem."

And then the world froze.

It was like someone had hit the pause button on reality. George, Jonathan, even Zeppeli himself, they were all frozen in place.

A piece of paper, seemingly unaffected by the sudden stillness, fluttered down from the ceiling, and then redirected itself mid float, smashing itself into my forehead and landing gently in my outstretched palm. I hadn't even moved to catch it. It was like my hand had acted on its own, guided by some unseen force.

"Okay, now you're just doing this on purpose," I muttered, my brow furrowing and gritting my theeth. That damn goddess…

I unfolded the paper, expecting another cryptic message, another impossible task. Instead, I was greeted by a single, stark sentence:

Perfect derail achieved. +5000 Fate Enforcement for Phantom Blood arc. The world will spiral in a better direction, but future threats still exist. Stay? Return?

Five thousand! That was… that was insane! I'd never seen a Fate Enforcement boost that high. Whatever that mask was, it must have been seriously bad news.

But- stay? Return?

I glanced at the frozen figures around me. George, Jonathan, Dio, they weren't just characters in some messed-up game. They were kinda like family. Weird, dysfunctional family, sure, but family nonetheless.

I'd grown attached to this world, to these people. And now that the immediate threat was gone, the thought of leaving, of returning to that sterile white hallway and that stupid goddess… it didn't appeal to me.

I'd rather take my chances here, in this world of hidden powers I had barely explored at all.

"Stay," I whispered, my voice echoing in the unnatural silence.

The world unfroze, the grandfather clock resuming its rhythmic ticking, the frozen figures springing back to life as if nothing had happened.

 

[Zackman2k12]

The administrative room, usually a serene space of swirling nebulae and shimmering data streams, crackled with frustrated energy. The false goddess, her angelic visage replaced by a tapestry of eyes, fractals, and reality-bending artifacts, glared at the glowing control panel before her.

Her fingers, now tipped with claws that could shred the fabric of spacetime, tapped impatiently against the smooth surface. She didn't actually have access to these settings. She was a usurper, a pretender, clinging to power through a web of lies and carefully crafted illusions.

And Ichiban… that infuriatingly stubborn, irritatingly lucky soul… he was messing up her plans.

He'd achieved a "Perfect Derail" in the Phantom Blood world. A perfect derail. Something that was supposed to be impossible. She'd rigged the system, nudged him towards certain death, all to ensure a "Return to Canon" result. But he'd survived. He'd thrived. He'd even managed to turn Dio Brando, the epitome of evil, into a goddamn Boy Scout.

It was infuriating.

The only method of spite she'd been able to enact was to "accidentally" break the skill/stat relay, limiting Ichiban's gains to training-only. And, of course, she'd set the notification system to "Punishment Mode: Rude Paper Attack." Just a little something to vent her frustration.

But even that had backfired. Her sector was now under review. The higher-ups, those cosmic bureaucrats who monitored the flow of fate across the multiverse, had noticed the anomaly. They were coming.

And she had about two thousand years before the real goddess of this sector returned. Two thousand years to cover her tracks, to erase the evidence of her manipulations, to… well, to figure out a way to avoid being obliterated.

Because the real goddess… she wouldn't be amused.

"DAMN YOU, ICHIBAN!" she roared, her voice a symphony of shattered realities and collapsing timelines.

The administrative room trembled, the very fabric of space and time warping around her as her rage intensified.

She had to find a way to regain control. To put Ichiban back on the path she'd chosen for him. A path that led to the salvation of the multiverse… or its utter destruction.

She would definitely prefer the latter.

---

September 14th, 1881​

"Not enough goddamn Nen," I muttered, marking the date in my journal. It was a habit I'd picked up from George, who kept meticulous records of everything from the weather to the price of tea.

One whole year I'd been in this world. Two years of training, of teaching, of watching Jonathan and Dio grow into decent human beings.

Dio, surprisingly, had turned out alright. A bit brooding, a bit intense, but with a good heart buried beneath that layer of teenage angst. He'd taken to Nen like a fish to water, his natural talent amplified by the Ripple training. He was a quick learner, eager to master every technique, every strategy. He even seemed to… like Jonathan. Not in a brotherly way, exactly, more like a grudging respect.

Jonathan, bless his pure soul, was still the same kind, gentle young kid he'd always been. He'd struggled with Nen at first, his pacifistic nature clashing with the inherent violence of the techniques. But with Zeppeli's guidance and my… unconventional teaching methods, he'd found a way to make it his own, focusing on defensive techniques and healing.

As for me… well, I was no master, but I wasn't a slouch either. My Nen had improved significantly, thanks to Zeppeli's tutelage and my own relentless training. I could now hold Ren for a solid ten minutes, and my mastery of the basic techniques was… passable. I'd even managed to catch a glimpse of that elusive "Go eye" thing, though I still couldn't quite grasp it.

But it was the Ripple that had really surprised me. It was like learning ripple had unlocked something within me, awakened a dormant potential for manipulating energy. The Ripple flowed through me like a river, its warmth and vitality a stark contrast to the cold, calculating precision of Nen.

Nen had had a similar boost in learning speed.

I was getting close to mastering the "Sunlight Yellow Overdrive." Zeppeli said I had a natural talent for it, a raw power that reminded him of his own master.

I chuckled, shaking my head. Me? A master of some ancient martial art? It was almost laughable.

But then I saw the letter.

It was addressed to Graham Pendleton, Erina's father. An invitation to work on a prestigious project in India, from a company I knew from history would fail horribly just before going bankrupt in 1887, failing to produce anything at all.

A project to develop… an automobile.

It was famous because of how much damn money it wasted while promising to be the first one to make one commercially viable.

Revealed how much they failed on the world stage just as Karl Benz released his bicycle-monstrocity that while technically an automobile, was still garbage.

But it was still enough of a proof of concept, patented 2 years before release, that Paris, France, won the automobile creation race hands down.

My stomach twisted. I knew how this story would end. Or rather, how it should end.

Graham, lured by the promise of fame and fortune, would travel to India, leaving Erina at the mercy of hot weather and the lack of Joestars Joestar family-ness.

The project would fail, leaving him penniless and heartbroken. And Jonathan would lose his chance at happiness with the girl he loved.

It was basic damn history, India was gonna screw this up bigtime and the company in charge would go under.

Friggin' no chance I'd let a family I liked suffer like that.

Not on my watch.

I didn't care about making history, about being the first to invent the damn car. I just wanted to make sure those two crazy kids got their happy ending. They were like… well, they were like cute puppies. Watching them fumble their way through their awkward teenage romance was kinda adorable.

I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. Time to pay Mr. Pendleton a visit.

"Ichiban?" George called from his study. "Where are you going?"

"Just out for a walk," I replied, waving a hand dismissively. "Need to clear my head."

---

I found Graham in his workshop, tinkering with a contraption that looked like a cross between a bicycle and a steam engine. He looked up as I entered, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Ichiban? What brings you here?"

"I'm here to make you an offer," I said, getting straight to the point. "I hear you've been invited to work on a special project in India."

He nodded, a flicker of excitement in his eyes. "Indeed. A most intriguing opportunity. A chance to be part of something revolutionary."

"I'm sure it is," I said, my voice flat. "But I'm also sure it's a waste of your time. And your talent."

I leaned forward, my gaze intense. "I'm offering you a job, Mr. Pendleton. Right here, in England. A chance to work on something truly groundbreaking."

He stared at me, his brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

I grinned, a mischievous glint in my eye. "Let's just say I have a few ideas. Ideas that could change the world."

Later that day, as I watched Graham excitedly sketching out plans for a new type of engine with my help, a strange feeling washed over me. A sense of responsibility. Of protectiveness.

I'd just saved a man's career, ensured a young couple's happiness, and potentially altered the course of history.

And I'd done it… because it felt like the right thing to do.

I shook my head, a chuckle escaping my lips.

What the hell was happening to me?

I was turning into a goddamn dad.

---

February 9th, 1886​

The crisp air of a London spring morning buzzed with excitement. Gentlemen in top hats and ladies in their finest dresses gathered in front of a gleaming storefront, their eyes wide with curiosity and anticipation. A banner, emblazoned with the words "Ichiban-Pendleton Automotive Transport," flapped gently in the breeze above the entrance.

I stood in the doorway, a satisfied grin spreading across my face as I surveyed the scene. It had taken five years of blood, sweat, and more than a few tears, but we'd done it. We'd built the damn thing.

The world's first commercially viable automobile.

And we'd beaten the Americans, the French, and the Germans to the punch.

"Not bad for a couple of a street punk and a watchmaker, eh, Mr. Pendleton?" I said, clapping Graham on the shoulder.

Graham, his eyes sparkling with pride, beamed back at me. "Indeed, Ichiban. Indeed."

The doors swung open, and the crowd surged forward, eager to get a glimpse of the marvels within. We had three models on display: a sleek two-seater, a sturdy four-door car, and a luxurious limousine fit for a king.

The orders poured in, faster than we could keep track of. Rich businessmen, eager to be the first on their block to own a "horseless carriage," flung money at us like it was confetti.

"I told you this would work, Ichiban," Graham said, his voice trembling with excitement. "You're a visionary, my boy. A true genius!"

I chuckled, shaking my head. Genius? Nah. I was just a guy who'd paid attention in high school physics class, even if I hadn't exactly graduated. Although the real reason for our success? That was simple.

I'd cheated.

I'd used my knowledge of the future, of the mistakes others had made, to streamline the design process, to avoid costly delays, to create a product that was both reliable and affordable.

It wasn't exactly ethical, but hey, in the world of business, all's fair in love and automobiles.

But for now, I allowed myself a moment of triumph. I'd saved Jonathan and Erina's future, built a successful business, and maybe, just maybe, made the world a slightly better place.

Not bad for a day's work.

 

[Zackman2k12]

WARNING A/N: This chapter contains historically accurate racism. Those representatives.

Yeah, that's accurate and it's 1919, so what did you expect?

December 8th, 1891​

The crisp December air bit at my cheeks as I stood on the steps of the London courthouse, watching the steady stream of people flowing in and out of the grand building. Across the street, a group of newspaper boys hawked the latest headlines, their voices a chaotic chorus against the backdrop of clanging carriage bells and the rhythmic clip-clop of horses' hooves. A few of my automobiles passed by as well. Not many, though. Those things were expensive.

"Do you think Dio will have his law passed?" Jonathan asked, his voice full of hopeful nervousness. He'd grown taller in the past few years, his shoulders broader, his features losing the last vestiges of boyhood softness. But his eyes, those kind, earnest eyes, hadn't changed a bit.

George Junior, Jonathan's son, stood beside him, a mirror image of his father in both looks and temperament. He was a bright, inquisitive kid, with a thirst for knowledge that reminded me of a younger Jonathan.

"He's worked so hard on this 'Separation of Crime and Punishment' bill," Jonathan continued. "He even got the Prime Minister on board."

I shrugged, shoving my hands deeper into my coat pockets. "We can only hope," I said, my breath forming a cloud of white vapor in the frigid air.

Dio… he'd surprised us all. After that night, his thirteenth birthday, something had shifted within him. The anger, the resentment, the cold, calculating cruelty… it had faded, replaced by a quiet determination to make amends for his past.

He'd thrown himself into his studies, devouring books on law, philosophy, and history. He'd even taken up boxing, channeling his aggression into a more productive outlet.

And then, he announced his ambition: to become a lawyer, to use his intellect and his newfound understanding of justice to help those who couldn't help themselves.

It was… well, it was kinda inspiring.

We waited, the anticipation building with each passing minute. Finally, the courthouse doors swung open, and Dio emerged, a triumphant grin spreading across his face.

He was a far cry from the scrawny, brooding kid I'd met all those years ago. He was tall now, his shoulders broad, his features sharp and defined. He wore a finely tailored suit, his cufflinks gleaming in the afternoon sun, and a confident swagger that radiated an air of authority.

He pulled off his stuffy white wig, revealing his dark, neatly combed hair, and strode towards us, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Well, gentlemen," he announced, his voice booming with a newfound confidence, "It's through the House of Commons, and I have it on good authority that it will also make it through the House of Lords, so consider the Separation of Crime and Punishment Act… passed!"

He went on to explain the details of the new law, his words precise and passionate. He'd found his calling, that much was clear. He was making a real difference in the world, using his intellect and his influence to fight for justice and reform.

I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride? Yeah, pride. Like a proud dad, watching his kid succeed. It was a weird feeling, unexpected and kinda overwhelming.

Dio pulled me into a hug, his arms strong and sure.

"You're suffocating me, Dio," I gasped, my voice muffled against his expensive suit jacket. "But… congrats."

I patted him on the back, a genuine smile spreading across my face.

The kid had come a long way.

And I had a feeling this was just the beginning.

---

1901​

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, my brow furrowed in thought. My face… it hadn't changed. Not really. A few more lines around my eyes, maybe, a touch of gray at my temples, but overall… I looked the same as I had thirteen years ago. Twenty years had passed since I'd arrived in this world, but time seemed to have… forgotten me.

I was thirty-eight years old, but I looked twenty-five. It was like I'd hit some kind of age-related glitch in the matrix.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. There were bigger things to worry about than my eternally youthful appearance. Like that damn fruit sitting on my desk.

It was a strange thing, about the size of a grapefruit, with a smooth, iridescent skin that shimmered with an unnatural light.

I'd spent the past few weeks studying it, trying to understand its properties. It emitted a faint aura, a subtle hum of energy that resonated with my own Nen. But it was different. Alien.

And I knew, deep in my gut, that if I ate it… something would change. A part of me would be… lost. Replaced by something else. Something unknown.

I had no desire to become some kind of fruit-powered freak.

"These things despite being strange, they're fruit. And somehow natural," I said to the team of researchers I'd assembled, my voice firm. "Just make sure no one touches them. Research is fine, but consuming it- that's off-limits."

Hours later, I was on a plane, heading back to England. The roar of the engines filled my ears, a steady drone that mirrored the unease churning in my gut.

I'd hit a wall with my Nen training. I could run it for twenty-five minutes straight, I'd mastered the basics, I could even use that "Go eye thing" – I really needed to figure out what it was actually called – to see people's auras and pinpoint their weaknesses. But it wasn't enough.

I'd reached a plateau, a limit I couldn't seem to break through. And the Ripple… well, I'd gotten pretty damn good at that too. Zeppeli said I was the most naturally gifted student he'd ever taught. But even the Ripple had its limits. I'd reached a point where I felt like I needed… something more. A key. A spark. Something to ignite my potential and push me to the next level.

And that damn fruit… it kept nagging at me, a persistent whisper in the back of my mind.

Maybe… maybe it held the answers I was looking for.

Or maybe it was just a one-way ticket to a fate worse than death.

---

1916​

"We could make them stop. We have the strength to force them to see reason." I slammed my fist on the table, the heavy oak shuddering under the impact. My voice echoed through the dimly lit meeting room, the headquarters of the Ripple Order, a place that had become my second home over the past twenty-five years.

"I've reached the sixty-minute mark on my Ren," I continued, my voice tight with frustration, "And I could bend a tank in half with my Ten shroud alone! We could end this war before it escalates any further. Before millions more die!"

World War I. The Great War. It had been raging for two years, a senseless bloodbath that was tearing Europe apart. Millions dead, countless more wounded, and no end in sight.

And I… I felt responsible.

This world… it was my world now. I'd chosen to stay, to make it my home. And I couldn't just stand by and watch as it tore itself apart.

Zeppeli, his face etched with worry lines, shook his head. "But where would it stop then, Ichiban?" he asked, his voice a weary sigh. "When does power to stop evil become power to stop choice? We are not gods. We cannot dictate the fate of nations."

"But we can save lives!" I argued, my voice rising. "We have the power to stop this madness. Isn't that what we're supposed to do? To protect the innocent? To fight for what's right?"

"Fighting a war… that is not our purpose, Ichiban," Zeppeli said, his gaze steady. "Our duty is to combat the forces of darkness, the supernatural threats that prey upon humanity. Not to interfere in the affairs of men."

I stared at him, my fists clenched, my jaw tight. I knew he was right. Deep down, I knew it. But the thought of millions dying, of the world consumed by this senseless violence… it was too much to bear.

I turned and stormed out of the meeting room, the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders. Zeppeli's words echoed in my ears, a constant reminder of the line I couldn't cross.

But as I walked away, the image of a battlefield, littered with corpses, flashed through my mind.

And I knew, with a sickening certainty, that I wouldn't be able to stay out of this fight forever.

---

1919​

The air in the grand hall of the League of Nations headquarters crackled with tension. Representatives from nations across the globe had gathered to discuss the terms of the Treaty of Versailles, the official end to the Great War.

I sat in the back, observing the proceedings with a growing sense of unease. I'd been invited as an… observer. A neutral party, a representative of the Ripple Order, a symbol of hope and unity in a world still reeling from the horrors of war.

But as the discussions dragged on, my hope dwindled, replaced by a cold, hard anger.

The topic at hand: Japan's proposal for racial equality. A simple request, really. A plea for basic human decency.

But the responses they were sickening.

"We cannot support such a radical notion," the Australian representative declared, his voice dripping with disdain.

"It goes against the natural order of things," the American delegate chimed in, his face a mask of smug superiority.

"Well, we are simply superior," a British representative mumbled.

One by one, the nations voiced their objections, their prejudices, their deeply ingrained beliefs in the inherent superiority of one race over another.

It was like listening to a chorus of ignorance, a symphony of bigotry.

I'd spent the past thirty years in this world, fighting for justice, for equality, for a better future. I'd helped to usher in a new era of technology, of progress, of understanding. I'd even managed to nudge Dio towards the path of righteousness.

But this this was a slap in the face. A reminder that humanity, for all its advancements, was still capable of unimaginable cruelty and stupidity.

"The motion is denied," the League of Nations lead speaker announced, his voice a hammer blow that shattered the last vestiges of my hope.

I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor, the sound echoing through the stunned silence.

I'd tried to play by the rules, to work within the system, to nudge humanity towards a brighter future.

But I was done.

Done with their bigotry, their shortsightedness, their arrogance.

It was time for a more… direct approach.

I'd been working on a new technique, something I'd stumbled upon during my Nen training. I called it "Combat Repetition." It allowed me to amplify my power, to push my limits beyond what I thought possible.

I grasped the weapon I'd crafted for myself, a heavy mace with a conical head, like a baseball bat designed for war. It was forged from a strange, otherworldly metal I'd found in the ruins of an ancient temple, a metal that hummed with a faint, pulsating energy.

I channeled my Nen into the weapon, feeling the familiar surge of power as my aura flared around me.

"REPEAT!" the mace echoed, its voice a low in tone, but extremely loud, causing a resonant hum that vibrated through my bones.

My power surged, amplified by the technique, a wave of raw energy that made the air crackle around me.

I glared at the assembled delegates, their faces a mixture of shock and confusion.

"You want to talk about superiority?!" I roared, my voice an echoing sound that cased all the buildings in the area to dangerously rumble. "Let's see how superior you are when you're picking yourselves up off the floor! IF YOU EVEN CAN!"

"REPEAT!"

And with a roar that shattered the stained-glass windows of the grand hall, I smashed my mace upwards as the force moved into the ceiling, the force of the blow sending chunks of plaster and splintered wood raining down upon the stunned delegates.

"REPEAT!"

The world had ignored my warnings, my pleas for reason, my attempts to guide them towards a better path.

Now… they would face my wrath.

I would chastise them directly.

"REPEAT!"

"WHO WANTS DADDY'S BELT FIRST?!"

"RESTRAINT LEVEL 3 REACHED!"

Spoiler: Ichiban's Hatsu

Combat Repitition(AKA bootleg Boosted Gear)

Ichiban combined Shu with the concept of enhancement, laying it on top of itself to create his hatsu.

Every 10 seconds he gains a 10% boost to his power and his ripple is converted into Nen.

Upon full Minute, he reaches something called a restraint.

A restraint can only be 'released' when facing difficulty with his current restraint in combat.

Releasing a restraint causes a feedback loop that refills his Nen and ripple by bouncing off of eachother in a self-perpetuating cycle.

After the 3rd level is released his power boost goes from 60% to 120%, every 10 seconds afterwards boosts him by 20% until 240% is reached and the 2nd restraint is reached.

Fighting ichiban with attrition is suicide.

 

[Zackman2k12]

The black-and-white camera, perched precariously atop a pile of rubble, whirred and clicked, capturing the scene unfolding before it. Blood, gore, and dust motes danced in the beam of its single, unblinking eye, illuminating a scene of chaos and destruction.

The grand hall of the League of Nations, once a symbol of diplomacy and international cooperation, or apparently lack-there of was now a shattered ruin. Chunks of plaster and splintered wood littered the floor, the air thick with dust and the faint metallic smell and tang of blood.

In one corner, a group of men, their bodies contorted in pain and death, lay in literal pieces of gore and shredded human body parts These were the delegates, the representatives of nations who had voted against Japan's proposal for racial equality.

The other side of the room had the people who were the ones who voted correctly, in Ichiban's view. Their fine suits were torn and stained with blood and gore of the shredded remains of what used to be certain world leaders, they watched on with their expressions a mixture of shock and disbelief.

Across the room, another group huddled together, their hands tied behind their backs, their faces pale. These were the guards, the soldiers, the enforcers of the very laws they had sworn to uphold. They had tried to stop Ichiban, to defend the delegates, to maintain order. But they had been no match for his power.

And in the center of it all, stood Ichiban Kasuga.

He looked mostly unremarkable. Average height, a sleekly muscular build, his face a youthful mask of calm determination, despite his actions. He wore a simple black suit, his tie slightly askew, otherwise he was unruffled by the carnage he had committed. But the aura surrounding him, the raw, pulsating energy that crackled in the air around him that was anything but ordinary.

"Hello, everyone," he said, his voice calm and steady, amplified by the radio waves that carried his words across the globe. "My name is Ichiban Kasuga. As the leader of the Order of the Ripple, which has been hidden from you for a long time for your own good, I am declaring myself Emperor of Mankind."

The camera crew, huddled behind a makeshift barricade, exchanged nervous glances. They'd been instructed to keep the broadcast live, no matter what, and since one of them tried to immediately refuse, Ichiban took measures himself.

The technology to censor such violence didn't exist yet, and Ichiban had used his knowledge of the way the camera worked to tear out the emergency cut-off switch, and it would need hours of fiddling or the complete destruction of the camera or the cutting of the power to stop the broadcast.

---

"It appears we can't cut the feed," one of the broadcasters whispered, his voice trembling.

"For those of you at home," another broadcaster said, his voice strained, "Please… ask any impressionable young ones to leave the room."

---

Ichiban continued, his gaze fixed on the camera, his words echoing across the airwaves, reaching millions of homes, carrying a message of power and defiance.

"Since you cannot govern yourselves reasonably in the face of evil," he said, his voice hardening, "Even becoming evil yourselves more often than not, I must do this. Anyone seeking to dispute my title… can meet me in the Gobi Desert in one week's time. High noon."

He paused, his eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity.

"Come prepared to die."

---

The sun beat down on the Gobi Desert, a relentless inferno that baked the sand and shimmered in the air. I stood at the center of it all, a solitary figure amidst the vast, desolate landscape. The heat didn't bother me. My Nen, a cool, protective aura, shielded me from the scorching rays.

In the distance, an army had assembled, a sea of uniforms and weaponry stretching across the horizon. Tanks rumbled, their cannons pointed towards me, a silent threat that echoed across the barren wasteland. Fighter planes circled overhead, their shadows flitting across the sand like birds of prey.

They were waiting. Waiting for a command. Waiting for the signal to unleash their fury upon me.

But the generals hadn't given that signal. Not yet.

Footsteps crunched on the sand behind me, breaking the silence. I didn't need to turn to know who it was.

Zeppeli.

"Go home, Teacher," I said, my voice a desolately low tone that echoed across the desert.

"Ichiban…" Zeppeli's voice was heavy with disappointment. "This is not what I taught you the Ripple for. Please… come to your senses."

I froze, his words piercing through the haze of anger and self-righteousness that had clouded my judgment.

It was strange, as if it wasn't just his words, but a haze on my thoughts had just disappeared.

I turned, my gaze sweeping over the faces of those who had gathered behind Zeppeli. His students, their expressions a mixture of fear and determination. Dio, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with a resolve that mirrored my own. And Jonathan…

Jonathan, my student, my friend, the one I helped raise.

His eyes met mine, and I saw it all reflected in their depths. Fear. Disappointment. A heartbreaking plea for me to turn back from the path I'd chosen.

And then I realized.

I, Ichiban Kasuga, the hero, the savior, the man who'd dedicated his life to fighting for justice…

I had become the villain.

The weight of that realization crashed down upon me, a crushing blow that shattered the illusion of righteousness I'd clung to.

My hands trembled, my aura flickering, the power I'd wielded with such confidence suddenly feeling like a burden, a curse.

Update complete.

Checkpoint reached.

Checkpoint reached.

Checkpoint reached.

The messages blasted past my vision repeatedly, each echoing with the words,

Return? Stay?

"Return."

The word left my lips instinctively as the wall of text flooded my vision.

The world around me dissolved, the desert fading, the army vanishing, the faces of my friends and students replaced by the cold, sterile white of the World Circuit hallway.

I was alone.

And I had a lot to think about.

---

1916​

The false goddess watched Ichiban storm out of the Ripple Order headquarters, a satisfied smirk twisting her lips.

"Good," she thought out loud, her voice a silken whisper that resounded unnaturally through the empty administrative chamber. "Let the anger fester. Let the frustration grow. He's strong, resourceful, but… he's still human. Still susceptible to the same flaws, the same weaknesses that plague his kind."

She'd been monitoring his progress, observing his every move, his every thought, for the past twenty-five years. She'd seen his growth, his struggles, his unwavering commitment to justice.

And she'd used it all against him.

She'd nudged him towards conflicts, whispered doubts in his ear, planted seeds of discontent that would blossom into full-blown rage.

She needed to reduce the Fate Enforcement of this world. The Phantom Blood arc's "Perfect Derail" had thrown everything off balance. The world was spiraling towards a future of peace and prosperity, a future that threatened to unravel the delicate tapestry of fate she was desperately trying to maintain.

So, she would make Ichiban the villain. She would feed him rage, let his righteous fury consume him, and then well, human folly would do the rest.

1919​

The false goddess watched with detached amusement as Ichiban, her newly minted puppet of destruction, stood amidst the ruins of the League of Nations headquarters. He was broadcasting his message of defiance to the world, his words dripping with a righteous anger that she had carefully cultivated.

"Yes, Ichiban," she whispered, her voice a venomous caress. "Embrace the darkness. Become the monster they fear. Destroy everything they hold dear."

She could practically taste the chaos, the despair, the sweet, succulent reduction in Fate Enforcement that his actions would bring.

A ripple of energy, a surge of power unlike anything she'd ever felt before, washed over her, sending a jolt of fear through her corrupted core.

Indication reached. Assuming remote control.

"#!(#!^#&! How did you break the quarantine?!" A voice, cold and furious, yet possessing a terrifying beauty, echoed through the administrative chamber. "I will destroy you, you massive, evil, rotten bitch!"

The false goddess recoiled, her tapestry of eyes flickering with panic.

"Count your days, #!(#!^#&," the voice continued, its power growing with each syllable. "I won't spare you again!"

The screen went dark, the connection severed. The false goddess was alone, her plans in ruins, her fate sealed.

She had made a powerful enemy long ago, who had sealed her out of pity.

And her time was running out.

Because that enemy, who was on vacation, was surely not moving at her normal pace anymore.

---

Artoria, the One who subsumed the power of the evil goddess Rhongomyniad, the Dragon of Infinite Light, the One who had reversed the concept of apathy, and the Infinity-Queen who subsumed the Root, was furious.

Her vacation with her husband, High Autarch of Reality Emiya Shirou—whose titles were so numerous even she couldn't keep track of them all—was cut short. Rudely.

She tore through the void between realities, a blazing comet of pure, incandescent rage, her form shifting and shimmering as she absorbed the raw energy of the multiverse itself.

Her eyes, usually a serene sapphire blue, crackled with golden lightning as she reviewed her personal multiverse logs.

The data was… alarming.

At the precise moment the Fate of her worlds had been devoured, her prisoner, the one she'd spared in exchange for powering her World Circuit's data processing, had escaped. And not only had the wretched creature caused further chaos, but its escape had somehow triggered a system malfunction, preventing Artoria from being notified of a critical breach.

A Class-EX6++ Black Mana Calamity Entity had not only passed through her reality, but had feasted upon the very fabric of Fate itself, devouring the Narrative Weight of her worlds like a cosmic glutton at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Artoria's fury intensified, her aura flaring, the very void around her trembling in the face of her wrath.

She would kill #!(#!^#&, that much was certain. She'd tear the creature limb from limb, shatter its soul, and scatter its essence across the infinite realms.

Then, she would introduce herself to her accidental new champion, this Ichiban Kasuga. He was… interesting. Unrefined, certainly, but with a spark of something special.

Finally, she would split a portion of herself, a fragment of her infinite power, and send it hurtling after the Calamity Entity. Her main body would remain here, assessing the damage, repairing the fractured threads of fate, and preparing for the inevitable confrontation.

It would work out.

Hopefully.

 

[Zackman2k12]

"Activating holding procedure: Enkidu III."

The False Goddess writhed as the divine chains tightened around her. Their golden and pink light seared her corrupted essence, a searing pain that echoed through the shattered remnants of her stolen divinity.

She strained towards the console, her clawed fingers outstretched, a desperate, futile attempt to regain control. She knew it was useless. The moment those chains wrapped around her, the moment that voice, cold and furious, echoed through her stolen domain, she'd known it was over.

But she didn't regret her actions. Not truly. She'd reveled in the chaos, the despair, the sweet taste of power as she manipulated fate and twisted destinies to her will. She'd watched worlds burn, she'd seen heroes fall, and she'd laughed. Laughed until the tears streamed down her face with all of her malignant madness and horrible delight.

No, she didn't regret the evil she'd wrought.

She regretted that she hadn't gotten away with it.

She was so close. So close to gaining the power she needed to break free from this prison, to escape this reality, to carve out her own dominion in the vast, chaotic expanse of the multiverse. She'd dreamed of ruling with an iron fist, of bending entire realities to her will, of becoming a true goddess, feared and worshiped by countless worlds.

And now… it was all slipping away!

Her thoughts were cut off as the chains surged, their light intensifying, weaving themselves into a massive cocoon of pure, radiant energy. It was a prison designed for beings like her, an anti-outsider, anti-eldritch barrier that sealed her away from the realms she'd sought to conquer.

---

I stood there, in that sterile white hallway, the endless row of doors stretching out before me, and tried to remember.

When did it all go wrong? When did I… when did I lose myself?

I'd started with good intentions. I wanted to help people, to make the world a better place. But somewhere along the way… I'd gotten lost. The power, the responsibility, the constant pressure to fix everything… it had warped me. Twisted me. Turned me into something I didn't recognize.

I'd become a tyrant. A dictator. A goddamn monster.

And I couldn't even pinpoint the moment it happened. It was like… like looking into a mirror and seeing a stranger staring back at you. A stranger who wore your face, spoke with your voice, but… wasn't you.

My thoughts were interrupted by a screen materializing in front of me, the familiar blue light flickering to life.

Activating hard-diagnostic.

Damages:

Core Containment damage: 90%
World Circuit: 20%
Skill relays destroyed
Stat relays destroyed
Other systems nominal
Champion undamaged

Soft-diagnostic beginning

WARNING: 9 Billion 400 Million and above reality-faults detected.

Narrowing to most dire.

Champion has been manipulated mentally and soul-wise, purging remaining outsider-influence.

The checkpoints involving reality subset of reality: JoJo
Phantom Blood Epilogue has many errors.
All checkpoints past 1889 are deemed contaminated by false-decisions stemming from altered decision: Choice to raise automobile prices by Champion.
Decision has no origin.

I stared at the screen, my brow furrowing. What the hell was all this? Core containment? Reality faults? And what was this about raising automobile prices? I hadn't… had I?

The memories were hazy, fragmented, like shards of a broken mirror reflecting distorted images. I could see myself, standing in that opulent office, surrounded by stacks of money, my heart filled with a cold, calculating greed. But… it didn't feel real. It felt alien. Like something implanted, a foreign thought invading my mind.

"What… what happened to me?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

I closed my eyes, delving into the tangled mess of my memories, searching for answers, for clues, for any indication of how I'd gone from a street-fighting punk with a heart of gold to a power-hungry tyrant who'd threatened to conquer the world.

The memories were there, vivid and clear, but… something felt off.

It was like watching a movie, a film reel of my own life, but with scenes spliced in, frames subtly altered, dialogue whispered beneath the surface.

I saw myself, teaching Jonathan and Dio, my heart filled with a genuine desire to guide them towards a path of justice. But then, a flicker, a shadow passing over my thoughts, a whisper of greed, of ambition, of power.

I saw myself, working with Graham Pendleton, my goal to create a better future, to bring innovation and progress to the world. But then, another flicker, a subtle shift in my motivations, a focus on profit, on dominance, on crushing the competition.

I saw myself, standing in that boardroom, surrounded by executives, my voice calm and measured as I presented my plans for expanding the automobile business. But the words coming out of my mouth… they weren't my words. They were cold, calculating, and ruthless.

"If Benz doesn't want to sell it, well, we'll make his name a verb."

And then I saw it.

The phantom images. The implanted sensations.

A vision of myself, draped in silk robes, surrounded by luxury, my pockets overflowing with money. The feeling of power, of control, of being above it all.

If pavlog had a dog it would be me and I would be drooling!

It was subtle, insidious, a poison seeping into my soul, warping my thoughts, twisting my desires.

Pushing me to make decisions that weren't my own, then subconsciously shoving 'good boy' emotions so I would do them myself without thinking!

And it had worked.

"Then we'll invest in the cotton down so-

"I'm sure imperial Ja-

"I can make those people pay mo-

"I should invest more in the tobac-

I hadn't made those decisions on purpose.

Until I did.

---

"These things, despite being strange, they're fruit. And somehow natural," I said to the team of researchers I'd assembled, my voice firm. "Just make sure no one touches them. Research is fine, but consuming it- that's off-limits."

---

Those fruits were found to be able to increase the strength of people who consumed them by a large amount, the side-effects were horrible. They turned people into sociopaths hell bent on gathering power and viewing others as lesser.

But a year later, the words that came out my mouth were not from my altered state of mind or what caused it.

---

"Keep researching, we can find a way to make them wo-

---

It seems like small changes to my sense of self were made over time.

Seemingly insignificant decisions that had eroded my morals, my values, my very sense of self. I'd raised the prices of my automobiles, not out of necessity, but out of greed.

I'd crushed my competitors, not through innovation, but through ruthless tactics. I'd accumulated wealth and power, not to make the world a better place, but to satisfy a hunger that wasn't even my own.

It was a masterpiece of manipulation, a slow, insidious poisoning of my soul.

And I'd been too blind to see it happening.

Had I caused the vote to have a worse outcome? I remember that the number of dissenting voters towards the proposal was a lot less in my first year highschool world history class!

I also remember that it was eventually discovered that there were enough votes, but the speaker decided to go off script and no one called him on it!

It was so much worse because I had screwed history harder than I thought possible!

A new message flashed across the screen, its stark white letters stark against the familiar blue background.

Incoming message from Admin (MAXIMUM AUTHORITY) Goddess Artoria:

"I am a year out from returning. My prisoner has done you harm and impersonated the position I hold myself. Please rest assured that I will explain everything upon my arrival."

I stared at the message, my jaw clenched, my fists tightening at my sides.

A year out?

A whole goddamn year?

And this… Artoria… she was just gonna waltz in, a year from now, and explain everything? Like some kind of cosmic therapist showing up for a scheduled appointment?

"Screw that," I muttered, my voice laced with a bitterness that surprised even me.

I grabbed my duffel bag, the weight of the Nen books a familiar comfort, and stalked towards the nearest door. I didn't care where it led. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but this sterile white hallway, this prison of my own making.

My eyes scanned the labels, each one a portal to a different world, a different reality, a different set of problems.

STRQ

The letters jumped out at me, a strange combination that sparked a flicker of curiosity. What the hell was STRQ? Sounded like some kinda military code. Or maybe a brand of instant ramen.

I didn't hesitate. I pushed the door open and stepped through, the world dissolving around me, replaced by a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes.

Maybe this time I could find some peace.

Or maybe I'd just find another way to screw things up.

---

Artoria, a blazing comet of divine fury, tore through the void between realities. Even at her maximum speed, a velocity that defied the laws of physics and dwarfed the very concept of speed as mortals understood it, it still felt too slow.

She winced, her brow furrowing as she replayed Ichiban's reaction to the diagnostic report. The realization that his mind, his very soul, had been subtly manipulated for over two decades… it was a cruel and insidious violation, and she, through her absence, was responsible.

She'd been so eager to escape the endless burdens of her duty, to steal a few precious moments of peace with Shirou, that she'd let her guard down. She'd trusted her prisoner, that wretched abomination, sit in her imprisonment and ponder her mistakes while obediently powering her automated systems.

A foolish mistake.

She'd underestimated the depths of its malice, its cunning, its ability to exploit the smallest crack in her defenses.

Artoria was about to be consumed by a wave of self-recrimination, to berate herself for her negligence, when her gaze fell upon the door Ichiban had entered.

STRQ

The name, a beacon of despair, sent a cold dread through her.

She knew that door. It led to the world of Remnant, a world already teetering on the brink of destruction, a world where darkness gnawed at the edges of reality, threatening to consume all light.

But STRQ… that was a name from the past. A past far removed from the established entry point for that world.

The situation was far, far worse than she'd imagined.

If the RWBY world had degraded to this extent, if its doom had accelerated to the point where the earliest entry point was eighteen years before the canon start… what did that mean for the rest of her worlds?

The Black Mana Calamity Entity hadn't just attacked a single world; it had ravaged thousands of realities, leaving a trail of destruction and despair in its wake.

Her vacation wasn't just over, it should have never even begun.

She had to get to her World Circuit. Now.

A year was an eternity. She couldn't wait that long. Not with the fate of countless worlds hanging in the balance.

She could use her Noble Phantasm, Round Table Initialization. It would allow her to traverse the multiverse at speeds that defied comprehension, bending the very fabric of space and time to her will.

But it came at a cost.

She would be exhausted when she arrived, her power depleted, her divine essence strained to its limits.

But it was a price she was willing to pay.

She focused her will, her divine power surging through her, as the eleven of the thirteen restraints of Round Table Initialization unlocked in rapid succession along with the restraint of her male alternate self.

The battle must be an honorable one.
The battle must not be against one pure of heart.
One's comrades-in-arms must be courageous.
The battle must be to defend human order.
The battle must be to save the world.
The battle must be to live.
The battle must be for truth.
The battle must not be inhumane.
The battle must not be against Humanity.
The battle must not involve personal gain.
The battle must be one against evil.
The enemy must not be an elemental.

The void shattered around her, collapsing in on itself as she accelerated, her speed multiplying incomprehensibly, transcending the very limits of reality.

She would be there soon.

And she would fix this.

No matter the cost.

 

[Zackman2k12]

I stumbled out of the STRQ door, expecting to find myself in another world, another reality, another set of problems to solve.

Instead, I found myself… nowhere.

The hallway was gone, replaced by a vast, swirling expanse of stars and nebulae. It was beautiful, awe-inspiring… and goddamn disorienting.

Two alerts flashed in front of me, one a pulsating red, the other a calming green.

A Dragon-Broken Realm Has Been Entered

and

Message from Goddess Artoria

"Great," I muttered, my voice echoing in the vast emptiness. "More goddamn messages."

I jabbed at the message from Artoria, a surge of anger coursing through me.

"I know that you do not wish to see me, or hear from any divine being after what has clearly occurred. I have arrived during your transit between the World Circuit and Remnant. If you wish to speak with me and are ready to continue, or even wish to stop helping entirely, simply return to the JoJo world, you know it as the door marked 'Phantom Blood,' and use the 1888 checkpoint. Go about fixing those mistakes and then you will be allowed to either come see me or simply choose a peaceful world with no dangers to live. Your portion of the World Circuit is yours to use until you wish to do any of that. See me, fix your mistakes, or just leave. I simply wish to make amends. I honestly don't know how to do so. But I really hope you won't give up."

I scowled, shoving the message aside. Rambling apologies and vague promises… that's all I ever got from these so-called gods. They messed with my life, twisted my mind, and then expected me to just forgive them?

I wasn't ready to deal with that. Not yet.

I turned my attention to the other alert, the one flashing red.

Warning: During transit, this world has been destroyed by an excess buildup of negative Fate Enforcement, which has reached critical mass. As such, a Dragon-Break has occurred in which a large portion of time has been shattered. The times in which the era of the gods of Remnant are, as always, forbidden from entry at your level of strength, but a Dragon-Break will force you to enter at a time before recent history. Choose one of the following to start:

'Ozma and The Circle (6000 years BGW)'
'Silver Eyes Emergence (5000 years BGW)'
'Four Seasonal Maidens (2100 years BGW)'
'Malik The Sunderer (1010 BGW)'
'Kingdom Founding Efforts Begin (600 BGW)'
'Color of life is forbidden in mantle (57 BGW)'
'Failed settlement (1 BGW)'
'The great war begins (0 BGW)'
The Shattering/The Time Wound/The Relics Gathered/The Rage of the Gods/Error/Error/Overlap (Forbidden)
Dragonbroken reality portion (Forbidden)
Dragonbroken reality portion (Forbidden)

I stared at the list, my brow furrowing. It was like trying to decipher a drunkard's ramblings. Dragon-Break? Gods of Remnant? What the hell was all this?

The only thing I understood was that this "Remnant" place was seriously messed up. Reality had broken, time was shattered, and I was stuck in some kind of cosmic time warp.

Great. Just great.

With a sigh of resignation, I jabbed at the first option on the list.

Ozma and The Circle (6000 years BGW)

Might as well start at the beginning. Maybe then I could figure out what the hell was going on.

This Remnant place must be nuts.

---

The world shimmered around me, the sterile white of the World Circuit hallway replaced by a vibrant landscape of rolling hills and towering forests. I found myself standing on a dirt road, the air thick with the scent of pine needles and damp earth. A small, medieval-looking town, all timber-framed buildings and thatched roofs, nestled in the valley below.

I waited for the familiar thud of paper against my skull, the goddess's usual method of delivering her cryptic instructions. But this time… nothing.

Instead, a screen materialized in front of me, glowing with a soft, ethereal light.

Preferred Optional Goal: Make a name for yourself doing good deeds and be recruited by 'the Infinite Man' to 'the Circle.'

Optional? I raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement tugging at the corner of my lips. So, for once, they were actually saying I had a choice. I could actually decide what I wanted to do in this world, instead of being demanded to follow some preordained path.

I glanced at the town in the distance, its walls shimmering in the afternoon sun. 'The Infinite Man,' and 'The Circle' sounded like something straight outta one of those fantasy novels I'd been reading back in the JoJo world.

I knew that I would always do the right thing if given a choice. The thought of being an asshole, of screwing people over for personal gain, just didn't appeal to me.

Gold and money? Sure, it was useful for buying stuff and for getting by, but the idea of hoarding it or letting it control me just felt wrong.

It was strange. Like a switch had been flipped inside me, a darkness lifted from my soul. How the hell had I been fixed from years of mental conditioning just like that? It had to be another one of those divine shenanigans, some cosmic magic trick I didn't even want to try to understand.

I shrugged, figuring I'd deal with the existential crisis later. Right now, I have a town to explore and a world to figure out.

That whole 'Infinite Man' and 'Circle' thing piqued my curiosity. It sounded like something straight outta one of those cheesy fantasy novels I'd devoured back in the other world. Maybe this world would be more interesting.

I started walking towards the inn I'd spotted in the distance. It was a massive structure, sprawling and squat, like a giant stone turtle hunched over the landscape. It was easily three times the size of the town that surrounded it, which seemed kinda ridiculous, but hey, who was I to judge?

As I took my first step, something strange happened.

A tingling sensation spread through my body that I knew was the feeling of potential. I instinctively knew that I could learn energy systems faster now. It was like that time back in the other world, when Zeppeli had initiated me into the Ripple.

It felt like my capacity for the supernatural had expanded, the doors to a whole new world of power swinging open.

Something else to figure the hell out later.

That was becoming a pattern, wasn't it?

I reached into my duffel bag, pulling out the "Nen Handbook." I'd skimmed through it before, back in the world I lived for a short time in before going to what the goddess called the JoJo world, but those damn blocked sections had been driving me crazy. Now, with my newfound understanding of Nen – I still didn't know the actual name of the technique, but I knew how to use it – I was ready to unlock those secrets.

I flipped open the book, focusing my aura into my eyes. The world around me seemed to sharpen, details coming into focus with a clarity I'd never experienced before. And then, I saw it.

Words.

Words that hadn't been there before.

"Congratulations on finding the path forward. The technique you have just used is called 'Gyo.'"

A grin spread across my face. Finally! I had a name for this damn thing.

I devoured the newly revealed text, my mind racing as I absorbed the information. It explained the four basic principles of Nen: Ten, Zetsu, Ren, and Hatsu. It described the different Nen categories: Enhancer, Transmuter, Conjurer, Manipulator, Emitter, and Specialist.

And then it hit me.

I'd accidentally learned all the basic techniques. Just by stumbling through these crazy worlds, by fighting for my life, by pushing my limits, I'd somehow managed to master the foundation of Nen.

I was an Enhancer, the book confirmed. That explained the whole exploding water glass incident back in the other world. My aura naturally amplified the properties of things it came into contact with.

And that "Combat Repetition" technique I'd developed? That was my Hatsu. My unique Nen ability. I'd unconsciously used my weapon, that weird baseball-bat-mace thing, as a conduit, and my mastery of Shu had somehow reinforced the concept of repetition, creating a self-perpetuating power boost.

I'd basically learned everything by accident.

I shook my head, a chuckle escaping my lips. Leave it to me to become a Nen master without even realizing it.

At least now I knew how to teach others properly.

I skimmed through the rest of the book, my eyes scanning the diagrams and explanations. There were more advanced techniques, like En and In, but I didn't have any books that covered those. 'Enhancing Your Enhancement' seemed to focus on advanced training methods, and 'Modifying Your Ten' was basically a guide to Ryu and Ken, which, for some reason, I was able to grasp pretty easily.

I closed the book, a sense of satisfaction settling over me. I had a long way to go, but at least I had a solid foundation now.

I stood up, stretching my stiff muscles. Time to explore this town and see what this "Infinite Man" and "Circle" business was all about.

I deactivated Zetsu, letting my aura flow freely once more.

As my aura flared, I heard a startled gasp behind me. I turned to see a young man, dressed in a simple leather jerkin and carrying a spear, staring at me with wide eyes. He was one of the guards stationed at the town gate.

"Eh… did I doze off?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Uhm, welcome to… Adventure-Spot, traveler. The Adventurer's Guild headquarters is here, yeah. Clearly why you came all this way."

I grinned. "Adventure-Spot, huh? Sounds like my kind of place."

 

[Zackman2k12]

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XdV90LK2OWg

 

[Zackman2k12]

I sat at my desk, scribbling away in my journal, the worn leather cover warm beneath my fingertips. It was a habit I'd picked up centuries ago, a way to make sense of the chaos, to record my triumphs and failures, to remind myself that I wasn't completely lost in this endless sea of realities.

A knock at the door startled me from my thoughts.

"Come on in, Altria," I said, my voice a low rumble.

The door slammed open, and an irate Artoria stormed in, her eyes flashing with a golden light that could rival the sun.

"I do wish you would stop calling me that!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of exasperation and amusement. She even stomped her foot, a little petulant gesture that seemed oddly out of place coming from a being of her immense power. It was kinda cute, actually.

I chuckled, leaning back in my chair. "What am I going to call you then, Mrs. Impossible Result? Altria makes sense for someone who kicked fate in the balls so hard that your canonical future just decided to cry in the corner and fucking run away."

A tense silence filled the room, broken only by the soft hum of the World Circuit's energy core. I watched her, my brow furrowed, trying to gauge her reaction. She was tough to read, this goddess. One minute she was all fire and fury, the next she was calm and collected, like a still pond hiding unimaginable depths.

Finally, Artoria sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I absolutely regret you getting access to a world in 2036," she said, her voice laced with a weariness that spoke of eons spent battling cosmic horrors and bureaucratic nightmares. "I should have known a bored immortal like you would turn to anime and novels."

I frowned, the weight of that revelation settling upon me like a leaden cloak. "I'm still goddamn disturbed that everything is fiction somewhere," I muttered, shaking my head. "The fact that infinity is recorded as fiction is just… fuckin' wild, man."

"So, why did you need me, Mrs. Goddess of So Much Power That I Cannot Comprehend?" I asked, my voice laced with a dry sarcasm that had become my default mode when dealing with divine beings.

Artoria took a deep breath, her eyes hardening with a resolve that spoke of countless battles fought and won.

"An entity-related multiverse is about to break containment," she said, her voice grave. "And I need you to derail it."

I raised an eyebrow. "Derail it? What, like a train?"

"I'll be sending you in at the earliest possible point," she continued, ignoring my question. "You'll be given a rundown of the logic of that reality when you get there. The significant event will involve an Endbringer called 'Leviathan' attacking a city called Brockton Bay. Your job is to derail the events that would cause the 'Entity' to go berserk in about a year and a half after the current event. You won't be able to leave until you do, and the world will loop back to May 5th, 2011, again. If you don't do this… that multiverse, and multiple nearby multiversal clusters, including this one… will be turned to cosmic ash."

I inhaled sharply, the weight of her words pressing down on me. Cosmic ash? Multiple multiverses? This was getting outta hand.

"You don't ask for small things, do you?" I said, my voice a dry rasp.

Artoria's lips twitched into a wry smile. "No," she said, her voice soft but firm. "I don't."

"Alright, when do I start? I'm ready whe—"

One moment I was standing in the World Circuit hallway, facing off against a goddess who could probably sneeze entire galaxies out of existence. The next, I was standing in the middle of a street that looked like it had been hit by a hurricane… and then mugged by a pack of rabid raccoons.

"Whenever…" I finished, my voice trailing off as I took in my surroundings. The abrupt change didn't faze me. Not anymore. After centuries of jumping between worlds, dying, getting resurrected, and dealing with cosmic shenanigans, a little teleportation was nothing.

This city, though… this place was messed up. Buildings were crumbling, streets were littered with trash, and the air was thick with a grime that seemed to cling to everything. It was like someone had taken a dystopian comic book, decided the Joker wasn't evil enough, and then cranked the dial up to eleven and broke it trying to set it to sixteen.

My mind was flooded with memories, a lifetime's worth of experiences crammed into my skull. I saw this world through the eyes of a guy named… me, I guess. Same name, same face, but different. This Ichiban had grown up in this shithole, a city called Brockton Bay, a place where gangs ruled the streets, where "capes" – people with superpowers – fought for control, and where giant, city-destroying monsters called Endbringers showed up every few months to wreck everything.

And the worst part? The absolute craziest thing about this whole messed-up situation?

There were legitimately accepted Nazi demographics as minorities.

Like… what the actual fuck?

Just as I was trying to wrap my head around that little tidbit of insanity, a deafening siren blared through the air, a high-pitched wail that sent shivers down my spine.

The Endbringer sirens.

Showtime.

I didn't waste any time. This 'Endbringer' thing sounded like bad news, and my instincts were screaming at me to get to the action. I moved, my body a blur, my enhanced speed leaving a trail of distorted air in my wake.

'Mover: 'That's crazy,' and Breaker: 'That's pretty interesting, bro,' huh?' I thought, recalling the power classifications from this world's memories. 'The way they calculated those numbers wasn't very clear, and Brockton Ichiban hadn't been a cape until I replaced him, even if he existed beforehand, which I wasn't actually sure of. So, he didn't research how powers were calculated. But the ability to make shockwaves disappear when they should occur at this speed was definitely a Breaker ability. Or was it a Shaker ability? Clearly some overlap. Whatever.'

I arrived at the staging area, a wide-open plaza near the waterfront. Capes, hundreds of them, were gathered, their costumes a riot of colors and styles. The air crackled with tension, a palpable fear that hung heavy in the air.

I spotted Vicky – or Glory Girl, as she was known in this world – standing near the front of the crowd, her golden costume gleaming in the sunlight. Her boyfriend, Dean – or Gallant, as he was known here – stood beside her, his silver armor polished to a mirror shine.

I moved towards them, my footsteps silent, my presence masked by Zetsu.

"Ichi," Vicky said, her voice strained. "When did you…?" She trailed off, her gaze flickering to my face, then away, as if she were afraid to look at me directly.

"I don't wanna talk about it," I said, my voice flat. "Maybe if Arcadia survives this shitshow… actually, no. That's never being talked about."

Vicky winced, her expression a mix of guilt and sympathy. "Sorry. That was insensitive."

Dean stepped forward, his hand reaching out to touch my shoulder, his face etched with concern. "What—" He shook his head, his voice choked with emotion. "Your… that sorrow is… I'm sorry."

I stared at him, my expression blank. I wasn't feeling the death of my supposed parents – Victor and Hookwolf, two notorious villains who'd apparently torn them apart in a fight – but my borrowed memories came with a built-in Thinker/stranger power, a kind of mental cloak that projected the emotions and reactions that others expected to see.

I supposed, given the circumstances, that Dean's reaction was… appropriate.

I gave him a dead-eyed stare, then turned and walked away, weaving through the crowd until I found an empty spot near the back. Amy, Panacea, the world-renowned healer, was sitting on a concrete block, a cigarette dangling from her lips, her brow furrowed in concentration as she paced back and forth, muttering to herself.

"Hey, Panpan," I said, my voice a low rumble. "Can I have one of those?"

"You got the nickname right, but do I need to call Mast—" Amy stopped mid-sentence, her gaze meeting mine. She saw the emptiness in my eyes, the carefully constructed mask of grief that supposedly hid a storm of emotions I couldn't even begin to process.

She sighed, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and offering me one.

I took it, my fingers trembling slightly. I focused on my Ripple, a spark of golden energy igniting the tip of the cigarette. I inhaled deeply, the smoke burning my lungs, and coughed, a harsh, hacking sound that echoed in the tense silence.

"Gallant can be such an insensitive prick," Amy said, her voice a low murmur.

I nodded, taking another drag.

The Legend, this world's strongest hero, a towering figure in silver and blue spandex with a rainbow of justice, stepped forward, his booming voice silencing the crowd. He began his usual pre-Endbringer speech, a rousing call to action, a reminder of the stakes, a plea for unity in the face of unimaginable terror.

I barely listened. My gaze was fixed on Amy as she moved towards the designated healer's area, her steps purposeful, her expression a mask of calm determination that hid a flicker of fear in her eyes.

This was gonna be a long night.

---

A few minutes later.​

"So, uh, what can you do, Ichiban?" The woman with the clipboard and the skeptical expression asked. She was one of the Protectorate capes, the government-sanctioned heroes who were supposed to keep this city from imploding. She wore a sleek black and red costume and a helmet that covered her entire face, making it impossible to read her expression.

"My powers are… well, they're kinda complicated," I said, trying to figure out how to explain Nen and Ripple without sounding like a complete lunatic. "It's basically an energy-based ability that enhances my physical strength, speed, and, uh, body functions. I also get a secondary power boost as long as I'm holding my… projection."

I patted the baseball-bat-mace thing strapped to my back. I'd managed to manifest it in this world, pulling it from… well, from wherever the hell I stored it when I wasn't using it. Soul-based hammer-space? Interdimensional pocket dimension? I wasn't sure, and frankly, I didn't care. It worked, and that was all that mattered.

I'd decided to keep the whole "Nen" and "Ripple" thing under wraps for now. This world, Earth Bet, they seemed to think that powers were… scientific. Explicable. Measurable. So, I'd stick to the basics, at least until I figured out what the hell was going on.

"I've also got a Shaker ability," I continued. "It creates an area… a kind of… domain…"

I was about to explain the specifics of my Domain Expansion, a technique I'd developed after years of training and experimentation, when a voice, sharp and urgent, cut through the air.

"He's here! Initial wave incoming!" Dragon spoke.

I turned towards the waterfront, my eyes widening as I saw it.

Leviathan.

The city killer.

It was… massive. A towering behemoth of muscle and scales, its serpentine body rising from the depths of the bay, its eyes glowing with a cold, malevolent intelligence.

I instinctively activated my scan materia.




Leviathan, the City Killer, Conflict Engine II

Power: ??

The health bars… they were glitching. Filling up, then emptying, then filling up again, the numbers scrolling across the display at a dizzying speed. Finally, it settled, a single, massive health bar with a chilling addition:

x99?

What the hell did that even mean?!

As the massive wave slammed into the building and everyone scattered as it was leveled behind them and Dragon listed off some dead people, I could only stare at the thing.

"This is gonna be fun," I muttered sarcastically, a grim smile spreading across my face.

Time to show this world what a real hero could do.

Then boss music started playing out of goddamn nowhere.


View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6F3EC3P1bTU