The white room was maddeningly, aggressively white. It wasn't the peaceful, cloud-like white of heaven, nor the soft glow of a morning mist; it was the clinical, eye-straining white of an empty Word document waiting for a writer who had run out of ideas.
The Soul sighed, the sound swallowed instantly by the oppressive silence of the void. He had been standing here for what felt like an eternity, though time seemed to have dissolved the moment his physical heart stopped.
He remembered the bar, the six rounds of tequila shots that seemed like a good idea at the time, the stumble onto the rain-slicked street, and then the blinding, apologetic headlights of Truck-kun doing its quota for the month.
"I knew I shouldn't have toasted to 'new beginnings'," the Soul muttered, rubbing a phantom headache. "This is a terrible beginning. It's just... blank."
Just as he was about to sit on the non-existent floor out of sheer boredom, the air shimmered and warped.
A door, made of heavy, weathered wood and smelling distinctively of sea salt, old tar, and questionable decisions, materialized out of nowhere. It groaned open on rusty hinges, and a figure stumbled out, nearly tripping over his own boots as he entered the pristine void.
The Soul stared. Dreadlocks adorned with beads, heavy eyeliner, a battered tricorn hat, and a swaying gait that suggested the ground was moving beneath him like the deck of a ship in a storm.
"Captain... Jack Sparrow?" the Soul asked, bewildered. He wondered if this was a hallucination induced by dying while intoxicated.
The figure held up a finger, swaying dangerously to the left before correcting himself. "That's Captain Jack Sparrow to you, mate. Or just God. Though I prefer Captain." He took a long, desperate swig from a bottle of rum that definitely wasn't there a second ago. "Ah. Still not enough rum in the afterlife to drown out the paperwork."
"You're the deity in charge of reincarnation?"
"Aye," Jack said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his rings clinking. "Interim position. Lost a bet with a higher power involving a jar of dirt, a black hole, and a game of Liar's Dice. Long story. Unpleasant outcome." He hiccuped, a sound that echoed strangely in the emptiness.
"Anyway, sorry for the wait. Had to deal with the last lad. Sent him off to—where was it?—Fairy Tail. Nice place. Dragons. Magic. Friendship speeches."
"Did he get any... gifts?" the Soul asked, curiosity cutting through his confusion. "You know, cheat skills? Or did you just drop him in?"
Jack grinned, a gold tooth flashing dangerously in the void. "Oh, aye. He got a package alright." He waved a hand loosely, and a small, smoky window materialized in the air between them like a magical TV screen. "Take a gander at this beauty."
The Soul leaned in. Inside the smoky window, a chaotic scene played out. A young man stood atop a shattered mountain peak, holding a sword. With a roar that seemed to shake the smoke itself, the man swung the blade. The scene zoomed out to reveal the target—Acnologia, the Black Dragon of the Apocalypse. The sword connected, black lightning crackled, and the Dragon King's head was severed cleanly from its body, tumbling into the abyss below.
"Shank's Haki template for the intimidation, Ichigo's Zangetsu for the cutting power, and Asta's Anti-Magic just to be rude to the wizards," Jack narrated with the pride of a parent watching their child score a goal. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
The Soul's jaw dropped. "That's... that's completely broken. He just steamrolled the verse."
"Entertaining though, isn't it?" Jack grinned, flashing gold teeth and swaying back on his heels. "Balance is boring, mate. Chaos? Chaos is good TV. Now, let's get on with you. I've got a schedule to keep. Or I don't. Time is relative when you're drunk and immortal."
Jack raised a hand and snapped his fingers with a theatrical flourish. A massive holographic roulette wheel appeared in the air, humming with cosmic energy.
"First spin. The World. The stage for your little drama. Give it a whirl, savvy?"
The Soul reached out, his hand passing through the holographic light to spin the wheel. The colors blurred—One Piece, Bleach, Marvel, DC, Harry Potter—spinning faster than physics should allow before slowly ticking down.
Click. Click. Click... Stop.
NARUTO.
"Ooh," Jack swayed, looking at the result with half-lidded eyes. "Ninjas. Orange jumpsuits. Talk no Jutsu. Massive plot holes involving aliens. Classic choice."
Jack snapped his fingers again. The wheel shifted, the segments morphing. The labels changed from worlds to names. Superman, Goku, All Might, Saitama, Yoriichi.
"The Template. Who you gonna be inside, mate? Whose potential will you carry? Spin it."
The Soul spun again. The anticipation was palpable, a tightness in his spectral chest. The wheel spun violently, a kaleidoscope of heroes and monsters, before halting on a name that made the Soul pause.
ISAAC NETERO.
"The Chairman!" Jack whistled, clearly impressed, taking another swig of rum. "Old man strength. The 100-Type Guanyin Bodhisattva. Gratitude punches. Respectable. You're gonna have some serious discipline issues trying to fit that personality into a ninja world filled with emo teenagers."
Jack hiccuped and snapped a third time. "Now, the spicy bit. Techniques. Skills. The garnish on the dish."
The Soul spun. He watched the needle tick over Magma Fruit, bypass Vector Manipulation, and slow to a crawl. It hovered agonizingly over a pale blue slice labeled MAGIKARP'S SPLASH.
"You have to be kidding me," the Soul whispered, staring at the useless move in horror.
Jack threw his head back and sneezed with the force of a cannon blast—"ACHOO!"—sending a ripple of divine wind through the room. The holographic interface shuddered, and the needle jerked forward one final tick.
ULTRA INSTINCT.
"Bless me," Jack sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve as if he hadn't just altered destiny.
The Soul stared at the board, his heart racing. "Netero... with Ultra Instinct?"
"Think about it," Jack slurred, gesturing wildly with his rum bottle, spilling a drop that turned into a small galaxy before vanishing into the floor. "The 100-Type Guanyin Bodhisattva moves faster than sound. It swipes before the enemy realizes they've been attacked. Add Ultra Instinct? The statue hits them before you even think about hitting them. Your body reacts automatically with infinite speed. It's disgusting. It's unfair. I love it."
Jack snapped his fingers one last time. The wheel filled with images of legendary weapons. Mjolnir, Samehada, The Death Note, Infinity Gauntlet, Ea.
ULTRA INSTINCT.
The Soul stared at the board, his mind racing. "Netero... with Ultra Instinct?"
"Think about it," Jack slurred, gesturing wildly with his rum bottle, spilling a drop that turned into a small galaxy before vanishing into the floor. "The 100-Type Guanyin Bodhisattva moves faster than sound. It swipes before the enemy realizes they've been attacked. Add Ultra Instinct? The statue hits them before you even think about hitting them. Your body reacts automatically with infinite speed. It's disgusting. It's unfair. I love it."
Jack snapped his fingers one last time. The wheel filled with images of legendary weapons. Mjolnir, Samehada, The Death Note, Infinity Gauntlet, Ea.
"Last spin. The toys. Pick your poison."
The Soul looked at the wheel, seeing weapons that could shatter continents, then looked at Jack. He raised a hand. "Wait, Captain."
"Eh?" Jack blinked, looking ready to pass out right there in the air. "What's the matter? Don't want a shiny sword? Everyone wants a shiny sword."
"Can I trade this spin?" the Soul asked, his voice steady. "I don't want a weapon. I want a specific talent."
Jack scratched his bearded chin, looking at the Soul with bleary-eyed curiosity. "A wish instead of a weapon? Highly irregular. Usually, you lot want the flashy boom-sticks to compensate for something. What's the wish?"
"I want absolute, peak talent in Fuinjutsu. Sealing techniques." The Soul paused, locking eyes with the pirate god. "But... I don't want the knowledge instantly. I want the potential. I want to have to do the hard work to learn it, but with no ceiling on how good I can get. I want to be the Mozart of sealing scripts."
Jack stared at him for a long moment, then burst into raucous laughter, nearly dropping his hat. "Fuinjutsu? You pass up a planet-destroying hammer to draw squiggles on paper? And you want to work for it? Are you sure you weren't hit by two trucks?"
"A Netero template implies discipline and prayer," the Soul reasoned. "And in Naruto, Fuinjutsu is the coding language of reality. Flying Thunder God, Reaper Death Seal, storage, barriers... it's the ultimate utility. If I have Netero's speed and Ultra Instinct for defense, Fuinjutsu gives me the versatility to handle anything else."
"Aye, fair point," Jack muttered, stroking his braided beard, a glint of respect in his eyes. "There are planet killers on that wheel, lad. You sure you want ink and paper over raw destruction?"
"I'm sure."
"Right then!" Jack proclaimed, waving his hand dismissively. "Consider it done. Talent granted. Hard work included. No refunds. If you get bored studying kanji, don't come crying to me."
He waved his hand toward the Soul, a portal of swirling energy opening beneath the Soul's feet. "Off you go then. Try not to die immediately. It ruins the ratings."
"Thanks, Captain," the Soul said.
The floor dropped out from under him, and the Soul vanished into a swirl of light, plummeting toward a new reality.
Jack stood alone in the white room for a second, the silence rushing back in. "Right. Work's done. That was exhausting."
He snapped his fingers.
The white void rippled and transformed instantly. The hard, non-existent floor became a plush, velvet sofa that looked impossibly comfortable. A massive 85-inch flat-screen TV materialized in front of it, hovering in the air. A bucket of buttery popcorn the size of a barrel and a bottomless cup of ice-cold Coke appeared on a side table.
Jack collapsed onto the sofa, kicking his heavy boots up onto a footrest. He grabbed the remote and pointed it at the screen. The static cleared, showing a sterile hospital room in Konoha. A newborn baby was crying, flailing tiny limbs, looking around with a very confused, very adult expression.
"Finally," Jack muttered, popping a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "I've been bored out of my skull ever since that lad in Fairy Tail beat Acnologia. Let's see what you can do with a Bodhisattva and some ink, mate."
He leaned back, eyes glued to the screen, a content grin spreading across his face. "Drink up me hearties, yo ho. The show is just starting."