My Life Across The Multiverse With A Mangekyo Sharingan: 1
The notebook had become something of a tradition at this point. Though that was mainly because somewhere along my travels, I had decided to document my glorious adventures, making sure each new world deserved a page.
The not-so-glorious ones usually received nothing more than a single paragraph.
The genuinely horrifying ones earned an entire page covered by a giant warning symbol. Hence the rather important rule I'd written across one corner a world or two ago.
Never eat anything that glows, regardless of how friendly the locals insist it tastes. "...Still stand by that." I grimaced. A second note sat directly beneath it.
Return to Henry Danger. Borrow the Memory Wiper. For my current situation, this was honestly justified. No amount of mental fortitude could erase certain experiences so alternatives were always needed.
'Just my damn luck.'
I resisted the urge to barf as I flipped to the next page. The paper rustled softly beneath the shade of an old tree overlooking the city park. Adventurers and guards crossed paths in the city ahead. Children chased pigeons. Somewhere nearby, a street musician massacred an otherwise respectable song. The unpleasant memories drifted away at these peaceful sights.
Looking at this, I was reminded just how wonderful life could be ... When it wasn't trying to screw your ass over. Hence, finally getting my daily dose of inner peace, I uncapped my pen and placed it on the header boldly written on all caps.
PLACES I STILL WANT TO VISIT!
'Sigh! What a dilemma.' I tapped the pen against my chin. There were... far too many. Some had things that fascinated me. Others because younger me would have sold a kidney to see them in person. And finally, I desperately wanted to confirm whether the food actually lived up to the hype.
'Food Wars!' A grin tugged at my lips. For a foodie, nothing surpassed the desire for a good meal. It was my one and only weakness. However seeing as I recently almost got poisoned to death ...
Quite literally might I add, with a dish that tasted like death itself, I decided to give myself a much needed break. Hence I stared at the words Food Wars for a long moment.
"...We'll reconnect another time."
With great reluctance, I drew a neat line through it. It wasn't Food Wars' fault. The blame rested squarely on one overly enthusiastic blonde teenager with a smile too innocent to inspire the level of fear it absolutely should have. Piper Hart.
God. I had survived a blade through the heart, an entire squad of elite, brainwashed Root assassins, and a multiversal displacement that literally rearranged my DNA. But a single plate of whatever the hell that girl had whipped up in the opposite universe Swellview junk shop almost sent me to meet the Sage of Six Paths ahead of schedule. I must have missed an episode that stated Piper clearly didn't know how to cook.
Hence, the absolute necessity of the memory wiper. I didn't just want to forget the taste; I wanted to delete the entire concept of that meal from my neural pathways.
My stomach gave an ominous gurgle, as though reliving the trauma alongside me. I pointed the pen accusingly at it.
"Don't you start. We agreed never to speak of that incident again."
It responded by threatening mutiny. Tch .. what a traitor. I let my gaze wander over the rest of the page only to find that the list was embarrassingly long.
Some worlds promised breathtaking sights. Some promised ridiculous powers.
Some offered mysteries I'd spent years wondering about.
Others...
Well, some were there purely because I wanted to see whether the protagonists were actually as dramatic in person as they were on screen. Scientific curiosity obviously.
As for the antagonists? I twirled the pen between my fingers, and gave an eerie chuckle that frightened a kid watching me into running away. Now, before anyone misunderstands, I just wanted to have a friendly chat with most of them.
Preferably introduce them to a few sharp tools and help them exercise their vocal cords. After all, I heard screaming was very good practice for one's music career from a very good friend. Thinking of this, my mind couldn't help but go back to past memories of a certain old village.
'Come to think of it, it's been a while since I returned home.' I quickly ran the calculations in my head. It had been .. what, six ... Seven years give or take? 'Heh.' Time really did have a funny way of slipping through your fingers. One day you're desperately trying not to die.
The next, you're in an underground quirk fight club with a bunny girl, cooking for a lovely giant girl who was over several centuries old, and sneaking a bio weapon away under the noses of the Justice League. Somewhere in between all of that... Seven years disappeared and I had lived the most fulfilling life I could think of. There were quite a few places I'd promised myself I'd revisit eventually.
As for where I was now? I raised my head and looked at the city in the distance. The Imperial Capital in all its glory stretched proudly beneath the afternoon sun.
White stone buildings gleamed against the horizon while banners bearing the Empire's crest fluttered from towers and rooftops. From this distance, it looked almost picturesque.
If I hadn't known any better, I'd have mistaken it for the kind of place travel brochures loved to exaggerate. A prosperous capital. Bustling markets. Beautiful architecture. Friendly people ...
Yeah.
And pigs flew.
My gaze drifted beyond the outer walls, lingering on the countless districts that sprawled around the city like veins feeding the Empire's heart. Underneath all of that? Well, considering I had been hunted by countless dealers to be sold into slavery in the barely few weeks I had been here, I could confidently say the core was rotten beyond belief. Banquets were held a few streets away from torture chambers and monsters wore titles and expensive clothes.
"...Lovely place."
I snorted.
"Could use fewer psychopaths though."
That alone was reason enough to pay the Empire a visit. Of course, I wasn't that much of a bleeding heart. Far from it. I'd learned a long time ago that trying to save an entire nation usually ended with either a statue in your honor...
Or a very elaborate funeral. And as any sane person would conclude, neither particularly appealed to me.
No. I was here for something considerably less noble.
My eyes returned to the notebook. Near the bottom of the page, beneath several hastily scribbled notes, sat a single line. I tapped the words with my pen.
Imperial Arms.
Now those were interesting. Living weapons forged from Danger Beasts and absurd materials that openly laughed in the face of common sense.
Swords that killed with a single strike. Trump cards that traded lifespan for overwhelming strength. Armor that turned people into walking disasters. Even the simpler ones possessed abilities capable of changing the outcome of a war.
Were they dangerous?
Absolutely.
Practical? Questionable.
Cool? Without question.
"As a collector..." I mused to myself, "...I'd be committing a crime against my own curiosity if I left without getting at least one." Not all of them, obviously. Not only was it impossible for me to be compatible with all of them, but that sounded like an excellent way to paint an enormous target on my back.
Besides... Some of those things came with enough emotional baggage to qualify as cursed heirlooms. Upon the whole Uchiha genetics I already had, I didn't think adding anything more to the "Curse Of Hatred" would do me any good. One reliable Imperial Arm or two however? That sounded perfectly reasonable.
'Sigh!'
Unfortunately, according to my judgement of the current timeline, my best option currently was to pry mine from the hands of a homicidal lunatic.
_
Let me rewind to where this cosmic joke began.
Three years ago, I was nobody special. A twenty-something plus college graduate, part time YouTube and Tiktok content creator with a niche following trying to scrape together enough money for rent and instant ramen. My tiny corner of the internet revolved around fictional worlds.
Reviews, rankings and "What If" discussions. Basically tier lists guaranteed to start arguments in the comments.
On that particular evening, I was preparing another livestream when Someone in chat had sent me a brand-new "fictional life generator." Apparently it had gone viral overnight. "Looks like somebody put actual effort into this one."
I clicked the link. Instead of some cheap spinning wheel, a polished interface filled my monitor. The graphics looked absurdly professional. Almost like a character creator from an expensive RPG. At the top of the screen appeared a single prompt. Choose your destination.
"...Well." I leaned closer. "This is already way better than I expected." An endless list stretched downward. Familiar names. Unfamiliar names. Franchises I'd watched and ones I generally avoided. It was quite the setup. I scrolled down, my eyes nearly going sore at the endless options placed before me. The chat immediately exploded with comments.
*Warhammer! Go to Warhammer.*
"Warhammer? Absolutely not. No amount of plot armor is saving me there."
*TWD?" Another suggestion appeared almost immediately. "The zombie apocalypse?" I laughed. "I value indoor plumbing far too much."
More recommendations flooded in and I realized that the vast majority of humanity had truly terrible survival instincts. Options like Marvel and DC comics, Fate Grand Order, AOT, Demon slayer, Dark souls.
"I know some of you are picking based on cool fights." I of course, wouldn't be as willful as they were. Mostly because overthinking fictional scenarios had somehow become one of my marketable skills. Eventually, I reached the end of this very, very long list.
At the end was a "More" page. I clicked it.
Contrary to my expectations, another list didn't pop up. 'Hmm? Do I go back? Or ...' Yeah, I couldn't see the back button.
I could only move on to the next step. "...Alright." I cracked my knuckles.
"Let's see what kind of ridiculous life this thing thinks I'd have."
I clicked. Two seconds passed. The screen didn't spit out a scenario.
"Um .. hey chat. Is this thing broken, or ..." Just as I was about to tap something,
BOOM!
It spat out a blinding, white-hot roar of energy that swallowed my desk and my apartment.
Outside ... Everyone on the street was shocked as my flat went up in flames.
"My god."
"What the ..."
"Holy Shit .."
---
When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that my ceiling looked different.
"..."
Hold on, it really did look different. 'Is that .. wood?'
Continuous confirmation proved this was not a hallucination. The roof was made of old dark wooden beams stretching overhead, lit by the faint orange glow of an oil lamp sitting in the corner of a room that definitely did not belong to my apartment.
"... What the hell? Where am I?" I slowly sat up, rubbing my head. My body felt... strange.
For a guy who spent majority of his sleep hours on unhealthy content creation, the body difference was instantly noticeable.
There was no stiffness from spending hours hunched over a computer editing videos. The ache in my lower back was also gone. I felt fantastic. Slowly sitting upright, I glanced around the room. Simple furniture. Tatami flooring. A neatly folded futon.
"...Well."
Either I'd sleepwalked into feudal Japan or my landlord had finally gone completely insane. Leaning myself upright, I glanced around the room.
It was surprisingly cozy with minimalistic furniture. Whoever designed the place certainly had taste.
"Huh..."
My eyes wandered across the walls before stopping on a familiar fan-shaped emblem hanging proudly above the doorway. Red and White with a recognizable design.
"...Nice prop." I nodded to myself. "The attention to detail is commendable." Then... Something caught my eye. A single crimson droplet resting near the edge of the tatami.
"..."
Another. And another
Until my gaze naturally followed the trail leading toward the door. Silence. I stared at it for several long seconds.
Then slowly stood up. "Nope. Not falling for this again." I dusted off my shirt and turned to the door, keeping my face as stoic as possible. That bastard Hershell was probably looking for the right opportunity to perform a jumpscare and there was no way I would give him the satisfaction of succeeding.
As much as I hate to admit it, mom was right about my choice of friends. I just replaced his coffee with decaf, and he was already taking things this far.
Slowly sitting upright, I glanced around the room. Simple furniture. Tatami flooring. A neatly folded futon. A wardrobe. A small wooden table. "Hersh, I know we're all prank wars and all but you're seriously pushing it this time." The last time, this motherfucker rented an abandoned asylum.
I had only realized the truth after nearly shitting myself at the third fake corpse. Sliding the door aside, I stepped outside.
Silence greeted me as the cold night air brushed against my face. The first thing that came to my eyes was of course, bodies. Blood soaked the streets. Houses stood with their doors hanging open and the metallic scent hit me straight in the face.
"..." I looked left. Then right. Then left again.
"You've gotta be kidding me."