I opened my eyes, expecting to see that sterile white hallway. Instead, I was greeted by a glowing screen hovering in mid-air. It displayed the image of a woman with bright pink hair styled in… pigtails? Seriously? It was a ridiculous look for someone who clearly wasn’t a kid.

I pushed myself to my feet, my body aching, like I’d been run over by a truck. I was leaning against a wall, but there was no door in sight. Just a smooth, featureless surface that shimmered faintly in the dim light.

The screen followed my movements, flickering and glitching, blinking out for a moment before reappearing with a jarring jump.

“Okay! Hi! This thing is working, I’m sure!” a voice chirped from the screen. It was the woman with the pigtails, her expression a mix of relief and manic energy. “So, uh, you just went through Nen initiation on your soul, basically. So, you now have Ten mastered entirely! Totally cool, right?!”

“I know what that means now,” I said, cutting her off, my voice sharp with annoyance. “At least about Ten. But lady, I have no frickin’ clue what has even been going on the whole time I’ve been here! You tell me to do stuff via interdimensional letter service, and all I get is dying! Explain any of this!”

The woman blinked, her smile faltering. “You watch anime, right?”

I scowled. “I’ve seen Dragon Ball Z. What does this have to do with anything?!”

“But… you’re Japanese!” she exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch. “How can you—?!”

“Explain my damn situation!” I shouted, my patience snapping. This wasn’t the time for some kinda anime trivia quiz!

The goddess on the screen finally seemed to get the message. She took a deep breath and launched into a rambling explanation, her words tumbling out in a torrent of panicked energy.

“Okay, so… basically, all the ‘Fate-Chosen,’ the protagonists of all the worlds, you know? They… uh… well, they got their fates eaten. By a passing jerkbag mage. With, like, near-omnipotent levels of black mana. On a multi-cluster multiverse level of scale. It’s… it’s a whole thing.”

She paused for a breath, her pigtails bouncing. “There’s this force, you see, called ‘Narrative Weight.’ The more a person has, the closer they are to becoming the ‘Fate-Chosen’ of their world. And… well, all worlds kind of broadcast their existence through media, like anime, books, stories… you get the idea. To people who can, you know, express themselves well. And they end up as entertainment! It’s a symbiotic relationship, really.”

I stared at her, trying to make sense of the words. “So, you’re telling me… I’m the last person anywhere at all that has this ‘Narrative Weight’ stuff?”

“Right!” the goddess chirped, beaming at my deduction.

I narrowed my eyes. “So… I was a protagonist? Then Mr. Shitty Mage just… ate my damn future?!”

The goddess coughed, avoiding my gaze. “Okay, so… I kinda burned out the system meant to give you abilities and bonus stats while saving your soul from annihilation! We need to go over a few things! Your Nen talent is half that of Zushi, but I spread that out to every energy system as a general thing, due to you having no possible way of gaining the other worlds’ powers if I didn’t.”

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I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. Sure, the world was ending, my future had been devoured by a cosmic snack monster, and I was stuck in a death loop with a ditzy goddess as my only guide… but freaking out wasn’t gonna help. Besides, I still planned to bring up the whole “super-awesome protagonist future” thing later.

“Can you explain that in Dragon Ball terms?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around the whole “Nen talent” thing.

The goddess grimaced. “Until you find a way to increase your talent in-world somewhere else, you’re stuck with ten percent of Yamcha’s level of talent.”

I froze.

Ten percent… of Yamcha?

The world dissolved around me, replaced by a single, horrifying image: Yamcha, sprawled on the ground, a gaping hole in his chest, defeated by a goddamn Saibaman.

“Ichiban? Ichiban, are you there?” the goddess’s voice, now distant and distorted, seemed to be coming from a long tunnel.

My vision blurred, a cold sweat prickling my skin.

“ICHIBAN!”

“FUCK!” I screamed, the word echoing through the hallway, a primal howl of frustration and despair.

What’s wrong? Did I do something?” the goddess asked, her voice high-pitched and panicked. Her image on the screen flickered, as if even the damn technology was getting stressed out by her incompetence.

“If this were Dragon Quest and the level-up notifications had a cheerful customer service voice,” I snarled, “I swear right now I’d hear, ‘YOU’RE TOTALLY FUCKED! LEVEL HAS INCREASED!’ Please explain how the fucking shit I’m supposed to survive any of this! Do you have any idea how bad dying hurts?!”

“I don’t!” The goddess chirped, her voice filled with a ditzy cheerfulness that made me want to punch something.

In that moment, I knew, deep in my soul, that this goddess was both useless and an idiot. Maybe even a well-meaning idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.

Without another word, I turned towards the Hunter x Hunter door. Screw this. Screw her. Screw everything.

I slammed my damn forehead against the selection panel, choosing Checkpoint Zero. Anything to escape her moronic voice.

The door shimmered, a swirling vortex of colors and shapes beckoning me forward.

“Wait! Ichiban! I wasn’t done talking!” the goddess shrieked, her voice distorted as the world around me dissolved. “Don’t you want to worshi—“

Her words were cut off as I plunged back into the world of the Hunter Exam, ready to face whatever fresh hell awaited me.

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The cheerful façade melted away, replaced by a chillingly blank expression. The goddess's eyes, once wide and innocent, narrowed, a cold, calculating glint replacing their former warmth- They mirrored the eyes of a certain chain-saw manipulating devil at her most manipulative and cunning. She stared at the spot where Ichiban had vanished, her gaze piercing the empty air.

Her face, still framed by those ridiculous pigtails, twisted into a grotesque parody of a smile. It was a smile that belonged on the face of a predator, a hunter savoring the scent of its prey. A smile that would make even the Joker himself shudder in absolute terror, crying to lady death who would certainly have no need to protect a crown prince of crime that would anger this goddess.

Because he would already be dead.

A true death of the soul.

This wasn’t a ditzy, clueless goddess. This was something far more dangerous, a creature of immense power, now awakened to a new purpose. She was no longer content to simply watch over the worlds she had not created- but been forced to preside over.

She would use Ichiban.

She would mold him.

She would break him.

And in the process, she would fix everything.

No matter the cost.