Bob Hasek was a hero. He died a heroic death, rescuing two puppies from Satan's very own maw. It was glorious, brave, and most definitely altruistic…but the thing was…he would have lived if it wasn't for a small…error in judgement.
You see, Bob wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. He was born with a condition called mental retardation—which was the proper term to call it years and years ago but was nowadays considered offensive. So, if you wanted to be politically correct, Bob was born with intellectual deficiencies—which sounded just as demeaning, but more politely so.
You can call him retarded or slow, Bob didn't care either way. He…couldn't, really. People called Bob things all the time—some were even compliments. But if you didn't start the conversation with the word "Bob" then he'd just nod and be on his way, doesn't matter what else you said.
Actions speak louder than words though, and some people would give it to him for not being as quick on the uptake as others…right up until high school. No one fucked with him in high school. It wasn't that Bob got any smarter or found a way to avoid bullies or anything, he was just…big. Really big. As in, 7 feet tall, 300 pounds big. But that wasn't all.
After seeing how he was treated sometime during middle school, his aunt set aside what meagre allowance she could for him to spend on exercise and a gym membership. It was….rough at first. People would look at him like he was a zoo animal with the way he thought the weight machines worked.
The gym owner, a rough-looking man who looked like he just stepped out of 20 years of non-stop military service, soon put a stop to it. But Bob didn't get kicked out, nor did he get banned or even yelled at. No, the man sat him down for three hours straight, teaching him how each exercise on the machines worked, how to train, how to have proper form, and how to eat right. All with the patience of a man trying to teach a baby how to count numbers for the first time. After a few sessions over the weeks, the nice old man even taught him how to work the bags and learn a little kickboxing.
This good samaritan would later go on to become his uncle-in-law.
Once Bob set his mind on things, what he had in spades were his unyielding determination and his inner instinct for justice. The man, who Bob now called uncle Todd, honed that instinct to a fine point. Bob fought to defend himself, and defend the person behind him. Bob got good at fighting. Real good. State-championship-level good. National-championship-level good. World-tournaments-level good.
Boxing, Kick Boxing, Jiujitsu. Bob fought every fight like the person in front of him intended to terrorise his aunt…and then kick his dog. Every time his uncle asked him whether he would allow that to happen, his answer would always be loud and clear.
No sir.
"What a left hook to the liver by Bob Hasek! And Walter is down. The referee is waiving the fight over!"
No sir.
"Bob has him in a guillotine choke! There's the tap! There's the tap!"
No sir.
"Bang! A roundhouse kick by Bob Hasek! Right on the money! Julio is asleep!"
No. Sir.
When he came home with a bag full of groceries one day, only to be greeted by billowing smoke and what looked to be Satan's residence in hell itself, the first thing he did was wrap his shirt around his breathing holes and charged in, no questions asked.
After making it up the steps to the second floor, he'd heard the sound of his aunt's precious dogs whimpering and letting out pained yowls. These dogs were new ones, twin puppies for his recently birthed twin baby cousins. He'd navigated to his baby cousins' room through sheer muscle memory—something his brain was rather apt in obtaining, remembering that was where his aunt normally left the two golden retrievers after setting out to work. Bob began his mission, extracting the targets like one of his video game scenarios. He knew no panic or fear. Perhaps…it was because he was too stupid to know what fear was. With a mighty kick, he snapped the door open. It flew open far too easily, maybe from the fact that it was charred up by the fire or maybe because Bob forgot that he was no longer small anymore. Bob overbalanced, slipped, and twisted his ankles.
Yikes.
Luckily for him, the spike in adrenaline and his one-track mind allowed the pain to barely register in the heat of the moment.
The fire was only in the initial stages of becoming a raging inferno so hauling two 1-year-old burlap sacks made of blessed fluffiness back outside wasn't a herculean task by any means for a man of his stature. Minutes later, he was able to get the dogs out to safety and lay them down on his neighbour's front lawn, far away from the burning house, to which he was rewarded by happy yips and licks to his face.
The moment he'd set them down, he heard distant sounds of sirens approaching closer to his burning home, to his immense relief.
He could've stopped there and called it a day, leaving it to the authorities.
He should've stopped there.
Then after minutes passed, and the sirens drew ever closer, his mentally challenged brain suddenly told him that he forgot to check if the babies were inside! Looking back, he saw the house was literally becoming a giant bonfire.
A normal person would've hesitated.
A normal person would have calculated the risk of going back into the hellfire of doom.
Heck, a normal person would've had the deductive reasoning capabilities to remember that his aunt was still at work, and therefore had yet to pick the babies up from the daycare. Plus, there was no crying in the room when he entered it. But not Bob. With a less-than-average intelligence, a heart of gold, and an indestructible will, he leapt back into the fray.
…Only to have the entire house collapse on him the moment he did.
From raging flames and billowing smoke to ashes and char, Bob died from being burned alive. He could not understand the concepts of such demise. He was a man of instincts for instincts were all he had. Even with his dumb-as-a-rock brain, he could understand that he was…different from others. Growing up, he could not do the things other kids could. He could not understand basic Math or English or History or Science…or anything, really.
He could count but he couldn't calculate anything beyond basic addition and subtraction. He could speak and read sentences, but he couldn't deal with the bigger words. To Bob, he would find better success at learning how to tap dance on a rollercoaster than he would at learning science, much less, remembering facts about history.
The only thing he was good at was fighting. He'd had a gift for it. While his mind struggles to remember things, his body does not. Not many could be like him and spend hours upon hours upon hours in a single session methodically practising one kick over and over and over again. Others would die of boredom. Bob just finds the way the bag moves fascinating.
The thing with Bob was, was that he didn't like hurting other people. Not even the bullies who'd deserved it. There was only one reason why he fought in tournaments in the first place.
Money.
The day his uncle told him that he was good enough to fight for money, was the day Bob asked how much his aunt needed to retire.
To that, his uncle just smiled and told Bob to go get'em.
And he went and got'em.
Bob had lived the best he could he died without an ounce of regret.
Now, there was nothing but darkness. No more flames, no more heat burning his skin. It was…peaceful…
Poor child…
Hmm..?
Was that a voice Bob heard?
Like a canoe on a flowing river, he was drifting between the soothing currents of this strange place. He was drifting and drifting and drifting. Then…he stopped.
The next thing Bob knew was that he was sitting on a couch, oddly comfortable if not simply designed. In front of him was a man with a long white beard holding a staff of twisted wood. He reminded Bob of that movie he once watched. A movie about a ring? He forgot. But he remembered one such character of similar characteristics to the man before him.
"…Gandalf?" Bob asked, "is that you?"
The man in front of him first gave a confused stare, then a bark of laughter. "Ha! wouldn't be the first time! It was either that or Dumbledore! Every time laddie, every time! You Earthlings have the fondest love for your culture."
Bob didn't exactly know what to say to the man. The last thing he remembered was being burnt alive.
"…Am I dead?"
The old man gave him a nod and a peaceful smile, not the usual look of pity Bob was used to.
"Aye, laddie, you've died a hero. You've saved your dogs, and they will live long bountiful lives because of your actions." The man gestured to a weird distortion in space, showing Bob an image of his dogs—well they were his aunt's dogs technically, but since he'd saved them, he figured he had the right to claim partial ownership from the spirit world at the very least. It showed him their destined lives. He saw them playing with his cousins who were still young but far older than the babies he remembered. He saw them racing each other in a field of grass, one—Marigold—deciding to catch butterflies while the other—Strider—just wanted to be faster than his sister.
Bob felt a sense of elation, that he'd accomplished something worthy before his death. More elation than any belt or gold medal he'd ever won.
Somehow Bob found that his thoughts flowed easier in this…spirit world, capable of understanding what was going on more than he used to.
"Thank you," Bob said.
The man only smiled. "No, Bob. Thank you, for the wonderful life you've lived."
Bob nodded. "…Auntie?"
The old man gave an apologetic smile. "She was devastated by your loss, laddie. She'd loved you like her own son. Yet…she could not fault you for your actions, despite the fact that she would have chosen you over her dogs any day. She knew you were brave beyond thought. Sometimes quite literally as you've discovered."
The Gandalf look-alike chuckled fondly.
"Now, because of the accrual of your positive actions and deeds throughout your life along with your…rather abundant variety of virtues, you've stacked up…quite a bit of Karma points, laddie!"
Bob didn't fully understand what the man was saying, despite the new ease of his thoughts, but he nodded anyway.
"Now, there are two paths here. For souls such as yourself, you have the option to go to Elysium, or to reincarnate into another world."
Bob paused a little, digesting the words. The old man showed nothing but a gentle smile and grandfatherly patience—which Bob appreciated.
As the words came to him, he latched on to one specifically.
"Reincarnation?"
"Yes laddie, there are many universes in the multiverse, you may wish to be reincarnated into any!"
"…Naruto," Bob said.
"…What?" the old man said, eyebrows raised and looking gobsmacked.
"Reincarnation. Naruto."
"Y-you want to reincarnate into the Naruto universe?"
"Yes."
"We are referencing the same universe, yes? Because the one I'm thinking of is the hell world filled with so many human atrocities that it makes even me shudder. The ones with ninjas and shinobis and whatnot, yes?"
"…I love Naruto Anime and Manga," Bob said, simple as that.
"…"
"…"
"I don't think you don't know what you're asking for, laddie, I cannot, in good conscience, send you there!" The old man shook his head, making his rather majestic mane bounce from side to side.
"…No?"
The old man was frowning, his bushy eyebrows meeting like the flippers of a pinball machine. He feared that the strange soul of Bob Hasek knew not of what he asked for and was distraught between the decision to appease the soul's wish or doing something akin to stopping a child from playing with fire.
"Laddie, the Naruto world is…brutal. It is in a state of decay and much different from the fairy tale that your…manga and anime made it out to be. The threads of fate are still being knit by the old hags, but things are getting ragged. Everything could go up in flames in a matter of years for all we know," The old man determinately chided. "It is no place for good souls such as yourself."
Bob thought for a moment. The decision of going on rinse and repeat in that nearly hollow head of his. In the end, he could only come up with three words: "I love Naruto."
"…"
"…"
"Slavery, murder, treachery, even rape run rampant in that world like the very air itself. The roots of their atrocities are planted so deep, and its branches spread so far, it encompasses the entirety of that planet. The souls who die there go straight into the shinigami's gullet. No judgement. No nothing."
Bob shook his head. "Then I will change it."
In a rather clear sense of realisation, where his thoughts flowed into a more cohesive chain, Bob let out what felt to be the largest burden set on his shoulders since he'd been born.
"I don't want to feel powerless anymore," Bob said, "I will be strong. I will change the world for good."
The old man stared at Bob. "But you were strong, lad, relative to your world. You were the world champion. No one can take that away from you and you can improve in Elysium."
"I never wanted to fight," Bob said, a hint of frustration showing. Then it cooled. It was as if a warm, comfortable blanket was draped over him, lulling him back to peace. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap."
The old man nodded understandingly.
"I fought like I was taught to. To protect," Bob continued, "It was ingrained in me, it moulded me…but even if I'm slow in the mind, even I knew that the guys I was fighting were never evil people. They were just like me, doing it for the money, or the passion. Most of the time, both. They did not deserve to get hurt."
Bob paused. His turbulent emotions ramped up inside him once again.
"I want the power to choose who I want to be. I could fight again—but for the right purposes. I wanted to fight like how I always wanted to fight— to protect."
Almost as if he was reading his thoughts through Bob's very eyes, it took the old man a moment before he nodded.
"This…this could work actually…" The old man sighed. "I guess I'll see what I can do. I'm only a Judge and cosmic laws prevent me from doing too much but…"
The old man's eyes glazed over for a minute, and he seemed to be looking at a place far far away that Bob could not see.
"Hm." The old man snapped out of his trance, "Alright. Normally souls such as yourself would use their earned Karma points to buy houses and such in Elysium or to enhance aspects of their bodies, intelligence, health and/or luck before reincarnation into a new world. However, the eyes of Odin the chief Judge has found themselves upon you and blessed you with something not many have seen for a long, long time."
He gestured to his side after a square metal cube. "Loot boxes!"
Bob could only stare.
"Ah! I tend to get over-excited sometimes, but…how do I explain this…"
The man gathered his thoughts for a few seconds.
"When transferring a soul into a new world, especially a hell world like the one you wish to go to, the Judge's powers are limited. I cannot give you something that will grant you an edge directly, for cosmic laws prevent judges from dabbling their fingers in mortal worlds. That would give us the power to potentially claim worlds that simply do not belong to us! Such authority cannot be abused and alas, the council came up with this idea." He gestured to the cube once again. "With the chance to win a 'power,' it will be lady luck who decides the fate of your destiny and she is nothing but impartial."
Bob nodded, sort of getting the gist of it. He vaguely remembered an image of his auntie scowling at the TV and mumbling 'Politics' for some reason.
He played gatcha games on his mobile phones before and knew what loot boxes normally meant.
"Now, based on your 5960 karma points…5960?! That is…unexpectedly a lot…Anyhow, you can choose if you want a bronze loot box which costs 100KP, silver loot boxes which are 500, golds which are 1000, diamonds which are 2500 and the rarest, which is mystique, at 5000. Normally I'd recommend a mixture of the few, but I've never even seen nor heard of a mystique box before and I've lived for almost 3 million years!"
"I'll take the mystique then," Bob said, "then one silver and four bronzes."
Wow. He was surprised he could even calculate even that much! Since when could his brain do math?
The boxes he asked for were laid in front of him.
"Alright laddie, which one first?"
"Bronze," Bob replied, deciding to work his way up to the big ones.
One of the bronze boxes started spinning and emitting a bright white light. Then it exploded. Bob flinched, as any normal person would but found that he was not harmed in any way. The old man paid him no mind and was focused on a strangely floating piece of paper at the centre of the explosion.
"Ah, let's see what you've gotten, laddie," the old man said as he took the paper and read it, "Ah, ambidextrous! not a bad bronze-tier trait to have! it will serve you quite well."
Bob nodded in agreement. "More bronze?"
Another bronze box opened to reveal another page.
"Hm? hmm, Dancing?" the old man squinted as if he was reading the fine text, "It allows you to move with grace…That's…interesting, I suppose."
The old man shrugged, "next?"
Bob nodded.
Another bronze box exploded to reveal…a giant shield.
The shield floated upwards then shot towards Bob and went straight into his chest.
"GAH!" Bob shouted.
"No need to worry laddie, it's just an heirloom item. Hey now, if you ever want a very convenient shield to block something, you'd have it. Though…it's not a very popular choice of weaponry in that world…" The old man said, stroking his beard. A tinge of doubt was beginning to show on his face.
"…" Bob said nothing as he stared at his chest, expecting only half of him to be there but there was…nothing. His chest was as whole as it ever was. He sighed in relief.
The last bronze box started shaking with energy without his prompting and exploded to show another piece of paper.
"Last bronze boy! last see here…"
"…"
"…"
"Yes?" Bob enquired, "What is it?"
"It uh…" the old man said perplexedly, "…massage."
"…"
"…"
"…massage?" Bob asked incredulously.
"…" The old man scratched his head, "I didn't even know that massaging was an actual skill available to be won in this loot box to be completely honest with you, boy. Maybe…you could work in a massage parlour for a part-time job?"
The old man was trying to spin things in a positive manner but even Bob could see him gulp in nervousness. Did the old man expect this Lady Luck person to be more…generous?
Bob slumped slightly. Even with his limited brain power, he knew that his chances of surviving in the shinobi world seemed to be getting slimmer by the minute.
First, a shield, which to be fair, suited what he said about fighting to protect people but in a ninja world? Then, Massaging? couldn't it have been something cool like water breathing or heck, even something useful like throwing things with precision?
But his determination to go didn't diminish. Even if he ended up with nothing, he would still want to be a ninja.
"Silver."
"Right-o laddie!"
The silver box trembled and rattled, twisted and turned and gave off a slighter bigger explosion than the bronze one. Another sheet of paper was shown.
"Let us see here…" the old man. "Oh! An Earth affinity. Yes, that would be very useful! This, I might add, is in addition to whatever your natural affinity is. If you already had an earth affinity…well…the more the merrier, I suppose."
Bob smiled and gave a small cheer. An affinity to elemental jutsu would do him good in his future endeavours.
"Alas, without further ado laddie," the old man said, barely able to contain his excitement, "the mystique box is the only one left. Are you ready?"
"Yes," Bob said.
And thus, the mystique box split into two. There were no explosions but bursting the middle of the split pieces was a giant lottery wheel with blank slots.
"Ah, a wheel! Fascinating!" the old man said.
"…"
"…"
"I think I'm supposed to spin it," Bob said.
"Ah! Yes, of course! of course! Definitely knew that, yes."
Bob approached the wheel and with a sent prayer to this Lady Luck person—or was it deity? — he yanked one of the pegs and spun the wheel as fast as he could. It felt a bit redundant, to open a loot box to show a wheel you have to spin. Perhaps it was so that he could see all the options? But all the options were…blank.
The wheel spun, and the clicks of the arrow above the wheel as it was battered by the side pegs came in rapid fashion. It took longer than he thought it would for it to slow down but as it did, he saw that the blank slots of the wheels were no longer so. Bob thought he caught a few glimpses of some of the options.
Mokuton, Scorch release, Lava release, Sharingan, Rinnegan, Byakugan, Nature affinity, and so many more. Bob held his breath as he realised that they were all either legendary Kekkei Genkai or a power unique to some clans or individuals in the Naruto universe. The old man beside him must have realised it too as he gasped.
"My word! There are even some there that I haven't even heard of before! Super Saiyan? Bankai Mode? What is all of this?"
Then the wheel started to slow and both the old man and Bob watched with trepidation as the arrow of the lottery wheel started to lower its cadence.
Click. Click. Click.
Past Sharingan.
Click. Click.
Past Super Saiyan.
Click.
Right past Rinnegan.
Cliiiiiick.
It seemed to stop on Mokuton.
Then.
Click.
"…"
"…"
Bob stared at the old man who was blushing like a tomato.
"What is that?" Bob asked.
"…Lust Release." The old man wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.
"What does that do?" Bob asked.
"…this shouldn't…shouldn't be possible…" The old man mumbled a reply.
"Sorry?"
"I—what?—how…" The old man suddenly exclaimed, blushing, then mumbled: "How is this possible?! The council banished that aspect trillions of years ago! This couldn't be possible. So How!? What do I do? WhatdoIdowhatdoidowhat— you know what? This is way above my pay grade, time to kick it down the cosmic chain of command."
The old man seemed to almost want to curl up into a ball. It was odd in a way that a being that was supposedly millions of years old would be this…eccentric. Especially when the being looked like Gandalf!
"Ahem" Bob pointedly cleared his throat.
"Ah! right, laddie." The old man gathered himself. "With the 60 remaining points, it's just enough to download the cosmic system for you. Now, off you go! Goodbye!"
"W-Wait"
Then Bob felt as if the floor was yanked out from under him, making him descend into nothingness…