Two Worlds, One Life: Naruto and Marvel Cinematic Universe

The man entered the white chamber dressed in layered robes of the purest white, each fold gently illuminated by the room's overhead glow. Long white hair and a matching beard framed his calm, thoughtful face, and every step conveyed the confidence of someone completely at ease within his domain.

An alarm had sounded just moments earlier, its steady pulse now fading gently into the background as he arrived. He had just finished overseeing a soul's reincarnation back to Earth—an uncomplicated case, featuring a clean memory wipe and minimal karmic residue. A pause followed as he tried recalling the assignment; a handful of names floated briefly through his mind, but none lingered. Eventually, they faded completely, leaving him only with the pleasant anticipation of fresh karma.

At the room's center hovered a substantial knot of karma that only the man could see. Over time, it had grown dense, its surface softly rippling with a rhythmic pulse. The tether binding it to the world beyond had thickened over the years, evolving from a slender thread into something resembling a tightly braided rope.

For a full five minutes, the man stood motionless, observing the tether with focused attention, absorbing every subtle nuance of color and vibration. Finally, a holographic display activated quietly beside the tether, revealing a single name: John Asher.

The man had employed this particular karmic trap on rare occasions, and while he had heard scattered reports of success, direct firsthand experience had always eluded him. Others had also attempted the method, each confronted by the complexity of unraveling souls heavy with karma, yet true completion was seldom witnessed—especially given that John had remained within this scenario for ninety-nine years.

He knew that the strength of a tether grew in direct correlation with the power and resilience of a soul, with each passing year weaving additional layers of density and durability. Yet this specific tether far exceeded any precedent he had known. Its exceptional scale and unwavering stability quietly spoke of determination and strength beyond his expectations.

The white room remained exactly as it had been when John left. The man took a seat at the desk, directly opposite an empty chair. With a casual snap of his fingers, he waited.

John currently existed as nothing in particular, the familiar pressure resting against his mind as he drifted aimlessly through the void. Thoughts gently tumbled, shifting freely until a vehicle slowly began to form. Gradually, its sleek, aggressive lines took shape, emerging as a vividly detailed 2022 Lamborghini Aventador. Its angular frame, aerodynamic edges, and signature Y-shaped headlights appeared distinctly, a vivid electric-blue paint shimmering beneath an imagined source of light. The scissor doors, crafted to perfection, reflected every ounce of luxury and precision that defined the Aventador. Even the intricate black alloy wheels, with their diamond-cut accents, seemed tangible and solid beneath the sculpted wheel arches.

John had never specifically considered himself a car enthusiast, yet he'd spent enough idle time browsing magazines to appreciate the subtle craftsmanship behind high-end vehicles. The Aventador represented his personal project, a testing ground for how accurately and vividly he could conjure objects. Whether each feature was technically correct or not hardly mattered—he'd envisioned a Lamborghini, and that was precisely what he saw. Its performance and potential were bounded only by the limits of his imagination, and lately, those limits had greatly expanded.

He realized he'd spent significant time practicing these conjurations, mastering small details and intricate mechanics. Ten years perhaps? The exact measure remained uncertain. Without sleep as a necessity—being only a soul drifting in this space— he'd lost the ability to preceive time.

John settled comfortably into the driver's seat of the Aventador, gripping the leather-bound steering wheel and feeling the subtle textures beneath his fingertips. The powerful rumble of the imagined engine hummed smoothly behind him, vibrating gently through the seat and into his spine. Ahead of him stretched a vibrant, curving track of brilliant orange—wide, seamless, and looping endlessly into the distance. Its smooth surface gleamed as if freshly molded from plastic, evoking memories of the Hot Wheels tracks he had seen as a child.

There was no true sense of gravity here, no genuine up or down; direction existed only according to John's own perception. The track twisted and spiraled fluidly around him, bending gently as the Aventador effortlessly sped forward. He pressed lightly on the accelerator, and the car surged ahead, navigating every curve and loop with precision. Bright blue and orange hues flashed past, and though no real wind existed, he imagined the rush of air against the sleek exterior and the whispered resistance as he passed through invisible space.

John now fully recognized the subtle signs when psychological illusions began to gather, understanding instinctively when emotional pressure or intrusive thoughts approached. They came like gentle ripples at the edge of his mind, attempting to weave themselves quietly into his surroundings. He could halt them at will, dismissing them without effort, leaving only the pure, uninterrupted pleasure of driving along the vibrant track.

With practiced ease, he steered smoothly through impossible loops and steep curves, knowing each move, each acceleration, was bound only by the scope of his imagination. The Aventador responded precisely, the sound of the engine rich and clear, the sensation of speed perfectly calibrated by his own intent. He navigated the endless track leisurely, embracing the fluid freedom of movement, the thrill of creation, and the simple joy of conjuring without restraint.

Then, out of nowhere, John sensed something entirely new and slammed on the brakes, the Aventador smoothly slowing despite the high speed. It felt distant, yet unmistakable—something distinct from all he'd encountered in his long stay.

With a sharp twist of the wheel, he veered hard right, and new track materialized instantly before him, extending seamlessly into the void as he accelerated toward the anomaly. The Aventador surged ahead, approaching what felt like two hundred miles per hour. Though no true physics governed here, his perception told him the speed was precisely that. As he neared the point, he saw a portal suspended clearly in the void, shimmering faintly around the edges.

With practiced precision, he halted the track and yanked the wheel sideways, sending the car into a controlled drift, sliding effortlessly toward the portal. Tires silently skimmed across the imagined surface, coming smoothly to rest mere inches from the entrance, angled sideways in a perfect arc.

Through the portal, John saw an office—clean, white, and utterly familiar—and the man behind the desk, still clothed in those same white robes, reminding him distinctly of Gandalf the Grey. John glanced down at himself, noting the sleek racing leathers he had conjured for his drive. With a casual snap of his fingers, he changed back into the simple white clothing he'd worn when he'd first arrived.

Stepping confidently through the portal, he entered the room and calmly sat in the empty chair across from the man. John fixed him with a steady, expectant gaze, silently communicating that, as far as he was concerned, some explanations were long overdue.

John remained silent as he watched the man, meeting his gaze without blinking. The man returned the stare calmly, waiting without expression. With a subtle gesture, John conjured a steaming hot coffee, its ceramic cup materializing solidly in his hand. He lifted it casually to his lips and took a slow, deliberate sip. The man raised a curious eyebrow, glancing briefly to the left, where the portal still hung open, revealing the sleek Lamborghini parked neatly in place.

The man leaned back slightly in his chair and exhaled, perhaps in surprise—though John couldn't be sure—as he took another careful sip from his cup.

Finally, the man snapped his fingers, and the portal dissolved quietly, fading away as if it had been no more significant than a passing thought. He exhaled, settling deeply into his chair, fingers drumming lightly against the armrest. John, entirely unbothered, continued staring at him with patient expectation—not unfriendly, simply waiting. He took another sip of coffee, savoring the rich bitterness as steam curled upward, dissipating slowly into the pristine air of the chamber.

The man eventually broke the silence, a note of cheerful impatience slipping into his voice. "Well, John, you did it! Congratulations—let's just sign the line and move on."

A hologram appeared beside them instantly, projecting a neat glowing 'X' alongside a crisp, empty signature line, waiting for attention.

John remained motionless, eyes calm and unwavering. He made no move toward the hologram, content to sit quietly, fingers wrapped comfortably around the warm ceramic mug. Another slow sip followed, and the faintest hint of amusement passed across his features as he continued watching the man in composed silence.

Honestly, the man felt genuinely impressed—he'd known from the start that obtaining a signature was a slim possibility, but figured there was no harm in making the attempt.

After another moment, John finally spoke, breaking the silence that had settled between them. "How long was I in there?"

The man slowly rubbed his long beard, thoughtful eyes drifting upward toward the empty white ceiling, as though he were silently counting something. "Oh, ninety-nine years, give or take a few months," he answered lightly.

John immediately choked on the hot coffee he'd just sipped, coughing roughly into his sleeve as the liquid burned the back of his throat. "Did you just say ninety-nine years?" he asked once he'd regained his composure, setting the cup down carefully to avoid further accidents.

"Yep," the man confirmed, leaning back comfortably in his chair with an expression of mild amusement. "But before we continue—are you perhaps a reincarnated cultivator?"

John paused, still wiping coffee droplets from the corner of his mouth, confusion plainly etched across his features. "A what?"

"Never mind," the man said quickly, waving one hand dismissively once John's confusion became clear.

"Anyway," he continued smoothly, shifting slightly in his chair, "your soul is plenty strong now. And before you become too upset—yes, I'll admit I hoped you'd eventually erode in there. Your karma was quite appealing to me. But you've survived, and I must say, your resilience will work wonders."

John blinked slowly, absorbing the blunt honesty of the man's words. He briefly thought back over the countless times he'd nearly ceased to exist, memories of psychological trials and emotional illusions flooding briefly through his mind. Truthfully, he'd expected some sort of hidden agenda from the very beginning—though admittedly, nothing close to a century trapped within that void.

Still, John had long since grown accustomed to dealing with people who prioritized their own interests above all else. He took another careful sip of coffee, its warmth now comforting against his palm, and continued to quietly study the man across from him.

"Now, about your ability to use your will…" the man began, leaning forward slightly.

"My what?" John asked, eyebrows drawing together in genuine confusion.

"Your will," the man repeated patiently, gesturing toward John's coffee cup, still steaming slightly in his grasp, then briefly nodding toward where the portal had been. "The car, the coffee—those things aren't simply appearing from nowhere. You're flexing the will of your soul. I'll admit, if you survived, I fully expected you'd experience some growth. But…" The man paused thoughtfully, his fingers idly tapping on the desk surface. "Well, let's just say I was expecting a fledgling who had barely learned to glide. Instead, you've returned an eagle fully capable of flight."

John remained silent for a moment, processing the words as he took another careful sip of coffee, the warmth steady against his fingertips. He watched the man closely, waiting for whatever came next.

The man leaned back slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "While you won't exactly be conjuring cups of coffee in your daily life, you'll find yourself benefiting from some rather particular enhancements."

"Like what?" John asked cautiously.

"What is two hundred seventy-two times three hundred twelve?" the man asked casually.

John frowned at the sudden question, until he realized the answer was already clear in his mind. He could visualize himself carefully writing the numbers down, digits neatly aligned, each step vivid and precise. "Eighty-four thousand, eight hundred sixty-four," he answered, slightly surprised by how effortlessly the image came to him.

The man gave a satisfied nod. "Exactly. You're not suddenly a genius or a computer, but think of your visualization as having upgraded processing power. Your mental imagery is clearer, sharper—like running calculations on a high-end machine rather than scribbling them out by hand. You'll find yourself forming solutions and recalling details with surprising ease." He paused briefly, then added, "There may be other advantages too, of course—you'll discover those soon enough."

John remained silent, absorbing this explanation as he took another slow sip of coffee, the warmth spreading pleasantly through his hands. The man offered a reassuring smile. "Explore these improvements on your own, but trust me—they'll prove highly beneficial."

John honestly just wanted to move forward. He took a slow breath, then asked, "Okay, fine. You said I'd be born into two worlds?"

"Correct," the man replied evenly, adjusting the edge of his robe.

"Do I at least get to appear near Mary Ann? Where is she—what's she doing?"

The man blinked slowly, clearly giving the question careful thought. "Well, I don't exactly know," he admitted, rubbing the edge of his beard between two fingers. "I only have vague details. But I do know she'll immediately sense when someone has connected to her iteration. Consider it something like a beacon to her bridge."

Seeing John's expression tighten, the man raised a hand calmly, palm forward in a reassuring gesture. "Before you get yourself into a tizzy—just look for the person who clearly doesn't belong. You know the MCU universe well enough, after all. Honestly, I suggest simply enjoying your life as it unfolds. She'll appear in due time." He paused, an amused smile briefly crossing his face. "I'm certain a ninja will stand out, so she'll easily recognize you."

John took another quiet sip of coffee, absorbing the words, then finally asked, "When will I be born?"

The man shrugged lightly, his white robes shifting slightly with the casual motion. "There's always some inherent randomness in reincarnation. Remember, this isn't a guaranteed run—you can still die along the way. I can gently nudge when you'll enter the world, but beyond that I can't influence events directly."

He leaned back comfortably in his chair once again, fingers loosely folded in front of him, calm and matter-of-fact. "Life is life, as they say."

John took a quiet moment to fully absorb what was about to unfold, and realized he was genuinely excited.

Naruto. The thought alone sent a thrill through his chest—he couldn't wait to test himself in that world. His heart quickened with the anticipation of training, of fighting, of becoming something beyond human limits. The possibilities felt endless, and deeply appealing.

He considered Mary Ann again, certain she was already out there living her new life to the fullest. He had no doubt she'd seized every opportunity presented to her. And now, he decided firmly, he'd do the same. Like the man had said, eventually they'd cross paths—he just needed to keep moving forward until that moment arrived.

Finally, John spoke up, glancing briefly at the holographic line he was expected to sign. "Can you sign a contract?" he asked calmly.

The man blinked in mild surprise. "A contract?"

"Yes," John said patiently, gesturing toward the glowing line suspended in mid-air. "Like the one you have in front of me."

The man thoughtfully rubbed at his beard, clearly intrigued, then nodded slowly, waiting for John to elaborate.

"How much of my karma are you getting?" John asked.

The man hesitated only briefly before answering directly. "Six percent."

John nodded thoughtfully, meeting the man's steady gaze. "I imagine I'll need less karma than before to achieve what I want, since my soul has grown stronger than you originally expected?"

The man blinked again, then nodded once more, still patiently listening.

"If you agree to a binding contract," John continued evenly, "stating clearly that you'll serve my best interests, tell the truth, and set me up for smooth sailing, then we can talk about ten percent."

The man's expression shifted into a faint, pleased smile. "You really only need about eighty-three percent for your purposes," he said, amused. "But keeping ninety percent will certainly ensure you're well-prepared."

He snapped his fingers, and immediately a new holographic contract appeared before them. Without hesitation, the man signed it smoothly, his signature glowing briefly as he withdrew his hand.

John carefully examined the contract, eyes moving over the glowing text. It was straightforward yet comprehensive—clearly worded, airtight in terms, specifying that the man would assist him honestly and faithfully, to the very best of his ability, or forfeit all claim to John's karma. Satisfied, John nodded slowly.

Mostly, the man spent his time carefully tweaking John's battle merit system, briefly explaining the adjustments as he worked. Previously, it had been a random system—something John had no real knowledge of—but now the man promised this improved version would be much more satisfying. He would quantify enemies more precisely, clearly assigning values to each, and grading merits accordingly, resulting in significantly better draws.

This, the man assured him, was a very good thing. Additionally, John could earn special merits by defeating particularly strong canon characters, enhancing his opportunities even further. Most importantly, the system would function seamlessly in both worlds, smoothing John's progress across the two lives he was about to begin.

Additionally, the man mentioned he'd removed John's initial birth into the MCU—a decision John immediately opposed, since his primary goal had always been Mary Ann. The man calmly explained that entering the MCU without powers would be largely pointless. Instead, John would have access to an independent, isolated realm for the next thirteen years to train. Anything he carried on his person would transfer with him and remain stored there indefinitely.

The realm provided a total of thirteen years of cumulative use, during which John wouldn't physically age, yet he would still reap all the benefits of any training, study, or rest completed within. However, the man clarified carefully that John's time spent inside the realm couldn't surpass his actual age: if John was eight, he could only access up to eight years of the realm's available time. Conversely, if John reached three years old without using the space, he'd still have those three unused years stored, ready for him to access whenever he needed.

Thus, John realized he could strategically "bank" this special training time until his ninja instruction officially began, maximizing his potential from the very start.

Now, once John had fully used those stored thirteen years—which the man strongly encouraged him to do—he explained that, based on what he could perceive of fate, John needed to arrive in Marvel before turning fourteen. The man couldn't specify exactly why, only that appearing in the Marvel universe before reaching the age of fourteen provided John's best possible opportunity. When John arrived, he would appear at whatever age he currently was in Naruto—meaning he'd arrive at thirteen at the earliest. According to the man's calculations, John's entry point would be somewhere in New York, though he provided no further specifics about the exact location or circumstances.

As John signed, he felt a gentle yet unmistakable pull. Before the sensation took him entirely, he glanced toward the man, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "By the way, what's your name?"

The man grinned faintly, shaking his head. "It's a complicated one—not exactly native to your tongue," he said, eyes crinkling slightly with amusement. "But you can call me Mathias."

John nodded once in acknowledgment, a faint smile crossing his own features. "Well, good luck to you, Mathias."

The pull intensified, drawing John inward until he fully disappeared from the chamber.

Mathias stood quietly, rubbing his beard as he gazed thoughtfully at the empty space John had occupied just moments before. "Good luck to you too, John," he murmured softly.

He continued to stroke his beard slowly, reflecting on the deeper purpose behind all this—finding suitable cultivators for their organization. Karmic value was crucial; they couldn't afford to recruit deviants, and these iterations served as perfect testing grounds. Of course, most souls simply lived out their iterations until they died or were killed. Very few succeeded in impressing the system enough to be recruited into the broader picture. Because genuine success was so rare, the system was perfectly willing to overlook a little karma taken off the top.

Mathias chuckled quietly to himself, amused by the rarity and unpredictability of it all. He rubbed his beard thoughtfully, wondering briefly how John would react to the small surprise he'd left behind in his independent space.