Kael was the kind of man who didn't believe in luck—only in statistics and capital. By the age of thirty-four, he had already built a financial empire that would make the titans of Wall Street look like children running a lemonade stand. Yet his true passion wasn't the numbers in quarterly reports, but the stories of impossible worlds. His mansion was a high-tech mausoleum dedicated to otaku culture, filled with life-size resin statues and original manuscripts preserved behind bulletproof glass.
On that particular Tuesday afternoon, the universe seemed to decide that Kael's quota of existence had expired.
As he walked toward his limousine, a grand piano—straight out of an absurd cinematic cliché—snapped loose from a pulley on the tenth floor. Kael didn't even quicken his pace; he merely tilted his body a few millimeters, feeling the shift of air as the instrument shattered beside him, turning noble wood into splinters.
Ten minutes later, a delivery truck—the infamous Truck-kun—lost its brakes and mounted the sidewalk at eighty kilometers per hour. With the composure of a man negotiating billion-dollar mergers, Kael used a fire hydrant as a pivot and spun around, watching the metal beast roar past within centimeters of his silk suit.
"Pathetic attempts," he muttered, adjusting his thin-framed glasses.
"If fate wants to take me, it'll need something more creative than a low-budget isekai script."
He returned home victorious.
Bath time was his ritual of celebration. Steam filled the Italian marble bathroom, and the sound of running water became the only soundtrack to his arrogance. Relaxed now, he hummed an anime opening while lathering himself, mentally boasting about having "defeated" death twice in less than an hour.
That was when the true villain revealed itself:
a handcrafted lavender soap, resting at an unfortunate angle.
Kael's right foot lost contact with physical reality.
There was a brief moment of suspension—a flash of awareness in which he recognized the irony. He had dodged tons of steel and wood, only to be defeated by 150 grams of glycerin.
The dry crack of his neck striking the edge of the bathtub was the final punctuation mark of his earthly life.
Kael did not wake up in hell.
Nor in heaven.
He woke up sitting in a reception chair made of something that looked like synthetic dragon leather. In front of him stretched an office that defied Euclidean architecture: the walls were made of solid light, and the floor was an abyss of binary code flowing like a neon river.
Behind a desk of black crystal sat the Being.
It had the shape of a tall man wearing a perfectly tailored suit that shimmered with internal luminescence. Where its face should have been, there was only a pulse of white energy, yet Kael could somehow feel the corporate smile radiating from it.
"Mr. Kael, what a pleasure to welcome you to our HR division," the Being's voice sounded like velvet scraping against metal.
"Your death was… a statistical tragedy. Who would have thought a soap would be the end of a strategist like you?"
Kael narrowed his eyes.
He noticed the Being discreetly hiding a small folder beneath the desk labeled Operation Soap. The implication hung in the air: the Merchant Vanguard needed someone with Kael's experience, and if his life didn't end by accident… they would manufacture one.
"We are the Merchant Vanguard. We expand markets across the multiverse," the Being continued, ignoring Kael's accusatory silence.
"And you possess the ideal profile for the position of Branch Manager. Your salary? Your soul preserved—and the opportunity to live in the worlds you spent so much money collecting."
Without waiting for a "yes," the Being snapped its fingers.
Three cosmic gear wheels appeared in the center of the room, spinning at frantic speeds.
"Let's determine your workplace, your tools, and your fiscal period."
The first wheel stopped: a stylized leaf icon glowed brightly.
World: Naruto.
The second wheel stopped: a striped hat and a silk fan appeared.
Template: Kisuke Urahara.
The third element halted: numbers spun backward until stopping at a moment of maximum political tension.
Three months before the Nine-Tails Attack.
"You begin with ten percent synchronization. After all, a good manager must earn his bonuses," said the Being of Light, handing Kael a pale wooden cane.
"Welcome to the Vanguard. Try not to slip this time."
Konoha was different.
It smelled of damp earth, wood smoke, and the distant aroma of frying food. Kael opened his eyes and felt the weight of his new body. He was no longer the businessman in a suit; now he wore a dark green kimono with a coat over it, and the shadow of a striped hat rested over his eyes.
He stood in a narrow alley, flanked by wooden and plaster buildings typical of ninja architecture. Behind him was a small sliding door with a worn sign:
Urahara Convenience Store.
Kael could feel Kisuke Urahara's intellect merging with his own. The analytical mind of a modern businessman now fused with the scientific and strategic genius of the exiled Shinigami.
However, the body felt heavy.
He could sense the chains of the System restricting his power.
No Bankai.
No Shikai.
Only superior physical endurance and sharpened senses.
He looked at the empty shelves of the shop.
The System echoed in his mind:
[INITIAL INVENTORY AVAILABLE: 300,000 RYŌ IN IMPORT CREDITS]
He had three months.
Three months before a nine-tailed fox would reduce this village to ashes.
Three months to become necessary, wealthy, and powerful enough to survive what was coming.