Chapter 3: Multiverse Group Chat, or How to Freak Out a Devil Princess Before Breakfast
Wang Lin:
If there was one thing Wang Lin had learned at sixteen, it was that life had a nasty sense of humor.
One second, he was walking the lonely road of rejection after flunking the Heng Yue Sect's entrance exam. (Failing was bad enough—now his parents looked at him like he was the family goat that refused to produce milk, and his uncle hadn't stopped sighing since.)
The next, he was dangling off a cliff with a giant, very cranky tiger trying to make him its lunch.
"Oh, great," Wang Lin muttered through gritted teeth. "Fail the sect test, feed the wildlife. Perfect."
The fight had been a mess of claws, teeth, and panic. By sheer dumb luck—or maybe the heavens just didn't want him dead yet—he jabbed a sharp branch into the tiger's mouth, and both of them tumbled off the cliff. The tiger died. Wang Lin… almost did.
When he came to, every inch of him hurt like he'd been stomped on by an army of oxen. His ribs protested, his legs screamed, and he was ninety percent sure something inside him was broken. But hey, silver lining: the tiger's corpse had cushioned his fall. A very stinky pillow, but still.
Dragging himself across the rocks, Wang Lin pried open the beast's chest and pulled out its core. Even animals here cultivated energy, and their cores were valuable—at least in theory. Problem: Wang Lin had no clue what to do with it.
"This is useless," he groaned, chucking it away. It bounced once, twice, then plopped straight into a little pool of water.
The second his lips touched the water, he froze. Warmth spread through his battered body. The pain dulled. His cuts sealed. His bones stopped threatening to stab him from the inside.
Wang Lin blinked. "Wait. Did I just… accidentally invent healing soup?"
He stared at the glowing core under the water, heart racing. He'd read enough stories to know this was not normal. Either this was some immortal-tier treasure… or he'd just poisoned himself in the prettiest way possible.
"Okay," he muttered, "note to self: maybe don't tell anyone I dropped a monster's heart into a puddle and drank it. Doesn't sound heroic."
He lay back, exhausted but with a flicker of hope for the first time in weeks. Maybe he wasn't doomed after all.
That's when it happened.
A shimmer of light. A weird buzzing sound. And then—floating out of the water like it had been waiting for him all along—a thin, rectangular slate hovered in the air.
Wang Lin squinted. "Uh… hello? Are you… friendly?"
The object didn't answer. It just floated there, smug as a cat.
Against all survival instincts, Wang Lin reached out and touched it.
Instantly, knowledge zapped into his head like lightning. Words. Pictures. Instructions. A thing called a phone.
His jaw dropped. "What in the nine heavens…? This is some top-secret clan treasure! Or… an immortal's prank."
On the screen, words glowed:
This is a gift from Lord Seventh. Follow the instructions to grow stronger.
Wang Lin's heart thudded. Lord Seventh? Whoever that was, the name screamed "big deal."
He scrolled. Training routines. Diagrams. Step-by-step instructions. The kind of professional detail no scammy old scroll seller would ever give for free.
Tears stung his eyes. After weeks of rejection, pain, and near-death… here was hope.
He typed back with trembling fingers:
"Lord Seventh, I am honored by this opportunity. I plead for your assistance in becoming a strong cultivator."
The reply came instantly:
No problem, child. Trust me. For now, start with the training above. The body is the foundation for everything. Once that's ready, I'll teach you how to build up your Ki.
Wang Lin stared at the words. Then, for the first time since his failure, he laughed—a tired, shaky laugh, but real.
"Understood, Master," he whispered, clutching the glowing device like it was his lifeline.
Because it was.
And just like that, the boy who had almost become tiger food found himself standing at the first step of immortality.
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Naruto:
Naruto wasn't used to sad thoughts creeping into his head. Sad thoughts were like mosquitoes—annoying, buzzing, and usually squashed with a quick smack. But as he stared at the glowing screen in his hand, a strange heaviness sat on his chest.
"The Grand Scholar," he muttered, almost tasting the weight of the words. "A title fitting for a smart child."
He wasn't just reading words. He was feeling them. Every drop of rage, sorrow, and discipline boiling inside the kid named Wang Lin slammed into Naruto like waves during a storm. Unlike the others in the chat, Wang Lin's connection wasn't just text and emojis. No, this one was raw—like someone had superglued his emotions directly to Naruto's soul.
Naruto clenched his fist. He'd been called a lot of things—monster, idiot, knucklehead—but "Grand Scholar"? That wasn't just a fancy label. That was pain wrapped up in wisdom way too early for a child's age. Rage flickered inside Naruto's chest, the kind that made him want to punch a mountain in half just to cool off.
But instead of exploding, Naruto breathed out slowly. He had made a decision right there: Wang Lin would not walk the path of destruction. He would learn the path of Law and Order. And if Naruto had to personally drag him by the ear until he understood, then so be it.
The screen buzzed again. Another message.
"Lord Seventh. That seems like an overbearing title. What exactly are you the Lord of?"
Naruto blinked at the username—Ruin Princess. Cute. Nothing said "friendly pen pal" like crimson hair, black wings, and a title that screamed I might eat your soul for breakfast.
Her little avatar popped into his mind: a girl in some kind of regal uniform, crimson locks cascading around her like fire, and those wings… definitely not human. Naruto squinted. The last time he saw black wings that pretty, they were usually attached to something trying to kill him.
Still, manners first.
"My world," Naruto typed back, his grin almost foxlike. "But words are hard to trust from strangers, so let's forget about that and tell me about yourself."
There was a pause—probably dramatic, because winged people always loved their dramatic pauses—before her reply appeared.
"Which faction do you belong to? I want an answer to that, and then we will see."
Naruto snorted. "Faction?" he muttered. "What is this, a video game?"
Kurama stirred inside him, muttering something about how Naruto was about to get himself killed again. Naruto ignored him. He typed back fast, his thumbs moving like a ninja's shadow clone army was texting for him.
"I'm kind of human, but I don't belong to any faction except mine. I rule over others, child, not the other way around."
There. Short, sweet, and just a tiny bit cocky. Naruto could practically hear Jiraiya groaning in the afterlife.
The Ruin Princess didn't take long to fire back.
"You are giving these advices and training methods. Are you sure they won't end up with someone not agreeable?"
Naruto's smile faltered. That was a good question—annoyingly good. The kind of question that made you stop mid-ramen bite and actually think.
He leaned back, staring at the screen. He had trained hundreds, fought immortals, and saved worlds. But she wasn't wrong. What if his words, his methods, ended up in the wrong hands?
The thought made the back of his neck prickle.
For once, Naruto didn't rush to answer. He simply stared at the glowing messages, the weight of his choices settling on his shoulders like an old cloak. The Heroes Chat Group wasn't just a quirky way to make new friends—it was a test. And he wasn't sure if everyone in here deserved the answers he had to give.
Still… he was Naruto Uzumaki. And if anyone was going to figure this out, it'd be him.
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Rias:
Rias Gremory, the Ruin Princess of the Underworld, had a to-do list longer than most epic poems.
Look flawless (which, to be fair, came naturally).
Manage her devil peerage like a queen running a very dysfunctional chess club.
Oh yeah—avoid dying horribly if she failed to fulfill her "life depends on it" purpose.
So yeah, mornings weren't exactly her favorite thing.
She stretched in bed, crimson hair cascading over her shoulders like a shampoo commercial, except with about ten times more danger and twice the supernatural royalty. Her bed sheets pooled around her as she reached for her phone. Normally, her notifications consisted of boring council messages, desperate fanboy texts, and the occasional "Hey, wanna sign this demonic contract?" spam.
This morning? Her screen looked like someone had declared war on her inbox. Dozens—no, hundreds—of unread messages blinked at her.
"What the…?" Rias sat up straighter, which was a problem since she had the highly impractical (but very Rias) habit of sleeping naked. The phone almost slipped out of her hands. "Who could even hack this? Nobody should have my number."
Nobody alive, anyway.
Scrolling through, one name kept popping up: Lord Seventh.
Rias narrowed her eyes. Did this guy add me by mistake? But the longer she read, the less it looked like a prank. Whoever "Lord Seventh" was, he seemed very deliberate. And very, very… smug.
Her fingers flew over the screen.
Rias: "Lord Seventh, that seems to be an overbearing title. What exactly are you the Lord of?"
His reply came almost instantly, which either meant he had nothing better to do, or he had ninja-level texting speed.
Lord Seventh: "My world. But words are hard to trust from strangers, so let's forget about that and tell me about yourself."
Rias frowned. Cute deflection. She wasn't having it.
Rias: "Which faction do you belong to? I want an answer to that, and then we will see."
She drummed her fingers on the phone. What does he mean, "my world"? Nobody's ever called themselves Seventh. Is this guy a joke? Or a heroic spirit?
The next message made her blink twice.
Lord Seventh: "I am kind of human, but I don't belong to any faction except mine. I rule over others, child, not the other way around."
Rias' jaw actually dropped. Kind of human? Either this guy was insane, or he was the most arrogant mortal she'd ever texted. And she'd texted plenty of arrogant mortals.
"Is this a joke?" she muttered under her breath, scrolling back to reread. "Or is he really…?"
She typed again, her devil instincts screaming to test him.
Rias: "You are giving these advices and training methods. Are you sure they won't end up with someone not agreeable?"
The reply came, and this time it wasn't just cocky—it was a whole manifesto.
Lord Seventh:
"Ah, you just reminded me of something. I have not said this but we are all from different dimensions. I do not exist in your world, though I can probably come visit but not now.
This is set up to help you all. I like to help and it takes away my boredom, but I will not coddle you all.
I will provide basic information, but higher knowledge will require exchange and missions to be completed.
I am very learned, but that doesn't mean I know everything. You can exchange skills with me—or with each other.
As for your worry: no evil person can join. I am vanquisher of all evil, and none can hide from my sight.
This group only consists of heroes, each important in their own world. You may not know it now—or maybe you already do."
The phone buzzed one last time.
Lord Seventh:
"Video doesn't work yet, but I'm working on it."
And just like that, silence.
Rias sat frozen, phone slipping through her fingers and bouncing onto the bed. Her crimson hair fell forward as she muttered the only appropriate response:
"A multiverse. A freaking multiverse."
She stumbled out of bed, her head spinning. "We won't be visited by monsters, will we? Because if I have to explain to my brother why Kaiju are stomping through the garden, I'm never going to hear the end of it."
Her eyes drifted to the phone, glowing faintly on the sheets.
Is this real or fake? she thought. He sounds so honest. Too honest. And that voice… how does someone's words feel this… enchanting? Through a phone, no less?
Rias ran a hand through her crimson hair, her mind whirring like a battlefield of "what ifs." Finally, she hit record.
Her voice was calm, even regal.
"It is hard to believe your words, as I haven't seen anything yet to convince me. Our world is magical. Your little tricks do not make for a convincing argument."
She set the phone down and padded toward the washroom, muttering to herself, "Proof or no proof, I'm not the type to jump at shadows. But still… if this is real…"
Her reflection stared back at her in the mirror, eyes sharp, mind already racing.
She would bring this up with her peerage. If the multiverse was on the table, then this wasn't just breakfast chatter. This was survival.
And Rias Gremory always played to win.
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Kurama was perched on Naruto's head like the world's most judgmental hat. Not the big, snarling Nine-Tails you'd expect from bedtime horror stories, but a miniature fox made entirely of golden energy. Think "glowing plushie," except one that could still roast you with sarcasm.
"That girl is good. Very careful," Kurama muttered, his tails twitching as if he were taking mental notes for a spy report.
Naruto smirked, his hands moving in a blur as he fiddled with glowing seals. His chakra hands—dozens of them—floated around like overcaffeinated octopus tentacles, each scribbling or weaving symbols in the air. If multitasking were an Olympic sport, the guy would've won gold, silver, and bronze just to rub it in everyone's faces.
"Right? I'm glad she's like that. Makes the game harder. But I'll admit…" Naruto's grin widened, that dangerous kind of grin that said he was way too amused for anyone else's safety. "It's kind of annoying too."
Kurama arched an eyebrow—well, if energy foxes even had eyebrows. "So what's the plan, oh mighty Hokage? Intimidation? Bribery? Spamming memes until they surrender?"
"Simple," Naruto said with a shrug that was way too casual for someone juggling enough power to remodel a continent. "I'll just go with it. The info I've already shared is plenty. Besides, the more they add people to this group, the more fun it's gonna get."
Somewhere in the Hokage's office, glowing symbols flared like constellations, and the air thrummed with energy. Seals clicked into place as if Naruto were building the most chaotic social network the ninja world had ever seen. Kurama sighed. He had been sealed inside Naruto for decades, faced world-ending monsters, fought literal immortals… and somehow, this felt like the beginning of true chaos.
Naruto just leaned back in his chair, eyes twinkling like a kid about to prank the entire village.
"Trust me, Kurama," he said, his grin widening. "This is going to be hilarious."
And for once, the great Nine-Tailed Fox had a terrible feeling he was right.
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Issei:
Issei was glued to his phone like a moth to a flame. Scratch that—like a pervy moth to a really attractive flame. His grin was so wide it looked like his cheeks were trying to escape his face.
He'd been blessed. No, scratch that again—he'd been divinely anointed by the immortals of beauty. Because there, shining on his screen, was the profile picture of Rias Gremory. Crimson hair. Blue eyes. A smile that could melt glaciers. If Aphrodite ever needed a brand ambassador, Issei had just found her.
Her voice? Oh boy. Issei had replayed her intro three times already, not that he'd admit it if anyone walked in. It was like velvet dipped in honey and sprinkled with magic fairy dust. The kind of voice that makes you forget your own name and possibly your life goals.
But then—her answer.
"'This world is magical, so his little tricks don't impress me…'" Issei repeated under his breath, frowning so hard his eyebrows nearly tied themselves in a knot.
"Okay, what the heck does that mean? Magical? Like, Harry Potter magical? Or like stage magician pulling-a-rabbit-out-of-a-hat magical? And if it's the second, then how come I've never seen anyone actually pull a rabbit out of a hat in real life?"
He tapped his chin like some sort of philosopher, except his thoughts were less "deep wisdom" and more "anime fan theories at three in the morning."
'The guys in this group sound insane. From another world? Please. Next they'll tell me they all have pet dragons and teleportation powers. Utter BS… right? …Right?!'
Issei tried to keep his brain on track, but his neurons had other plans. Each time he tried to puzzle it out, his mental hamster wheel started squeaking louder until smoke practically puffed out of his ears.
"Ughh, that hurts my head," he groaned, dropping his phone onto his stomach and flopping back onto his bed like a beached dolphin. "Let's not think about it. Just roll with it, Issei. That's what cool people do."
Of course, "cool" was a relative term. In Issei's case, it usually meant "don't faint when a girl looks at you" and "try not to sound like a creep when you say hi." But still—if this world was magical, maybe, just maybe, he'd stumbled into the greatest blessing of his life.
And if not? Well, he still had Rias's profile picture. Which, honestly, was enough to keep him grinning like a maniac until his phone battery died.
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Kyoto, Japan.
Normally, when you think "seat of power," you imagine some ominous black throne surrounded by fire pits and scary henchmen chanting doom hymns. Not here. The leader of the entire Yokai faction—the legendary nine-tailed fox—was sitting cross-legged in her shrine maiden robes, sipping tea like she was on break from running the world's most stressful daycare.
This was Yasaka: dazzling golden eyes, hair so long it could probably double as a staircase, and a crown that screamed, Hi, I'm nobility. Please tremble.
But today, even Yasaka was caught off guard.
Because a phone—yes, an actual, regular-looking smartphone—had appeared out of nowhere in her hands. She knew what it was, sure. But having one just materialize? That smelled like either divine intervention… or a very stupid assassination attempt.
Yasaka stared at it, half expecting the thing to explode. Instead, it pinged with a group chat notification.
She scrolled once. And froze.
"…Rias Gremory?" Yasaka muttered, squinting at the crimson-haired girl's name. "That girl. Not believing him? What is she thinking?"
Because Yasaka had felt it. The presence. The connection. Whoever this "Lord Seventh" was, he wasn't some low-tier trickster. He was real. And very, very powerful. Too powerful to be lurking in the shadows without anyone knowing.
She tapped the record button, lifted the phone delicately, and spoke in a voice that could stop armies:
"Greetings, Lord Seventh. I believe your claim and hope that you do not give up on us."
The reply was instant. Calm. Warm. Like a river in spring thaw.
"Thank you for your words. And worry not—I understand people's concerns. I will not stop."
Yasaka exhaled. It felt like the stress of running an entire faction had been tossed out the window. She asked, carefully:
"If you don't mind me asking… are you a Kyuubi?"
The voice chuckled.
"No. He is my partner. But he is not like you—he is a being of energy, not blood and flesh. So, I am sorry if you were looking for a partner."
Yasaka blinked. "Looking for a partner?" Was he serious? Well, in that case…
"Then what if I said," she purred, leaning just a little closer to the phone, "I wish for you to be my consort?"
There was laughter on the other end. Genuine. Bright. And it somehow made her cheeks warm.
"Haha. I am honored, but I am already married to two beautiful women. They wouldn't like someone else putting their hands on me."
Yasaka laughed too, surprising even herself. Her voice was usually a weapon—sharp, commanding. But this man's tone? It just dissolved her tension like sugar in hot tea.
They kept talking. He teased her with knowledge—mentioning "Senjutsu," like it was some casual hobby.
"You have Senjutsu?" Yasaka sat up straighter, tails twitching. That was sacred. Dangerous. Rare. And he was tossing it out like a pack of gum.
"I can teach you that," he said, "but equal exchange, Golden Vixen."
Golden Vixen. He said it like he'd known her forever. Yasaka's heart skipped. She explained her world, what she had, what she could offer. Maybe he'd want knowledge. Maybe a mission. She just hoped he didn't laugh her off.
'Please let it be knowledge,' she thought.
"Mama? What are you doing?"
Yasaka nearly dropped the phone. She looked down to see Kunou, her daughter, peeking in. The little fox girl tilted her head, eyes wide.
To Kunou, her mother was usually the unshakable ruler of Kyoto. But right now? Yasaka looked like a teenager caught texting her crush.
Kunou squinted at the glowing phone. "Mama… since when do you play with that?"
Yasaka cleared her throat, straightened her crown, and pretended nothing had happened. But judging from Kunou's smirk, the damage was already done.