Suddenly Jarvis was sitting in a lounge chair, drinking a mixed drink out of a coconut with a little umbrella that had conjured out of thin air, as Might Guy bent down and swept James off the ground with surprising gentleness for a man built like a cannonball. His arms were warm and solid—the kind of muscle that came from decades of relentless movement, not posing in front of a mirror.
"We have both been given a chance at youth!" he declared, lifting James high like a proud father presenting his son to the world. His grin stretched ear to ear, and those absurdly thick eyebrows twitched with raw, unapologetic passion.
James stared, blinking as he took it all in. Guy was jacked, no question—shoulders broad, torso carved with lean mass, arms like braided steel. But it wasn't just bulk. He moved with the lightness of a gymnast, every joint coiled and ready. Grace and power packed together like a spring-loaded engine wrapped in green spandex.
"We will discover the power of youth together!" Guy boomed. "We start tomorrow!"
Then—just like that—he dropped into a more measured stance. Still smiling, but the energy tightened. The eyebrows settled. The voice dropped a notch.
"I will explore this area to see what we have to work with," he said, his tone firm but kind. "You deserve that. I will see you tomorrow, James D. Barrett."
And with a sudden burst of speed, the Green Beast of Konoha was off—arms pumping, knees slicing high through the air, vanishing across the open training field in a blur of motion and determination. He looked like a man rediscovering the world.
James blinked.
Then slowly turned to Jarvis. "I'm guessing you told him everything?"
"Yep," Jarvis replied without missing a beat, still reclining in his beach chair, coconut drink in hand. "If he turns you into an apex fighter—Admiral level—he gets healed and sent back to the moment he left. Like nothing ever changed. Except, y'know, no more crippling injuries."
James exhaled through his nose.
"So… no pressure at all. Just his dreams. The power of youth. Try not to let failing keep you up at night." Jarvis sipped from his drink, the tiny umbrella bouncing as he smiled.
James turned his thoughts to the next option. He found Jarvis suddenly uncomfortably close—standing inside his personal space now, no drink in hand, no beach chair in sight. Both had vanished without a sound, just as they'd appeared.
"Now," Jarvis said, voice smooth but eager, "we get to upgrade any part of the training system. Any…"
"I want to choose my equipment first," James said.
Mostly he was doing it to troll Jarvis. He could tell the old man really wanted to be upgraded—not that James planned to do that, at least not yet. He was pretty sure there were better things to focus on first.
Jarvis gave a long inhale like he might argue, then let it go and nodded. "Of course."
James stepped forward as the list unfolded again, each machine presented in soft pulses of light. He watched with quiet interest, no longer just looking for cool or fun. He was three—but with a mind full of memory. And somewhere deep inside, he already knew he wouldn't be rolling in berries. At least, not while he was a kid.
What he chose now would be the core of his foundation. From now until he was thirteen. Ten years. Whatever he picked needed to shape him across that span—endurance, mobility, strength, balance. No weak links.
He started grading each piece with that in mind.
James stood still for a moment, arms loose at his sides, staring at the rotating line of equipment. Each machine glowed softly in its own display frame. He wasn't thinking about flash or fantasy—he was thinking years ahead. What gear would make a difference now, at three, and still matter when he hit ten or thirteen? He couldn't afford waste.
Agility Spiral Grid
A wide platform broken into tiles that shifted with weight and spun underfoot. It looked simple, but James could see how it'd teach stability, control, and quick feet without needing heavy movement.
Grade: A
This would be part of his daily warm-up. Even now, crawling or stepping on it would build real habits early.
Breath Core Vault
A closed pod with compressed air and simulated altitude. It forced deep breathing under pressure. The system said it improved endurance. He believed that—but didn't think it fit yet.
Grade: C+
Hard to use something like this when your lungs are still growing. Better for later, not now.
Flex-Line Suspension Frame
An upright wall with elastic poles that pulled and fought back. It stretched the body from all angles. James wasn't stiff, but training range of motion this way made sense.
Grade: B-
Useful in short sessions. Helps avoid tightness later. Not critical yet, but not bad either.
Tempo Pulse Track
A light-up lane where beats controlled sprint timing. It forced rhythm and pacing instead of just speed. James figured he could learn this fast, even if his steps were small for now.
Grade: A-
Easy to grow into. Starts light but scales well. Would help with rhythm and pacing early on.
Precision Vault Zone
A target range where drones zipped past and lit up without warning. It seemed fun, but it clearly needed better arm control than he had.
Grade: C
Cool idea, but better once he had more control. It'd just frustrate him now.
Enduro Gauntlet Lanes
A long, shifting course that changed shape and added resistance. Some steps sank, others shoved back. This one looked difficult but straightforward.
Grade: A
It wouldn't be pleasant, but it was honest. It'd make him tougher and keep him moving longer.
Balance Array Columns
Thin posts set at different heights. They wobbled slightly, and James could imagine how hard it'd be to stay steady.
Grade: A
Learning balance early was smart. Even small improvements now would mean a lot later.
Explosive Step Rack
Low pads designed to throw you upward or forward if hit correctly. It trained burst power, using leg strength and timing.
Grade: A+
Even if he couldn't use it fully yet, the design let it scale up. This would carry over for years.
Neuro-Strike Sphere
A floating orb that changed speed and direction without warning. Strike or dodge based on color. Coordination under pressure.
Grade: B+
Good long-term skill builder. Might be awkward now, but the habits it taught would be valuable.
Recovery Bloom Pod
A smooth chamber for muscle repair and sleep quality. It didn't do any visible training, but James already knew how important healing was from experience.
Grade: S
He'd be using it a lot. If he wanted to keep training consistently, this made it possible. Recovery was extremely important.
Looking at them all, James had to admit—each one had its place. Agility, power, endurance—they all mattered. But one stood out. The Recovery Bloom Pod.
It absolutely took the cake.
From the description alone, it sounded insane. Eight hours submerged in some kind of breathable liquid? That part was weird. But the result? Full recovery. Back to peak condition after a day of pushing his body. And that was just the base setting. Apparently, there were even stronger recovery blends available later—for a price in berries.
He took a slow breath, eyes lingering on the softly glowing chamber. This wasn't flashy. It wasn't something you trained on. But without recovery, everything else eventually broke down.
"I choose the Recovery Bloom Pod," he said.
And just like that, the system chimed in quiet confirmation.
"Done," Jarvis said. "It's in your room now."
James didn't wait for whatever speech was coming next. He could see it forming behind Jarvis's eyes—the little lead-up he always did before pitching something system-related.
He cut him off.
"The system upgrade," James said, voice calm. "I've been thinking about that. You mentioned stuff costs berries… can I upgrade the cost system? Make things cheaper?"
Jarvis blinked once, like a buffering screen. "Yes… yes, you could do that. But—"
"Or could I upgrade my basic equipment?" James added, eyes narrowing slightly as he spoke.
Jarvis gave a polite cough and adjusted his collar despite not wearing one. "Yes. That is another option."
James tilted his head and crossed his arms. "What about the Bloom Pod? Can I upgrade that?"
Jarvis sighed. His shoulders dropped a touch, and his eyes drifted shut for a moment, as if the weight of the conversation was pressing down harder than expected. "Yes… you could do that too."
Jarvis held up both hands, palms open, motioning for James to pause. There was no urgency in the gesture, just a calm signal that he had more to say.
"If you upgrade me," he began, "first—I'll be able to interact with you physically."
To demonstrate, he swept a hand clean through James's chest. There was no sensation. Just silence and air, like waving through a ghost.
"As you can see, I'm still more illusion than presence," he said, stepping back with a slight shrug, a faint gleam of amusement in his eyes.
"Let's say hypothetically you showed up injured—I could carry you to the Bloom Pod."
James raised an eyebrow. "Couldn't I just have Guy do that?"
Jarvis blinked. "Well, yes… but that's not all."
He rolled his shoulders and his tone shifted, more grounded now.
"More importantly, I'd become something far more useful than just a voice in the room. I'd become a fully integrated extension of your consciousness—a second mind of sorts."
James narrowed his eyes slightly. "Meaning what, exactly?"
"Meaning," Jarvis said, "I'd receive everything you see, hear, feel. All of your senses—shared in real time. But I'd remain separate. A second awareness you fully control, one that can focus independently from you."
He stepped a little closer. "Say you're in a fight. You're focused on offense—reading timing, lining up counters. I can track your blind spots. Movement behind you. Terrain shifts. Breathing changes in your opponent. Subtle signs you might miss."
He paused a beat. "And based on my current hypothesis—any Haki you can consciously control, I can as well. So, for example, I could maintain Armament Haki while you focus on something else. Constantly. Like a background process. No drain on your attention."
James stood quietly, taking it in.
"You stay in control," Jarvis added. "I just handle what you can't afford to split your focus on."
James stared at him, expression tightening into a thin line. "So basically, a second mind."
"Exactly," Jarvis said with a grin. "And we can communicate in a fraction of a second what might take minutes out loud."
James thought about for a few minutes.
James finally said after looking at a hopeful Jarvis , "You mentioned boredom. This is how you get to leave?" This had been been when he had asked him to be his system administrator when James had died.
"Yep," Jarvis replied shamelessly. "I mean, I see everything in here, but I want to be part of your journey. And this little perk I snuck through… it cost me a lot."
Jarvis didn't even pretend to be modest. "I promise you—it'll be good for you. Very good."
James sighed. Having a second mind didn't sound terrible. And despite how annoying Jarvis could be, he could tell the man was being sincere. Years as a cop had taught James to trust his instincts—and his gut said this wasn't a trap.
"Fine," he said. "I choose to upgrade you."
Jarvis beamed. "Perfect. We need to head to the pod and use two of your three uses for the week."
James's brow lifted. "Wait—two?"
"The next sixteen hours, the Bloom Pod can sustain you while we connect," Jarvis said. "What did you think—gaining a second mind was painless?"
James exhaled slowly and followed him toward the black house in the distance, the tall windows catching a bit of light from the training space above.
As they walked, a soft ping echoed in James's vision. A timer appeared in the top-right corner.
22 hours, 58 minutes.
So that was his remaining time for the day. He'd moved through his choices quicker than expected.
They finally walked to the black building, which turned out to be a single large room—simple, functional, and strangely calming. The air inside was cool and faintly herbal, carrying the sterile crispness of machinery mixed with something like mint or eucalyptus.
In one corner sat the Bloom Pod. Sleek and oval-shaped, its surface gleamed like polished ceramic, and a soft pulse of light blinked near its base. It looked like something out of a medical lab—quietly alive, waiting.
Near the center stood a plain brown dinner table, solid and worn, with four wooden chairs arranged neatly around it. The seats had slight dents in the cushions, like they'd been sat in a thousand times but always straightened afterward. The floor beneath them was a smooth, white tile—warm to the touch, clean but not sterile.
There were no windows, but the white ceiling glowed gently, giving the room a steady ambient light that mimicked daylight without ever casting shadows.
On the opposite end of the room was a large inset bathtub with a wide lip, alongside a simple sink and a square mirror. A folded towel rested by the tub's edge, with a small shelf holding basic toiletries—soap, toothbrush, comb. Just enough.
"This is it," Jarvis said, motioning casually toward the room. "You can eat here at the table, wash up over there, and sleep…"
He turned toward the pod and patted its curved frame. A panel slid open with a faint hiss.
"What once would have been your normal bed, the Bloom Pod has replaced. It's got a dry-sleep function, so you can use it without immersion too."
He gave a small nod, then gestured toward the open pod. "Let's get you situated."
One side of the pod slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing a molded seat recessed into the interior. A narrow ramp extended from the base—just enough for him to walk up without help. The inner space was shaped perfectly for a child his size, uncanny in how precisely it fit. The black molding appeared carved from pure shadow—deep and featureless, like a sky without stars or moon.
James stepped up the ramp and settled into the seat. As soon as he made contact, the pod closed around him with a soft click, sealing the chamber.
The surface beneath him adjusted to his weight—firm yet pliable. The texture felt like dense putty, shaped to support without pushing back. At first, the sensation surprised him. Then it relaxed him. The seat felt like a warm cloud hugging his frame. A faint blue glow shimmered near the ceiling, soft enough to reveal outlines but gentle on the eyes. The surrounding walls retained their black, seamless finish, offering nothing to focus on—just depth and stillness.
The liquid began to rise.
It reached his feet first, though the source remained hidden—no visible spouts or mechanical cues. The fluid appeared from below, rising inch by inch. It touched his calves, his knees, then his waist. Each part of him felt gently enveloped. The temperature stayed steady. The fluid felt neutral, smooth against the skin. It climbed to his chest, collarbones, and finally his chin. As it covered his mouth and nose, he instinctively held his breath. A moment later, he allowed a slow exhale—and discovered he could breathe easily.
Bubbles slipped past his face, rising and vanishing in the clear, blue-tinged liquid.
The seat beneath him retracted, easing back into the pod wall. Now suspended, James floated in place. The fluid surrounded him entirely, diffusing the faint glow across his view. The chamber remained dark and quiet, with no controls or edges in sight—just soft pressure and endless black.
Calm settled into his limbs.
The environment offered nothing urgent to react to, only support. He felt safe, suspended in a place built to hold him just as he was.
Then a mini Jarvis appeared—no taller than James's hand, hovering just above his lap. His outline shimmered faintly, as if made of light and smoke. He didn't move his lips, but James heard him clearly inside his head, like a thought that didn't belong to him.
"The main reason you're here is the fluid," Jarvis said calmly. "It feeds you. The process is going to demand a lot of nutrition, which this pod can deliver optimally while I join your mind."
The little figure hovered a moment, hands clasped behind his back like a polite instructor. Then he raised one hand and nodded toward James.
"Nod if you're ready."
James took a slow breath. The liquid pulled through his lungs like warm air—smooth, clean, without resistance. No gagging, no panic. Just… strange. A weightless kind of breathing. But not unpleasant.
He gave a nod, small and firm.
Jarvis's glowing form began to twist inward, condensing down to a thread of light no thicker than a finger. Without warning, he shot forward and vanished into James's forehead.
Pressure bloomed instantly. Not sharp, but building—like someone tightening a belt around his skull, squeezing slowly. He gritted his teeth. It was tolerable—at first.
Then the real pain hit.
It felt like an icicle had been rammed into the center of his brain. A blinding brain freeze exploded through his skull, drilling from his temples straight into the back of his eyes. James cried out, clutching his head, his limbs curling inward. He could barely think.
The pain didn't spike and fade—it dragged, endless and grinding. His chest tightened. His back arched. If not for the thick liquid muffling everything, he would've been gasping, screaming.
He stayed conscious. Barely.
Outside his own awareness, Jarvis was carving a space in his mind—splitting off a portion of thought and sensation, drawing a fragment of James's soul into shape. The pain was the cost. But James's soul wasn't like most. It had been through death and rebirth. Reincarnated. Hardened.
Jarvis noticed.
Most people would've blacked out by now, the Jarvis thought with faint admiration. But James… wasn't most people.
Six hours passed.
The pain dulled, then faded, leaving only a dull ache in his head and neck. James floated limply, breath slow but even. His fists unclenched. He was still resisting sleep. His muscles twitched with effort.
Then, inside his thoughts, Jarvis's voice returned—calmer now, closer.
"Relax, kid. You did it. Sleep."
James sighed softly, bubbles rising and vanishing in the blue-tinged fluid.
He let his eyes close, and sleep finally took him.