The System's translucent screen hovered before Goku, casting an ethereal glow over his dimly lit mountain home. The latest mission caught his eye, a Rank "D" challenge promising a tantalizing reward: the ability to alter his appearance at will. The idea thrilled him. In his new world, appearances were weapons, and he had no intention of wielding anything less than perfection.
"System," he muttered, his voice calm but layered with anticipation, "Accept."
The mission's objectives appeared in sharp, glowing text: Defeat 25 opponents in unarmed combat using strategy and psychological warfare, rather than brute strength.
A grin stretched across his face, dark and predatory. This is going to be fun.
The animals of the forest had grown wary of Goku. Over the last five years, he had hunted them—not for food, but for experience. Their instincts were razor-sharp, their survival tactics honed by nature's unforgiving hand. They became his training partners, teaching him how to read movements, anticipate attacks, and react without thinking.
Today, however, the stakes were higher. He refrained from using raw power, instead relying on feints, traps, and precision strikes to outwit his prey. A tiger lunged at him, its claws gleaming in the moonlight. Goku sidestepped with a flicker of Ultra Instinct, his body moving like liquid.
A sharp jab to the creature's pressure point left it unconscious but unharmed. The pain from invoking Ultra Instinct still clawed at his mind, but it was lessening. He smirked. I'm adapting.
After hours of relentless combat and strategy, the System chimed, its voice a melodic hum:
Mission Complete. Reward: Ability to Alter Appearance.
Goku closed his eyes and concentrated. He visualized himself: tall, broad-shouldered, with an imposing silhouette. His face sharpened, his jawline angular and severe. A dark, high-collared coat materialized around him, covering his body entirely. Its sleek design bore intricate crimson patterns etched into the fabric, adding a sinister flair.
When he spoke, his voice was a gravelly baritone, dripping with menace. "I am Joker," he declared to the empty forest, his grin wide and feral. The name had struck him while thinking of a chaotic pirate from a show he vaguely recalled. It fit perfectly—a man who wielded fear like a weapon.
In a dusty town miles from the mountain, a younger, less-famous Hercule Satan trained in a local gym. Though cocky and brash, Hercule's skills were genuine, and his charisma attracted a small following. That was why Joker chose him.
Joker strode into the gym, his aura oppressive. Conversations stopped, and weights clattered as they hit the floor. Hercule turned, his bravado faltering under the stranger's cold gaze.
"You're Hercule, aren't you?" Joker asked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
Hercule puffed out his chest. "Yeah, and who the hell are you?"
"The man who decides whether you live or die." Joker raised a hand, summoning a small sphere of black energy. Its edges crackled with ominous violet sparks, distorting the air around it. "You will work for me, or I'll make sure your last breath is spent in regret."
Fear etched itself into Hercule's face. He fell to his knees, trembling. "I… I'll do whatever you want! Just don't kill me!"
Joker leaned down, his grin widening. "Good. From now on, you'll compete in every tournament you can, win them, and bring the winnings to me. Fail, and you'll wish for death."
Joker's ambitions grew. Over the next few weeks, he tracked down the Crane School, which will be a dojo later known for producing ruthless fighters like Tien Shinhan and Chiaotzu. He infiltrated their training grounds, cloaking himself in illusions crafted from his burgeoning magecraft skills.
When the Crane Master confronted him, Joker displayed his dominance, weaving between attacks and dismantling the master with humiliating ease. His black energy spheres and cursed barriers overwhelmed even the strongest disciples.
"You will serve me now," Joker declared to the kneeling fighters. "Your school will operate under my banner, and your loyalty will not waver. Betray me, and I'll erase your existence."
They submitted, their spirits crushed under the weight of his presence.
Back in his mountain sanctuary, Joker shifted his focus to magic. The System offered a C-rank mission:
Objective One: Gain basic knowledge of all elemental magecraft.
Objective Two: Slay 50 beasts using magical constructs.
"Bounded fields," he murmured, scrolling through a glowing scroll of knowledge provided by the System. The concept intrigued him—barriers that could trap, protect, or destroy. His training ground became a laboratory, filled with shimmering fields of energy.
He experimented endlessly:
A defensive barrier that absorbed energy.An offensive barrier that shredded anything inside it.A sealing barrier to immobilize wild animals for later study.
Mistakes were common, but Joker persisted, gritting his teeth and pushing past his limits. The scrolls provided by the System filled in the gaps, offering insights that only he could access. His understanding of magecraft deepened, though he struggled to control the chaotic energies.
During a rare break, Joker explored the System Shop. His gaze locked on a legendary artifact:
Gate of Babylon – Price: 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 Points.
The sheer magnitude of the number made his head spin. "Twenty-four zeroes," he whispered, his grin returning. The idea of wielding every Noble Phantasm, even their Alter versions, filled him with unbridled hunger.
"This world will bow before me," Joker vowed, closing the Shop. "And I'll claim everything—one mission at a time."
For now, he focused on his current tasks: conquering beasts, mastering barriers, and manipulating every soul foolish enough to cross his path. The multiverse wouldn't know what hit it.