Pirate Princess of the Eastern Seas (East Asian, 19, alt history)

The roulette stopped spinning.

Joana leaned over the RAC as the final category blinked to a halt. She froze, breath caught between a laugh and a gasp.

AGE: 19
OCCUPATION: Pirate Princess
LOCATION: Open Seas, 18th Century Alt-History
SOCIAL CONTEXT: Orphaned Heiress Turned Raider Queen
APPEARANCE: Flat-chested, Athletic, East Asian Ancestry
IDENTITY: Fearless, Witty, Ruthless When Crossed

Joana blinked. “What the actual hell?” she muttered, her lips curling into a grin. “Pirate… princess?”

Her eyes widened. “Flat-chested pirate princess.”

She caught herself chuckling, fingers dancing to her chest, still full and heavy under the soft robe. “That… would be an adjustment.”

A pirate princess. No high-tech university, no indoor plumbing, no lattes or … cleavage. Just grit, salt, and a cutlass.

She glanced at the “EXECUTE” button glowing ominously on the RAC.
But a setting that far removed from the modern world (and in a reality likely plagued by danger, dysentery, and dick-measuring captains) would be suicide without prep.

She was intrigued, but she needed edits.

Joana tapped the console, biting her lip as she tapped open the override panel.

[ALTERATION: Survival Modifiers | ON]

• Immunity to disease
• Native fluency in all local dialects
• High pain tolerance
• Enhanced stamina & agility
• Auto-adaptive clothing for current time period
• RAC can be summoned via keyword: “Anchor”

She hesitated, then added one more:

[ALTERATION: Social Context Overlay]

• “This pirate princess commands fear and respect. She’s known across the seas and within her crew as the unchallenged leader.”

Joana nodded to herself, cheeks flushed. This wasn’t just safety, it was dominance. And, she thought, maybe a little fun.

She reached for the device, letting her fingers rest over EXECUTE.

“Well,” she whispered with a grin. “Time to find out how good I look in leather.”

There was no light this time. No ripple. Just the tear of reality being sliced open like canvas.

The world jerked, yanked forward as if Joana had been pulled through a vortex headfirst.

She hit something hard.

Then - warmth.

Heat. Humidity. Grit in her mouth. Sand against her skin. A salty breeze brushed over her body like a whisper with teeth.

She gasped, blinking against a harsh sun.

The world had changed. She was kneeling in wet sand, waves licking at her calves. The scent of salt and fish filled her nose. Palm trees swayed lazily nearby, while beyond them, dense jungle pulsed with insect chatter.

Joana, or whoever she was now, looked down at herself.

Her body was smaller. She was short. Compact. Toned like a gymnast with narrow hips and long limbs. Her chest was flat - utterly flat - barely enough to press against the inner lining of her frilled linen shirt. Tan skin dusted with freckles. Calloused hands wrapped in leather wrappings. The ocean breeze lifted her black hair, now cropped short and stylishly wild.

Her clothes felt custom-fit: a sash across her waist, high-cut leather trousers, a scabbard hugging her hip like it belonged there. Her feet were bare. The sand between her toes felt grounding. Raw.

A curved dagger glinted at her side. A second blade peeked from her boot.

She moved to stand and realized - she knew how to move in this body. Her balance, her strength, the way the breeze hit her cheekbones - it all felt familiar, like hers.

And in her mind… memories bloomed.

She’d grown up among smugglers. Trained in three dialects. Outwitted her way into command. Her crew had once slit a nobleman’s throat for speaking over her.

She smirked, albeit anxiously, Joana reconciling with the history of this new persona. “Yeah…I’m definitely not someone to fuck with,” she whispered. The word felt like strength.

Her hand flexed and -

FWUMP.

A sudden pulse in the air, and the RAC appeared in the sand beside her, half-buried like treasure. She grinned and whispered, “Anchor.”

Joana - no, she would have a new name here - lifted the RAC and tucked it into the small leather pouch strung under her sash.

Behind her, waves rolled in. Before her, footprints led from the jungle.

Someone was coming. A test? A threat?

Didn’t matter. She reached for her curved dagger and rose to her feet, all muscle and poise.

The pirate princess stood tall on the beach, chin up, chest flat but proud, every inch radiating dominance.