My name was Fujiwara Miku. I was twenty-one. And I was, for all intents and purposes, already dead.
It hadn't been a sudden thing. No, my demise was a slow, creeping rot, the kind that starts in your soul and works its way out. It began two years ago, the day I traded my glorious, 2D-filled existence for the soul-crushing reality of corporate slavery.
My love for anime, the very fuel that powered my heart? I'd locked it away in a dusty little box, right next to my social life and my will to live. All in the name of being a "responsible adult."
What a fucking scam.
My final memory of Earth was the hypnotic, soul-draining hum of an office server room. The air, thick with the smell of ozone and overworked circuits, tasted like metal on my tongue. My vision blurred the Excel spreadsheet on the monitor into a meaningless grid of green and white, a digital cage built just for me. My head throbbed in time with the blinking cursor, a relentless metronome counting down the last seconds of my pathetic, overtime-fueled life.
Ah... I'm so tired. I just want to go home and watch the new season of that isekai... the one with the slime...
My body, however, had a different plan. It decided that a permanent vacation was in order. One final, excruciating thump in my chest, a sudden blooming of fireworks behind my eyes, and my world dissolved into the sweet, welcoming abyss of nothingness.
Death by overwork. Karoshi. How pathetically, stereotypically Japanese of me.
At least it's a trope. Maybe that counts for something.
The next time I experienced… well, anything, it was the feeling of impossibly soft velvet beneath my fingertips. A gentle, floral scent, like a meadow of cherry blossoms blooming in a world without seasons, filled my nonexistent lungs.
I blinked open my eyes.
The void was a stark, brilliant white, an endless canvas of pure light. In its center sat a single, ridiculously opulent chaise lounge, upon which reclined the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Or, more accurately, the most beautiful being.
Her silver hair cascaded over her shoulders like a liquid waterfall, and her eyes held the swirling, nebular beauty of a distant galaxy. A serene, yet subtly mischievous smile played on her perfect lips. Oh, and sprouting from her back were a pair of magnificent, feathered wings that seemed woven from pure starlight. They twitched slightly, sending motes of glittering dust into the infinite space around us.
My brain, still half-stuck in its 'corporate drone' boot-up sequence, finally processed the data.
'Okay, Miku. Let's review. Fact one: Agonizing chest pain followed by total system failure. Fact two: Currently chilling in a place that looks like a high-budget perfume commercial. Fact three: There's a lady with wings.'
The conclusion was obvious.
'So I really did die. How lame.'
A new thought, a spark of pure, unadulterated otaku logic, ignited in the darkness of my mind.
'Wait a minute. An angel? A shinigami? No, no, no... post-death, beautiful deity-like figure... This is it! This is the classic isekai setup! I'm gonna get reincarnated with cheat skills! My years of research are finally paying off! LUCKYYYYY!'
"It seems you've worked yourself into an early grave," the goddess's voice chimed, smooth as honey and laced with a teasing pity that made my cheeks burn. "Barely into your twenties and not a single boyfriend or girlfriend to your name. How utterly tragic."
My inner otaku, dormant for two long years, roared back to life. The indignation was so potent I spoke without thinking, my voice echoing strangely in the void.
"An anime lover has no need for a three-dimensional partner! We have waifus and husbandos! They're far superior!"
The goddess blinked, her galactic eyes widening in surprise, before she let out a delicate, musical laugh. The sound itself seemed to sparkle. "Ara, ara. My apologies. I suppose I should have known." She sat up, her posture impossibly graceful. "I should introduce myself. I am a Goddess of Transition. And you, my earnest little workaholic, have earned a second chance. A new life in a world of swords and magic, where you can truly enjoy yourself."
'Called it! Goddess, another world, swords and magic! It's the full starter pack!'
"To help you on your way," she continued, a playful glint in her eyes, "I shall grant you five wishes. A special bonus for such a… uniquely pitiful end. Choose wisely, little soul."
My mind, once sluggish with fatigue, was now racing at overclocked speeds. Five wishes! This was the character creation screen I'd been dreaming of my entire life! Time to min-max the hell out of this.
'Okay, Miku, don't screw this up. Standard OP protagonist build… but with a twist. I don't want to be handed victory. I want the tools to achieve it myself.'
"Have you decided, little one?" the Goddess asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. "What does your heart desire?"
I took a deep, spiritual breath and laid out my master plan.
"First," I declared, pointing a finger to the non-existent sky. "I wish to be reborn with the potential of a Saiyan! Not their starting strength, but their limitless capacity for growth, the ability to shatter my limits through training and combat. And to manage that growth, I want a powerful, intuitive System to quantify my progress!"
The Goddess tilted her head. "An interesting distinction. You desire the journey, not just the destination. Very well. What is your second wish?"
"I wish to possess the body of a girl in that world who is on the verge of death. Starting over as a screaming, pooping baby sounds like a logistical nightmare. And… it feels wrong to just snuff out a soul. If someone's leaving anyway, I'll take over their lease. It's efficient! Plus, having no family ties right off the bat makes for a much cleaner start, right?"
A flicker of something—approval? respect?—flashed in her eyes. "Pragmatic. I can find a suitable vessel whose thread of fate is already severed. Your third wish?"
"A unique skill! One that allows me to create, deconstruct, and combine any skill or technique I learn. Let's call it… [Technique Weaver]. I want to be an artisan of ass-kicking, not just a collector!"
"A creator's wish," the Goddess mused, tapping her chin. "Granted. Fourth?"
This was the important one. The one for my soul.
"In my System, I want a library. A personal sanctuary where I can access and enjoy all the anime and manga from my old world! A girl needs her hobbies, you know?"
The Goddess actually rolled her eyes at that, but she was smiling. "A comfort from your past life. A frivolous, but understandable, request. Granted. And for your final wish?"
"I want a personal training dimension integrated into my System! Like the Hyperbolic Time Chamber! A space where time flows differently, with controllable gravity, summonable training dummies of varying levels, the works! My own personal dungeon to grind in!"
The Goddess stared at me for a long moment, her smile growing wider. "You have truly thought this through, haven't you? You're not asking for invincibility, but for the ultimate tools to achieve it yourself. Very well. Your five wishes are granted!"
She stood, spreading her starry wings wide. The white void around us began to hum with immense power.
"Now, Fujiwara Miku. I will send your soul to its new vessel. May you find the adventure you were denied."
"Arigatou, Megami-sama!" I managed to say, my form already starting to feel translucent. A wave of cosmic drowsiness washed over me, and my consciousness began to fray at the edges.
As darkness consumed me, a series of serene, blue text boxes materialized in my vision.
The sensation was… indescribable. It was like being plunged into ice water and a raging fire at the same time. A torrent of alien feelings—fear, betrayal, a deep, aching sadness—crashed against my own. It wasn't just a body; I was merging with the echoes of a life.
Flashes of memory, sharp and brutal, stabbed into my mind. A man's face, handsome but cold as a winter stone. A younger girl with the same blue hair as me, her smile a cruel, sharp thing. The searing pain of a whip striking flesh—not mine, but someone I cared for. A small, dark room. Loneliness. So much loneliness.
My own identity, my twenty-one years as Miku, felt like a distant dream, while the seven years of this girl, Kalyth, became terrifyingly real.
My first sensation as a living being once more was pain. A dull, pounding headache that felt like a blacksmith was trying to forge a sword on the inside of my skull. My body felt small, weak, and foreign.
I cracked open my eyes. Heavy, gold-flecked irises stared back. My eyes. But not my eyes.
I was lying on a simple bed in a room that, despite its wooden walls and fantasy-esque furniture, felt unnervingly sterile. It wasn't a bedroom. It was a cell. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of moonlight cutting through a barred window high on the wall.
Pushing myself up with trembling, skinny arms, I staggered over to a small, cracked mirror hanging on the wall.
The face that stared back was one of ethereal, tragic beauty. Hair the color of a midnight sea, straight and fine, cascaded around a pale, heart-shaped face. The eyes, my new eyes, were the color of molten gold, wide and haunted. My body was wiry, all sharp angles and jutting bones, but there was a faint, underlying hint of toned muscle, a testament to… something.
'Wow… I'm gorgeous. Like, final-boss-daughter-who-gets-redeemed-in-the-last-arc gorgeous.'
As the awe faded, the headache spiked again, and the foreign memories flooded in, no longer fragmented echoes but a coherent, horrifying narrative.
'This girl… Kalyth… Her father, a Duke, with three wives. Three! Her mother, the first wife, cast aside. And that little bitch… her younger half-sister, Liana, lied about Kalyth pushing her down the stairs. The Duke… that bastard… he believed Liana without question. He locked his seven-year-old daughter in this storage room for a week with no food. And her mother… he had her whipped for 'raising a malicious child'… that son of a bitch!'
A hot, venomous rage I had never felt as Miku surged through me. It was Kalyth's rage, her pain, her despair. And now, it was mine.
A calm, synthesized voice suddenly echoed in my mind, cutting through the red haze.
[In this world, polygamy is common among the nobility, Host. A man's status is often measured by the power and number of his wives.]
The voice was a shock, but also a strange comfort. A point of stability in the swirling chaos of my new reality.
'System? Is that you?' I thought, my mind latching onto it like a lifeline.
[Affirmative. I am the System granted to you by the Goddess. Please do not be alarmed. To conserve energy, my functions are not yet fully active. I am currently communicating via a direct neural link.]
'I see… How do I activate you, then?'
[To commence full activation, you must simply state the vocal command: "System Activate."]
A grim smile touched my new lips. My reflection smiled back, but the expression was all sharp edges and cold fire. It wasn't Miku's smile. It was Kalyth's. And it was terrifying.
'Let's see if this is all real.'
I took a breath and spoke aloud, my new voice a soft, clear soprano.
"System, activate!"
[System activating in T-minus 10 seconds.]
A countdown appeared in my vision, each number a glowing blue digit hanging in the air.
10… 9… 8…
The air in front of me shimmered, like heat rising from asphalt.
7… 6… 5…
'Sugoi… It's really happening… A real-life game window…'
4… 3… 2…
The shimmering intensified, coalescing into a translucent blue screen bordered by intricate silver filigree.
1…
A pleasant, chiming sound echoed in the silent room.
[TING!]
[Congratulations! Your System is now fully activated!]
[Welcome, Master. I am the support System designated Akira. As per your wish, I have integrated your memories and preferences. To view your current parameters, please say "Status." To view all available functions, please say "Menu."]
'Akira…' I thought, a strange warmth spreading through my chest. I'd given it my old family name. A piece of Miku that would live on with Kalyth. 'It's a good name.'
The rage from Kalyth's memories was still there, a simmering coal in my gut. The injustice screamed. But now, it wasn't just helpless anger. It was fuel.
The Duke. Liana. This whole rotten family. They thought they had broken this little girl. They had just locked her away to die.
They didn't know they'd just unleashed something far, far worse.
My golden eyes narrowed, focused on the glowing screen before me.
"Status."