Season 1, Episode 1: The Pit of Beginning
The silence before death is never quite what one imagines. It wasn't the whisper of wind, nor the final heartbeat echoing in the ears—it was the low, guttural murmur of an unfamiliar language spoken by trembling mouths in ornate robes.
Kuro Itsuki blinked once.
The classroom he'd sat in just a breath ago was gone. The blinding whiteboard, the dust-laced sunlight crawling across cheap tile floors—vanished. In its place, a cathedral of stone and blood greeted him, with chalk pentagrams burning blue under his feet and runes lining the circular chamber in jagged, cursed geometry.
"…What… the hell?" His voice cracked against the still air.
He wasn't alone. Around him, four others had been dragged from their lives—one in a blazer stained with soy sauce, another with dyed pink hair and a horror-stricken expression. None of them had asked to come. Kuro felt it in his bones: this was not a dream.
Then came the fanfare.
A loud metallic clang as twin doors split open, revealing men in red and black armor. They moved like statues brought to life, dragging their swords and chainmail like echoes from an age of slaughter. Behind them walked a regal man—tall, bearded, his golden robe flowing like it knew it owned the room.
The King.
"You five… are the summoned," he said, voice dry and too calm. "Our world, Istrelia, faces destruction. The demons rise again. You are the chosen from another world. You… shall be our heroes."
Kuro's stomach twisted. His fingers twitched. The pain of his fingernails digging into his palms grounded him—it wasn't a hallucination. A real king. Real weapons. Real stakes.
Then came the priests. They stepped forward, chanting. Runes glowed beneath each of the five "heroes," scanning them.
"Katsuro Murai: Blessed by Flame God. Magic Affinity: S. Chosen Hero confirmed."
"Emika Honoka: Blessed by Light Deity. Magic Affinity: A+. Chosen Hero confirmed."
Each name brought a roar of approval from the onlookers. Cheering, crying, swearing oaths of loyalty.
Then came him.
"Kuro Itsuki: …Error. No divine blessing. No affinity. No magic. No chosen signature."
A whisper.
Then silence.
Then a laugh. It came from a knight—followed by more. The crowd's cheers curdled into muttering.
"He's defective," one priest muttered.
"He wasn't meant to be brought," said another. "He's just… noise."
And then the king spoke again. Colder this time.
"Kill him."
The words didn't process at first. Kuro blinked. Surely he'd misheard.
Two knights moved forward.
"Wait, WAIT—!"
Steel slid from sheathes. He ran, tried to duck, but one struck him across the ribs. The pain shot through him like liquid fire. Another grabbed his shoulder, slammed him into the floor. His face kissed stone.
"I'm not supposed to be here! I didn't ask to come!"
A foot crushed down on his back.
The king didn't flinch. "If he is not chosen, he is waste."
Steel gleamed above him.
So this is it?
I just… die?
The sword came down.
The world vanished.
---
Restart.
---
The scream that left his mouth upon awakening wasn't human.
He sat bolt upright, breath ragged, chest heaving. The cathedral was still there. The torches. The runes. The same priest chanting beside him.
The others looked just as confused as before.
"…No," he gasped. "This already happened."
Time hadn't reset for the world—only for him.
He tried to breathe, but the weight of realization crushed him harder than that knight's boot ever did.
They're going to kill me again.
He stood this time. Moved before they could speak. Bolted through the open space between the knights before they could react.
"STOP HIM!" someone yelled.
Swords rang out. Boots thundered behind him.
He shoved past stunned nobles, ducked under banners, leapt over pews and slid across polished stone. Pain exploded in his thigh as a crossbow bolt tore into him from behind—but he kept running.
I'm not dying again.
His vision blurred. Blood poured. His breath hitched. The corridor ahead split into five paths.
He took the left.
Then came the pain again.
He didn't see the knight behind the door.
Didn't hear the blade.
Just felt the cold steel bite through his neck.
---
Restart.
---
He vomited the moment he awoke.
What the hell is happening to me?!
The others still stood frozen in time. The priest began his chant again.
The third time he died, it was slower—poison in his food when he tried to play along.
The fourth time, he was thrown from the castle walls.
The fifth, burned alive.
Every time, he returned. Alone. Awake. A second before the priest called his name.
Kuro Itsuki was not chosen.
He was cursed.
And for reasons he couldn't explain, he could not die.
---
He spent the sixth run hiding.
And that's when he found it—a crack in the cellar wall. Beyond it: a forgotten crypt. In the center, a broken statue of a god long erased from record, its face carved out.
And beneath it… a single word etched into stone:
RE:FORGE
As he touched it, his veins lit with fire. Pain shot into his skull like nails.
And then came a voice—not in his ears, but inside his blood.
> "You were not summoned. You were stolen. You have no path. So carve one."
---
He collapsed, screaming.
And then—
Shouting above.
Torchlight.
Soldiers.
They'd found him.
He tried to crawl. He was too slow.
A spear drove through his back and into the dirt.
---
Restart.
---
This time, as he opened his eyes, he didn't scream.
He just smiled.
His pain wasn't gone. But something inside him had changed.
The curse wasn't a punishment.
It was a weapon.
And he would learn to use it.
Even if it meant dying a thousand times more.