The white pills scattered across the bathroom tiles like tiny stars against a dark sky.
Toji Fushiguro stared at them with detached interest, his vision already beginning to blur from the first handful he'd swallowed minutes ago.
The news droned on in the background about alien spacecraft and East City's destruction, but what did any of that matter now?
His mother's funeral had been three days ago. No one had attended except him. No flowers. No condolences. Just a son watching his last anchor to this world being lowered into the ground.
"What's the point?" he mumbled, his words slurring as he leaned against the bathroom wall. The rent was due in two weeks. His bank account held exactly forty-three zeni. The hospital bills had taken everything else.
The bathroom light flickered overhead, casting strange shadows across his haggard face.
At twenty-eight, he looked a decade older, worn down by years of caring for his dying mother, scraping by on whatever odd jobs he could find while still being there for her.
Now she was gone, and he had nothing left.
He reached for the razor blade on the edge of the tub. The sleeping pills might not be enough - he'd never attempted suicide before, so better to be thorough. The blade felt cold against his skin.
"Sorry, Mom," he whispered. "I tried."
The cut was quick, decisive. Blood welled up immediately, spilling into the bathwater he'd drawn.
He watched with clinical detachment as crimson tendrils spread through the clear water. His eyelids grew heavy, the combination of blood loss and medication pulling him under.
As consciousness began to slip away, Toji felt an odd sense of peace. At least the pain would stop. At least-
A searing light filled his vision. Not the bathroom light - something else, something impossibly bright that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
Wait, this isn't right. The truck - the headlights -
The thought made no sense, yet it blazed through his fading mind with perfect clarity. Memories that weren't his own flooded in: a different life, a different world, a truck barreling toward him on a rain-slicked street.
Then darkness- Toji Fushiguro died.
Samael's consciousness floated in the void between worlds.
The truck had killed him instantly - he remembered that much. There had been no pain, just the sudden impact and then... this. Drifting. Waiting.
Then a pull. A vacancy that needed filling. A body with no soul, still clinging to life by the thinnest of threads.
Samael felt himself being drawn in, inexorably pulled toward that fading spark. As his soul touched the dying body, something extraordinary happened.
Energy - raw, powerful, unlike anything he'd ever experienced - surged through the connection. The body's cells responded instantly, wounds knitting closed, toxins neutralizing, systems restarting.
He was falling, falling into someone else's life.
Consciousness returned like a thunderclap.
Toji - no, Samael - gasped awake, water splashing as he jerked upright in the bathtub. His lungs burned as if he'd been holding his breath for hours. His heart hammered against his ribs with painful intensity.
"What the-" he choked, "How am I...?"
The last thing he remembered was the truck bearing down on him as he crossed the street. The headlights blinding him, the horn blaring, the split-second realization that he wasn't going to make it.
But this wasn't a hospital. This was a dingy bathroom, the water around him tinged pink with diluted blood. Empty pill bottles littered the floor, their contents scattered across the tiles.
"Where am I?" he whispered, his voice unfamiliar to his own ears - deeper, rougher.
He gripped the sides of the tub and pulled himself up, water cascading off his naked body. His movements felt strange, as if he were piloting someone else's limbs.
As he stepped onto the bathroom mat, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror above the sink and froze.
The face staring back at him wasn't his own.
Sharp, angular features. Dark hair cropped short. A distinctive scar bisecting the right side of his lip. Broad shoulders and a muscular physique covered in old scars that spoke of a hard life.
"Holy shit," he breathed, reaching up to touch the unfamiliar face. "I look exactly like-"
His foot slipped on the wet tile, and he lurched backward, arms pinwheeling.
For a heart-stopping moment, he was certain he'd crack his skull open on the bathtub, but his body reacted with unexpected grace, catching himself before impact.
"Okay, okay," he muttered, forcing himself to take deep breaths. "Think this through. I died... I think. And now I'm..."
He looked again at the reflection. "I'm in someone else's body. Someone who looks exactly like I'd imagine Toji Fushiguro from Jujutsu Kaisen if he was a real person, but probably younger."
The fact it was one of the last things he was watching, helped with having his memories be fresh of it to compare his appearance to that character.
He scanned the bathroom - the pills, the bloody bathwater, the razor on the tub's edge.
"Someone who just tried to kill himself," he concluded grimly. "And I... what, hijacked his body as he was dying?"
From the other room, a news anchor's voice cut through his thoughts: "-authorities still have no explanation for the destruction of East City following the impact of two unidentified objects earlier today."
"Satellite imagery captured these blurry figures emerging from what some experts are calling alien spacecraft-"
Samael - no, he should think of himself as Toji now, the name just coming to him instinctevly to belong to this body - staggered into the small living room, naked and dripping. The television showed grainy footage of two impact craters (Spacepods...?), with tiny figures emerging from them.
"No way," he whispered. "That's not possible."
He flexed his arm experimentally, feeling the play of unfamiliar muscles.
As he did, something ignited within him - a wellspring of energy from deep in his core that rushed outward through every cell.
His skin tingled as a faint white aura flickered to life around him, accompanied by a soft whooshing sound.
"Ki," he breathed- the knowledge almost instinctively coming to him. "This is... actual ki."
The energy responded to his thoughts, flowing through his body like water finding new channels.
It felt natural, instinctive, despite being completely foreign. And there was so much of it - an ocean of power that seemed to have no bottom.
"I'm not in Jujutsu Kaisen," he realized, staring at the news footage again. "Those are..."
The implications hit him like a physical blow. Two objects. Two figures. East City destroyed.
"Vegeta and Nappa. The Saiyan Saga." His voice was barely audible. "I'm in Dragon Ball."
The room seemed to spin around him. He steadied himself against the wall, the cool plaster grounding him as his mind raced.
He forced himself to calm down again, to assess, reason, look at what he has and what he knows and act based on that.
'If this is real... if I'm really here... then maybe I can...'
He closed his eyes, remembering how ki sensing exised in the series. It was never really explained, but he reasoned that It was probably like a radar, detecting the life force of others, so he tried to act like he was that.
He concentrated, pushing out a pulse of energy from his core- it being so, so easy, extending his awareness beyond the confines of the small apartment.
The results were instantaneous and overwhelming.
Billions of tiny flickers of life - humans, animals, plants - each with their own distinct signature.
Among them, brighter flames that had to be the Z Fighters. And then, like malevolent bonfires, two massive power signatures that could only be Vegeta and Nappa.
But his awareness didn't stop there. It kept expanding outward, beyond the planet, beyond the solar system, stretching across the galaxy and beyond.
And there, in the cold vacuum of space, he sensed something else - a shadow of malice so vast it seemed to darken an entire region of space. A presence that radiated cruelty and unimaginable power.
"Frieza," he whispered.
Yet something felt off. As he focused on that distant signature, comparing it to his own internal wellspring of energy, a startling realization formed.
"He feels... weak."
Not weak in absolute terms, of course. Compared to the humans of Earth, Frieza was a what most people would call a god.
But compared to the energy he could feel flowing through his own body? The tyrant might as well have been a candle next to a supernova.
"That can't be right," he muttered, concentrating harder. He tried to quantify what he was feeling, to put it in terms he could understand. "If what I'm sensing is accurate, I'm... God, I'm over 200 times stronger than him in his suppressed state."
The numbers fell into place with disturbing clarity. If Frieza's power level in his first form was around 530,000, then his own had to be...
"120 million?" he whispered in disbelief. "That's impossible. That would make me equal to Frieza at full power. How could I possibly...?"
He stared at his hands, watching the white aura flicker around them. This body had never used ki before - he could tell that much instinctively.
Yet here he was, wielding power on par with the most feared tyrant in the universe.
"I'm like the human version of Frieza," he realized. "A mutant with the same absurd potential."
What that meant- the implications of it were staggering. With this kind of power, he could do so much. He could save lives, prevent disasters, reshape the entire world into what he wanted it to be.
Live life in the way he wanted to...
Maybe even be able to see his mom and da-
No, that was a dangerous thought. He was dead. He can grieve later. For now, push all that away and focus on the now and the necessary.
He needed to be careful.
This wasn't an anime anymore - it was reality. His reality now. And it was already different- his very existence made this world completely different than the original.
Who knows what other differences might exist?
Were the Time Patrollers real in this world? Would they come after him if he were to interfere? Or did he count as part of this world's history?
"One step at a time," he told himself, moving to the bedroom to find clothes. "First priority: Vegeta and Nappa."
With this world being different he can't 100% for certain believe all things to go alright. Maybe that crazy prince destroys the planet in his rage when Goku comes- if he arrives, he can't be sure of anything right now really.
And he doesn't think he can survive in space.
He pulled on the clothes he found in the closet - a tight black short-sleeve shirt, white baggy pants, and sandals that reminded him of something a ninja might wear.
Looking in the mirror, he had to admit the outfit suited him, especially with the faint aura surrounding his form.
"Not bad," he murmured, flexing experimentally. "Not bad at all."
He moved to the window and looked out at the city below.
Somewhere out there, the Z Fighters were battling for their lives against the Saiyan invaders. In the original timeline, they'd win - barely.
But, again, this wasn't the original timeline anymore. His very presence had changed things in ways he couldn't predict - If the butterfly affect was a real thing and all that.
"Better safe than sorry," he decided. "They might need help."
He concentrated on the ki signatures he'd sensed earlier, focusing on the cluster of energies that had to be the battlefield.
Instinctively, he wrapped himself in his own ki, feeling his body lighten until gravity seemed to lose its hold.
He stepped onto the windowsill, his aura flaring brighter.
"Let's see what this body can do."
With that, he launched himself into the sky, accelerating so quickly that the air cracked around him.
The sensation was indescribable - freedom, power, exhilaration all rolled into one. He streaked across the sky like a comet, leaving a trail of white light in his wake.
As he flew, he allowed his power to flow freely for the first time, no longer instinctively suppressing it.
The effect was immediate and dramatic - his aura expanded into a blazing white flame that enveloped his entire body.
'I can't wait to see their faces,' he thought with a grin. 'Vegeta's scouter is going to explode the moment I show up. It'll be priceless!'
Laughter bubbled up from his chest as he accelerated even faster, the landscape below becoming a blur.
-------------------------
On a rocky battlefield hundreds of miles away, Piccolo suddenly stiffened, his antennae twitching. A sensation like an approaching tsunami washed over his ki senses - something vast, overwhelming, unlike anything he'd ever felt before.
"What... what is that?" he gasped, his legs buckling beneath him. He fell to his knees, eyes wide with shock.
Krillin, who had been helping Gohan to his feet after a particularly brutal attack from Nappa, froze. "Piccolo? What's wrong?"
Then he felt it too - a power so immense it seemed to distort the very fabric of reality around them. His legs gave way, and he tumbled backward onto the ground. "Oh god... what IS that?"
Gohan, already on the ground, clutched at the dirt as if afraid he might be blown away by the approaching energy. "Mr. Piccolo! Is it... is it my dad?"
Piccolo shook his head, sweat beading on his forehead. "No. This is... something else entirely."
Across the battlefield, Nappa paused in his assault, his shirtless, battle-scarred torso heaving with exertion. "Hey, Vegeta! What's got these weaklings so scared all of a sudden?"
Vegeta frowned, his scouter activating by itself.
The device beeped rapidly as it tried to quantify the approaching power level. The numbers climbed with alarming speed: 10,000... 30,000... 50,000...
"Impossible," Vegeta muttered, his composure cracking for the first time. "There's no way-"
The scouter continued its relentless climb: 70,000... 80,000... the numbers blurring as they rose higher.
89,765-
The scouter exploded with a sharp crack, fragments of red glass cutting into Vegeta's cheek. The Saiyan prince recoiled, more from shock than pain.
"Vegeta!" Nappa shouted. "What happened? What power level did you read?"
Before Vegeta could answer, a voice called down from above - casual, almost lazy in its confidence.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"
All eyes turned skyward. Floating above the battlefield, arms crossed over his chest, was a tall, muscular man with a distinctive scar on his lip.
A blazing white aura surrounded him, rippling with barely contained power.
"Aliens coming to my world?" he continued, his tone conversational but with an unmistakable edge.
He descended slowly, touching down on the battlefield with the grace of a predator.
His eyes - cold, calculating, yet dancing with amusement - swept over the scene, taking in the battered Z Fighters and the two Saiyans.
"Now how could that be?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr.
"They didn't ask for permission. Especially since they appear to be wrecking my home, treating it as they please, like they own the place without taking into consideration the owner."
The newcomer took a step forward, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet. His aura flared brighter, casting harsh shadows across the rocky terrain.
"Apologize," he commanded, fixing Vegeta with an unblinking stare. "Apologize for entering my world without my permission."
-------------------------
(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter!
So, do tell me how you found it!
Next chapter we'll see Toji vs Napp and Vegeta.
Do tell me how you think Toji will deal with them.
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)