My name is Elijah Darkheart.I lived what most would call a forgettable life. A flicker in the dark, insignificant and unremarkable—just another grain of sand in the vast desert of humanity. I wasn't destined for greatness. Hell, I wasn't destined for anything. I was born unwanted—an accident, the byproduct of a short, meaningless fling between two people who had no business sharing a bed, let alone raising a child.
They didn't try to hide their disdain. No warm hugs, no kind words. Just silence... and cold, dead glares that told me exactly what I was: a mistake.Home was a place of shadows and tension. The creak of a floorboard meant danger. The slam of a door sent my heart into a sprint. My father would stumble in reeking of alcohol more often than not, his rage barely buried beneath slurred words and broken bottles. My mother... she existed, nothing more. A hollow shell with tired eyes, floating through life like a ghost.
Some nights, I'd hear her cry behind the bathroom door. Other nights, I'd pretend to sleep so I wouldn't have to answer the question in her eyes: Why are you still here?
School didn't offer escape. It was just another battlefield—this one with cleaner floors and better lighting. I wasn't just ignored; I was targeted. The quiet kid. The loner. The easy mark. I became a daily ritual for the bullies—shoves in the hallway, cruel jokes whispered just loud enough for me to hear, food stolen, notebooks torn to shreds.The teachers didn't help. Some looked away. Others joined in, if only with their silence.
Still... I endured.
There was a flicker inside me—small, fragile, but stubborn. It refused to die, no matter how much the world tried to stamp it out. I learned to smile when expected, to laugh when prompted. I faded into the background, became a shadow. But inside, I dreamed.
I found refuge in fiction—anime, manga, light novels. Those stories became my sanctuary. Worlds where strength was earned, where destiny could be rewritten. Where the broken could become whole, and the outcast could rise. I didn't dream of being a hero. I dreamed of escaping.
When I turned eighteen, I left without a word. No goodbyes, no nostalgia. Just a battered suitcase, a bus ticket, and a stomach full of instant noodles. My new home was a cramped, peeling apartment barely big enough to fit a mattress and a rusted desk. The heat barely worked, and the bathroom smelled like mold no matter how often I cleaned it.
But it was mine.
I worked dead-end jobs to scrape by. Dishwasher by day, convenience store clerk by night. My meals were cheap and my clothes secondhand, but those quiet nights—when the world fell away and the screen glowed blue—those were sacred.I'd fall asleep to the soft hum of dialogue and subtitles, drifting into worlds where the underdog always got a second chance. Where death wasn't an end... but a beginning.
And then... everything changed.
It was supposed to be a normal evening. Just another blur in a long line of gray days.I had just picked up groceries—eggs, rice, a packet of instant curry—when the rain came. Cold and sudden, soaking me to the bone before I could even fumble out my cheap umbrella. I remember the shimmer of headlights. The way they cut through the rain like swords.
Then—Screech.Crack.Pain.
Agonizing, mind-numbing pain. My bones screamed. My lungs refused to breathe. My limbs wouldn't move.Then—blackness.
No tunnel. No light. No reunion with dead relatives. Just empty, oppressive silence. A void that swallowed everything.'So this is death,' I thought. 'Not even peace. Just... nothing.'
I don't know how long I floated in that void. Maybe seconds. Maybe centuries. I was aware and unaware all at once. No heartbeat, no breath, no time.
Then suddenly—A snap. Like reality itself had rebooted.
I was sitting upright. In a chair.Breathing.
I blinked hard. My fingers twitched. My heart thudded in my chest. I was alive. Or something close to it.
The room around me was pure white—walls, ceiling, even the floor, all seamless and sterile. Like the inside of a blank canvas.Across from me sat a single desk. On it: a small metal sign.
"Rob – Agent for Interdimensional Reincarnation."
Behind the desk sat a man in a black suit with a crimson tie. Mid-forties, maybe older. Sharp features, graying hair, and the kind of expression you'd expect from someone who's been doing a thankless job for too long.
He didn't look up. Just slid a clipboard across the table.
{Please fill this out. When you're done, hand it back.}
{Wait—what?} I croaked, voice hoarse and barely audible. {What the hell is going on? One moment I'm roadkill, the next I'm sitting here like I'm at the DMV from hell.}
The man sighed like he'd heard the same rant a thousand times before.
{You died. Car accident. Pretty standard. Your soul landed here. Lucky you. Fill out the form, get your cheats, pick a world, and poof—new life. Now chop chop.}
{You've got to be kidding me.} My voice trembled. {This is real? Reincarnation? Like, isekai? Cheats?}
He smirked, tapping the sign. {Exactly like that. Think of this as cosmic entertainment. You get a second chance. We get something to watch. Win-win.}
{So I just... pick? Like a character creator in a game?}
{Yup. But don't be stupid. No invincible god-mode crap. We nerf anything unbalanced.}
My heart pounded as I stared at the form.
The form stated I could choose the world I'd be reborn in and select three "cheats."To be honest, I'd thought about situations like this a lot—probably more than anyone realistically should. I used to daydream about what powers I'd choose, which world I'd want to live in, how I'd live if reincarnation were real. But having it all laid out in front of me, real and undeniable... it was hard to believe, even as it was happening.
So, I simply stopped overthinking and filled out the form:
Name: Elijah DarkheartWorld: My Hero AcademiaRace: KryptonianCheat Abilities:
A rudimentary system that allows me to monitor and track both my own and others' power levels. Over time, it will evolve and eventually let me travel to other anime universes.
Aetherion – a living armor forged from my soul. I can summon it at will. It enhances all my abilities and, if damaged, returns to my Soulspace to regenerate.
An upgraded Kryptonian bloodline—no weaknesses. No kryptonite, no red sun dependency. I'm empowered under any sun and can manipulate the solar energy within me. Beyond basic heat vision, I can unleash solar flares, emit a radiant aura, launch concentrated solar strikes—even shape the energy internally for new abilities.
As I read over what I had written one last time, I heard a rhythmic tapping. Looking up, I noticed the old man—Rob—drumming his fingers on the desk, looking visibly irritated. Feeling a little nervous, I quietly handed him the form.
He snatched it with more force than necessary, gave it a once-over, then grabbed a large red stamp and slammed it down: APPROVED.
Before I could even process what was next, the world faded. I was plunged into a familiar void—but this time, it felt different.Like being submerged in a warm liquid, thick and muffled. In the distance, I heard something—soft, rhythmic... like drums.
Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of drowsiness hit me. My thoughts grew fuzzy, my senses dulled.Before I could wonder what was happening, everything went black.