The arcade smelled like sweat, cheap pizza, and burned circuitry.
Neon lights flickered across rows of machines that had seen better decades. The air buzzed with the sounds of button mashing, joystick slamming, and the occasional curse from someone losing their last round.
In the back corner sat a man who looked like he belonged in a prison yard, not an arcade.
Ryuji Kuroda.
Six foot three. Two hundred and forty pounds of muscle, tattoos, and extremely bad decisions.
His massive shoulders were hunched forward in a chair that was clearly not built to support someone his size. The plastic creaked every time he shifted.
On the screen in front of him, his character ripped the spine out of a demon king.
Blood exploded across the digital battlefield.
VICTORY.
The health bar above his character still read:
99%.
Ryuji leaned back and cracked his knuckles.
"Fuckin' amateurs," he muttered.
A group of teenagers behind him stared in awe.
"That's his 27th win in a row," one whispered.
"Isn't that guy a Yakuza?"
"Shhh! Don't say that!"
Ryuji heard them.
He didn't bother turning around.
Instead, he grabbed a slice of pizza from the box next to him and shoved it into his mouth.
Grease dripped down his fingers.
Life was simple.
Beat games.
Run the local protection business.
Punch idiots who didn't pay.
Repeat.
Honestly? Not a bad life.
Then someone cleared their throat behind him.
Soft.
Nervous.
The kind of cough that screamed please don't hit me.
Ryuji sighed without looking away from the screen.
"Jiro."
The man behind him froze.
"H-How did you—"
"You always cough like you're about to confess a crime."
"..."
"And you only interrupt me when something's wrong."
Ryuji finally turned around.
Standing behind him was a thin man in a cheap suit who looked like stress had personally adopted him.
Jiro swallowed.
"Boss... we got a situation."
Ryuji rubbed his temples.
"Please tell me this isn't about that idiot from the docks again."
Jiro shook his head.
"It's Tanaka."
Pause.
"The baker."
Ryuji's eyebrow twitched.
"...Continue."
Jiro looked like he wanted to disappear.
"He hasn't paid protection money in six months."
The arcade suddenly felt very quiet.
A few nearby players slowly backed away.
Ryuji stared at him.
"...Six."
Jiro nodded.
"Months."
"...Yes."
Ryuji slowly stood up.
The chair groaned in relief.
"Jiro."
"Y-Yes boss?"
"When were you planning on telling me?"
Jiro started sweating.
"W-We warned him last week!"
Ryuji's hand clenched.
CRACK.
The arcade stick snapped in half.
Everyone flinched.
Ryuji sighed.
"You know what pisses me off the most?"
Jiro shook his head violently.
"It's not the money."
He stood up, towering over everyone nearby.
"It's the disrespect."
His voice dropped to a dangerous calm.
"If someone owes me money, they pay. If they can't pay, they talk to me. If they disappear for six months—"
CRASH.
Ryuji's fist went straight through the arcade monitor.
Glass shattered everywhere.
The demon king on screen froze mid-death animation.
Ryuji calmly shook glass off his knuckles.
"Get the car."
Rain poured over Tokyo like the sky had decided the city needed a shower.
The black sedan rolled through the wet streets, headlights slicing through the darkness.
Inside the car, no one spoke.
Because Ryuji was thinking.
And when Ryuji thought, it usually ended badly for someone.
Jiro finally broke the silence.
"Apartment 302."
The car stopped in front of a rundown building that looked like it had given up on life decades ago.
Paint peeled from the walls.
Windows were cracked.
The entire place leaned slightly to the left like it was tired of existing.
Ryuji stepped out into the rain.
He didn't bother with an umbrella.
Water ran down his hair and soaked his expensive suit.
He looked like a very angry statue.
Jiro hurried after him.
"Boss, maybe we should talk first—"
Ryuji kicked the front door open.
The hinges snapped instantly.
"Talking's what got us into this mess."
The stairwell smelled like mold, cigarettes, and regret.
Each step creaked under Ryuji's weight.
Jiro followed nervously behind him.
"Apartment 302..."
They reached the door.
Ryuji didn't knock.
He kicked it open.
The door flew off its hinges.
But the scene inside stopped him cold.
The smell hit first.
Medicine.
Old books.
And cookies.
On the floor lay an elderly woman.
Her body trembled as she struggled to breathe.
"Wheeeze..."
Her hand reached toward an inhaler lying just inches away.
But she couldn't reach it.
Her lips were turning blue.
For the first time in a long time...
Ryuji froze.
Something deep in his chest twisted.
A memory surfaced.
A small room.
A cold bed.
Six-year-old Ryuji coughing until his lungs felt like they were on fire.
No parents.
No one coming.
Just a lonely kid praying someone would help.
Jiro whispered behind him.
"Boss?"
Ryuji moved instantly.
He picked up the inhaler and pressed it into the old woman's hand.
"Easy, grandma."
She inhaled shakily.
Color slowly returned to her face.
Then she passed out.
Ryuji sighed.
"Still breathing."
He lifted her carefully.
Jiro stared like he'd just witnessed a miracle.
"B-Boss... are we..."
"Taking her to the hospital."
"..."
Jiro blinked.
"...Boss?"
Ryuji glared at him.
"What?"
"You once fed a guy his own fingers."
"Yeah."
"And now you're carrying someone's grandma like a baby."
Ryuji shrugged.
"Everyone deserves a second chance."
He walked toward the door.
Then paused.
"And if you repeat this story, I'll break both your legs."
Jiro nodded immediately.
"Understood."
The hospital smelled like disinfectant and sadness.
Machines beeped quietly.
Doctors rushed through the halls.
Ryuji stood outside the room like a very intimidating bodyguard.
His soaked suit dripped onto the floor.
A nurse approached nervously.
"Sir, you can't—"
Ryuji looked at her.
She immediately walked away.
Jiro leaned against the wall.
"You know Tanaka's gonna freak out when he hears about this."
Right on cue, the baker burst through the hallway doors.
Covered in flour.
Completely panicked.
"My mother!"
He ran into the room.
Moments later he stumbled back out, crying.
"She's alive..."
He dropped to his knees in front of Ryuji.
"T-Thank you!"
Tears and snot dripped onto Ryuji's shoes.
Ryuji grimaced.
"Jesus, man. At least cry away from the expensive leather."
He pulled an envelope from his jacket and shoved it into Tanaka's hands.
The baker blinked.
"W-What is this?"
"Money."
"..."
"Hospital bills. And the six months you owe."
Tanaka stared.
"Why?"
Ryuji shrugged.
"Because if she dies, who the hell is gonna bake those melon breads?"
"..."
"And because if you miss another payment," Ryuji added casually, "I'll break your kneecaps."
Tanaka nodded rapidly.
"Y-Yes sir!"
Ryuji turned to leave.
But something caught his eye.
Across the street was a fruit stand.
Bright peaches sat in neat rows.
Ryuji scratched his chin.
"Old lady might like peaches."
Jiro blinked.
"You're buying fruit now?"
"Shut up."
The rain had slowed.
The crosswalk light turned green.
Ryuji stepped onto the street.
He was already planning.
Maybe he'd check on the bakery next week.
Maybe hire the kid as a supplier.
Hell, maybe—
HONK.
A truck barreled toward him.
Ryuji looked up.
"...Huh."
Time slowed.
The truck got very big.
Very fast.
His last thought was surprisingly calm.
Well... that's inconvenient.
Then—
Darkness.
"OH MY GOD FINALLY."
Ryuji opened his eyes.
He was standing on clouds.
Floating in front of him was a girl with pink hair, glowing wings, and the energy of someone who had consumed too much caffeine.
She was bouncing mid-air like gravity was optional.
"You have no idea how long I've been waiting!" she said.
Ryuji blinked.
"...Am I dead?"
"Yes!"
"..."
"Truck-kun got you good!"
Ryuji rubbed his face.
"So heaven is run by cosplayers now?"
She gasped dramatically.
"I am Lumi, Goddess of Second Chances!"
She struck a heroic pose.
Sparkles appeared.
Ryuji stared.
"...Why are there sparkles?"
"They're part of the brand."
"..."
Lumi crossed her arms.
"You were supposed to die after buying strawberries."
"What?"
"You bought peaches!"
"So?"
"So now the timeline is messed up!"
She pointed accusingly.
"You ruined my paperwork!"
Ryuji frowned.
"You killed me because of paperwork?"
"Exactly."
"..."
Ryuji stared at her.
Then sighed.
"Fine."
Lumi blinked.
"...That's it?"
"What?"
"You're not mad?"
He shrugged.
"I've had worse days."
"..."
She squinted suspiciously.
"You are weirdly calm about being dead."
"Lady, I got hit by a truck five minutes ago. My brain hasn't caught up yet."
"...Fair."
She snapped her fingers.
Several glowing worlds appeared like holograms.
"Good news! Because you died doing a good deed, you qualify for the Deluxe Reincarnation Package™."
Ryuji raised an eyebrow.
"That trademark is illegal."
"I am a goddess."
"...Fair."
She pointed to the worlds.
"You can choose where to reincarnate."
One showed a desert wasteland.
One showed a futuristic city.
One showed a fantasy world full of dragons.
Ryuji stared at the last one.
"...Looks like Dragon's Legacy."
Lumi frowned.
"What?"
"My favorite game."
"Oh."
He grinned.
"Yeah. I'll take that one."
Lumi nodded.
"Just picture it and say—"
But Ryuji had already closed his eyes.
He imagined:
Levels.
Skills.
Health bars.
Inventory.
Everything from his favorite RPGs.
Lumi's eyes widened.
"WAIT—"
Too late.
Light exploded around him.
Ryuji slammed face-first into dirt.
"Ugh."
He groaned and pushed himself up.
Floating text appeared before his eyes.
[Welcome, Player.]
[Error: Magic System Not Found.]
[Initializing Gamer Protocol.]
Far away, Lumi screamed.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"
Ryuji grinned.
"Oh hell yeah."
His adventure had just begun.