"I always thought reincarnation would feel warm. Like waking up in a second chance. But this… this feels like crawling into Hell wearing someone else's skin."
The first thing he heard was screaming.
Not his own.
A woman's—broken, raw, and choked with pain.
His eyes snapped open. The scent of blood hit him like a punch. Metallic. Rotten. Heavy.
He was lying on the dirt floor of a wooden shack. The walls shook from impact. Cries of agony and laughter echoed outside, mixed with the sound of flames crackling and blades slicing through flesh.
His body was small. Too small.
He tried to sit up and felt a splitting pain in his skull. His mind was a mess—memories colliding like broken glass. Not his. Not all of them.
Then he saw it.
In the far corner of the room, a man lay slumped—his chest torn open, intestines spilling out like rotten fruit. His face, barely recognizable through the blood, was twisted in horror.
Near him, a woman—naked, bruised, her legs trembling, mouth gagged, eyes wide and pleading. Two filthy men surrounded her, laughing, thrusting, treating her like meat.
And in that moment, the wave hit him.
Pain.
Grief.
Horror.
Rage.
He wasn't just watching—he was remembering.
These were his parents. Or rather, the parents of the boy whose body he now inhabited.
The flood of emotions wasn't his... and yet it was. Raw trauma slammed into him like a tsunami. His vision spun. His stomach lurched.
He screamed, but no sound came.
And then everything went dark.
He awoke again to silence.
Cold. So cold.
The fire had long died out. His mouth was dry. His stomach roared. His clothes were soaked in something sticky. Blood.
He sat up slowly, blinking the crust from his eyes. Beside him lay the butchered body of his father, the torso split open like a dissected lab rat. His mother lay naked on the other side—eyes vacant, neck twisted at an unnatural angle.
He couldn't even cry.
No tears came.
Just... silence.
A dead, suffocating silence.
His tiny hands clenched into fists.
"This world... isn't kind. Got it. Message received."
He staggered outside.
Bodies.
Everywhere.
Old men hacked apart. Children burned. Young girls dragged away, screaming—gone now. Blood soaked the dirt paths between the huts.
A village looted. A people erased.
Not by ninja.
Just... bandits.
Low-life scum. Armed thugs. Monsters wearing human skin.
He stood there for a long time, under the dull gray sky. Then, as if something ancient stirred inside him, a voice echoed in his head.
[System Synchronization Complete.]
Welcome, User. You have acquired: Spiritual Combat Training System.
First Character Unlocked: Roronoa Zoro (Pre-Timeskip).
Train in the spirit world every night. Gain skills in reality upon waking.
Future characters will unlock as training progresses.
He blinked.
Then smiled.
A bitter, cruel smile.
"Heh… so it's one of those stories. Great. I've got a cheat system… in a world that rapes children. Real fun."
He dragged the corpses of his parents to the center of the village and built a pyre.
He didn't cry. He didn't pray.
He just lit the match and watched them burn.
The smell of ash and blood clung to him as he returned to the shack. He scrubbed the floor clean with water and rags until his fingers bled. Then he found a corner, collapsed, and whispered hoarsely:
"System… load Zoro."
Darkness overtook him.
Spiritual World – Night One
The world reformed into a stormy wasteland of crumbling stone and swirling fog.
And standing there, swords on his hip, eyes cold and bored, was Zoro.
"You look like shit," Zoro said, cracking his neck. "Let's see if you can at least hold a stick without crying."
He tossed a wooden practice blade.
The boy caught it.
And for the first time since he woke in this hellhole…
He grinned.