If you asked Alex Kim how he'd like to die, his answer changed depending on the day. On a Monday, it was with his face smushed into a body pillow, surrounded by empty ramen cups and the mellow hum of his gaming PC.
Fridays, maybe with a controller in hand, mid-boss fight, heart pounding from too much caffeine, the taste of a win—real or digital—still bright on his tongue.
No matter what, he never imagined it would start with a browser pop-up.
It was two in the morning, the kind of hour where shadows blur and your mind goes soft around the edges. Alex sat in a tangle of blankets, his hair an uncombed riot, squinting at his screen as the end credits rolled on another visual novel.
He'd planned on clocking out after saving the tsundere heroine, but fate—or maybe just a bored tech demon—intervened.
There it was:
Congratulations! You've been selected for the Reincarnation Survey!
One lucky soul will enter the world of their choice upon death, with a power picked just for them! Click "Begin" to start.
Alex blinked. "What is this, some isekai ad?" he grumbled, already reaching to close the window. But every time he clicked 'X,' the pop-up restored itself, persistent as the urge to buy limited-edition Nendoroids.
Annoyed, he muttered, "If this thing doesn't go away after one more try—"
It didn't.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Giggling from his little sister's room drifted down the hall; she was rewatching that vampire movie again. Alex shook his head and gave in, more out of boredom than curiosity.
Fine. Let's see how far this rabbit hole goes.
The survey's background morphed into shifting galaxies, sparkles trailing in the corner of the frame. Whispered Japanese kanji twined through the English text—how did it know his browser language preferences?
Step 1: Select your destination world.
A menu dropped down, offering a sprawling (and, if he was honest, kind of awesome)
list:
Naruto (Shinobi Village Survival Difficulty: Hard)
One Piece (Devil Fruit Mayhem Level: High)
Pokémon (Pocket Monster Incident Rate: Manageable)
Overlord (Please bring own moral compass)
Twilight (Small-town Drama: Off the Charts)
Attack on Titan (Heightened Risk of Being Eaten)
The Rising of the Shield Hero (May include raccoon companions)
Demon Slayer (Swords not included)
Marvel Universe (Insurance premiums not covered)
Your Everyday World, But More Interesting (New Game + Mode)
Alex let out a laugh. "Yeah, no way this is real. Like I'd survive five seconds in Attack on Titan." He scrolled through the options, imagining himself in each. Pirate? Ninja? PIka-pika with a Pikachu? His mind whirled with anime-tinged daydreams.
He hovered over Twilight, remembering his sister's endless swooning over sparkly vampires and eternally sullen werewolves. At least the worst thing you could catch there was a cold from the rain.
Before he could select, another panel flashed open.
Step 2: Choose a power for your next life.
More menus. Each option shimmered as he scrolled:
Time Stop: Freeze the world for a few moments (side effects: loneliness)
.Teleportation: No more traffic jams!
Probability Manipulation: Make "bad luck" a thing of the past.
Telekinesis: Jedi mind tricks, minus the Jedi council.
Shape-shifting: Ever wanted to be a cat? Now's your chance.
Absorption: Copy powers—at a price.
Absolute Defense: For those who like shields more than swords.
Precognition: See possible futures.
Reality Manipulation: Edit the story as you go (Rare. Warning: May cause plot holes.)
Super Charisma: Never flub a social encounter again.
The Power to Bring Anime to Life: Not as OP as it sounds, trust us.
Alex snorted, reading the fine print under
reality manipulation:
Warning: May cause plot holes.
He scratched his chin. It all read like someone's fever dream after binging too many light novels. Still, he let himself imagine.
His cursor hesitated over each option. Precognition? Useful, but he'd probably overthink everything. Absolute Defense? He'd get bored—no risk, no fun.
Teleportation… could maybe get him out of awkward situations. But "reality manipulation"? C'mon. That was outright cheating.
He couldn't help but picture himself, controller in hand, rewinding awkward moments IRL. Failing a test? Nah, let's tweak those answers. Forgetting his mom's birthday? Reality update! Snoozing through alarms? Sudden change: all clocks run five minutes late.
But if anime had taught him anything, too much power meant too much hassle. He wanted a chill life, not cosmic responsibility.
Alex leaned back, closing his eyes. The screen shimmered as he mumbled, "Suppose I pick Twilight. Rain's fine, and vampires don't really do much unless you mess with them. And maybe—not reality manipulation. Too freaky." He paused, then hovered back. "Then again, if this is my dream, why not go big?"
He clicked:
World: Twilight.
Power: Reality Manipulation.
A final box popped up:
Final answer? There are no take-backs in the multiverse, just extra DLC.
Alex grinned and pressed submit, expecting nothing but maybe a jump scare or another phishing attempt.
The browser turned black. For a moment, he thought his power had gone out. But then, lines of text scrolled across the darkness, glowing violet.
Thank you for your participation, Alex Kim.
If you're reading this, it means your survey has been processed. Please prepare for an unexpected journey.
Alex blinked and sat up. "Wait—what?"
The words bled into a swirling spiral, galaxies within galaxies—as if his screen was eating itself from the inside out. The room warped, colors twisting like watercolor in a rainstorm.
He tried to shout, to reach for his phone, but the world stretched—
and snapped.
Alex woke to the gentle percussion of rain on glass, that soft, constant tap a world apart from the dry crackle of San Diego mornings. At first, all he noticed was his own slow breath and the cool air curling through the unfamiliar room.
He blinked, letting the haze of sleep fade, and the entire spool of his twenty-year life unfurled—every memory, every detail, as intact as if he'd never left home at all. San Diego, his parents, that last heartbreaking move, and the truth of their loss: all of it was there, anchored and sharp.
Still sprawled under the blanket, Alex let his eyes wander. The room was boxy, walls a whisper of gray, lamp leaning a little too far left, his duffel bag gaping in one corner—like even it wasn't sure what it was doing here. He gave a lazy stretch, bones popping in protest.
"Okay," he sighed, "so this is the glamour they promised in all those online guides to tragic new beginnings."
He sat up, rubbing his eyes and surveying his domain—rain-splashed window, battered desk, crooked stack of moving boxes with a faded superhero sticker clinging for dear life. Forks, Washington. The official address of brooding forests and stories that everyone in his old fandom circles giggled about.
The actual place felt more low-key damp than deathly mysterious, but hey, so far no dramatic vampire entrances or supernatural melodrama through the window. Just that quiet, persistent sound of rain and a world standing politely still, waiting for him to catch up.
Alex swung his legs out of bed, feeling the rough welcome of cold floorboards. He shuffled over to the window, tugged aside a frayed curtain, and peered out—only to be greeted by endless trees and a fine mist spiderwebbing the glass.
He smiled—half irony, half genuine amusement. "Guess I'm living where the local beauty standard is 'occasionally glows in direct sunlight.' Forks: home of sparkling models and permanent sweater weather. Mom would've loved it," he murmured, warmth and ache tangled in his voice.
But nostalgia didn't clamp down. If anything, the swirl of memory in his chest was gentle, an anchor and a comfort.
Maybe that was thanks to his naturally easygoing streak—or maybe he was just too tired to be dramatically overwhelmed. Either way, he was here now. New life, new town, same old Alex, just with all his storylines finally stacked in order.
Rolling his shoulders, he padded over to his desk, flicking the light on and off for no reason except to hear the click, the solid clunk of reality.
"Well," he said to the room, "seems like the only thing sparkling around here is my personality. Sorry, Edward."
He opened one window just a crack, breathed in lungfuls of crisp, pine-scented air, and grinned.
"Not a vampire in sight, probably a good omen" he said with a shrug.
With a final stretch, he wandered toward the kitchen—"If the coffee's decent I can survive anything".
............XXX.....................