My name is Ansh Agarwal and I am sixteen years old. I am an orphan. People usually expect that to be said with sadness or heavy emotions, but for me, it has become a plain fact. Something like the sky being blue or water being wet. My parents left this world long before I could even understand what losing them meant, and I had no choice but to keep moving forward.
I lived until now with the money my parents had left behind, and by doing some part-time jobs that barely paid enough to keep things steady. Every morning started with me counting coins and notes, checking how much was left. Every night ended with me staring at the ceiling, wondering how long I could stretch it out. Life was survival, plain and simple.
I was never one of those protagonists you see in dramas, with golden luck or hidden talents. I was average at school, average at work, average at everything. The only thing I could say I had more than others was stubbornness. I refused to quit even when things got ugly, and I refused to ask anyone for pity.
On that day, nothing felt different. The sun was sinking lower in the sky as I carried a plastic bag full of groceries. Some vegetables, rice, and milk—enough to get me through the next few days. The shopkeeper had smiled at me with that knowing look he always gave, as if silently asking if I was doing alright living alone. I ignored it like always and walked out into the noisy Delhi streets.
The city was as loud as ever. Horns blared from every direction. Bikes zigzagged through traffic. People shouted to each other across stalls. My footsteps blended into the rhythm of it all as I kept to the side of the road, my head down. I wasn't in a rush. There was nothing waiting for me at home except silence.
The bag felt heavy in my hand, the plastic handles biting into my skin. I adjusted my grip and exhaled, thinking about homework I still hadn't done, the extra shift the shopkeeper wanted me to cover tomorrow, and whether the fridge would keep running or break down like it always threatened to. Ordinary worries of an ordinary boy.
That was when it happened.
A horn blasted louder than the rest, so close it made my ears ring. I turned my head instinctively, confusion flashing in my chest. My eyes widened.
A truck.
It was already there. Towering. Metal. Moving too fast. Bearing down on me like the shadow of death.
There was no time to scream. No time to think. No time to move.
Impact.
Everything went white, then black.
Pain should have been there, tearing me apart, but I felt nothing. I couldn't even feel my body. My legs, my arms, my heartbeat—gone. Only silence. Only emptiness.
And then… a sound.
"Ding."
It wasn't from outside. It wasn't in the air. It was inside my head. A clear, mechanical voice, stripped of all human emotion.
"Your destiny ends here. And now, you are going to a new world."
The words sank into me like stones into water, creating ripples of shock. My destiny ends here. A new world. What was it talking about? I should have been dead. Maybe I was already dead.
But the voice didn't stop.
"According to your previous karma of past lives, you have obtained one gift and one wish."
I froze—or rather, my thoughts froze. Past lives? Karma? Gift? Wish?
For the first time since the truck hit me, fear loosened its grip just enough for another thought to slip through: Is this real? Is this some kind of hallucination before death?
The emptiness around me didn't change. No light, no ground, no sky. Just void. But the voice was sharp, undeniable. If this was a dream, it was too clear, too precise.
My mind spun. A gift and a wish. One of each. It sounded like the kind of deal characters in novels get when they die and go to another world. Except this wasn't a story I was reading—it was happening to me.
I wanted to laugh, but no sound came out. My voice, like my body, no longer existed here. All I had were my thoughts, raw and loud in my head.
One gift and one wish. That was all I had. The voice had said it was because of my past lives' karma, which meant there were limits. It wasn't endless.
What did I need most? I didn't know what world I was going to. The voice had said "new world," but it hadn't said which kind. Was it dangerous? Peaceful? A place of swords and magic? Or something like the world I'd left behind?
If it was truly new, then survival was the only thing that mattered. I thought about the truck again, the helplessness of watching it hit me without being able to resist. I never wanted to feel that way again.
I knew the answer.
"I want… a healing factor."
My thoughts formed the words, shaky but determined.
"Not a small one. Not the kind where a cut closes quickly. I want the ability to regenerate no matter how much damage I take. Even if my body is destroyed, even if only one cell remains… I want to recover completely."
The silence stretched for a second, heavy and still.
Then the voice replied.
"Approved."
Just like that. Flat. Final.
I felt something ripple through the emptiness, like a wave crashing against invisible walls. A warmth bloomed inside me, faint but undeniable, as if something deep in my very being had been rewritten. The healing was mine.
The voice spoke again, as indifferent as ever.
"Setting your identity. Transmigration begins."
The emptiness shook. My thoughts scattered. The void itself seemed to tear apart around me, and I knew this was the end of the place between worlds.
And with that, everything dissolved.