All I really remember is the cold steel bumper slamming into my torso. There was a crack—maybe my ribs, maybe the world itself splitting. A sharp, metal taste filled my mouth, warm and tangy, like I was drinking my own blood before I even hit the ground.
Then my body lifted off the street. For a moment I was weightless, hanging in the air, feeling every injury light up inside me like sparks. The wind rushed past, colder than I'd ever felt, biting into my skin. It made the pain burn hotter, like fire under ice.
Time slowed. I could see the gray sky, the headlights fading behind me, and the dirty pavement rushing up to meet me. And in that frozen heartbeat, all I could think was how unfairly quiet the world sounded—no screams, no brakes, just the distant hum of a terrible day getting worse.
Then—black.
A cruel end.
Or at least, that's what I thought.
Instead, I opened my eyes to a blinding white room. The walls, the floor, even the air felt colorless. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of white spheres floated around me, each one stamped with a number like some weird lottery from another world.
Where the hell am I? I thought, my voice echoing only inside my head.
Instinctively, I tried to shove my hands into my pockets—something familiar, something normal. But the moment I moved, a jolt hit me.
I didn't have hands.
I didn't have arms.
I didn't even have legs.
Just a weightless, floating... presence, like my whole body had been erased and only the idea of "me" was left behind.
Okay—what the hell is going on? I thought, panic rising in a place where my chest should've been.
Then it hit me—a pull. Not physical, but deeper, like someone had hooked my very existence and yanked. The white room, the numbered spheres, even my own thoughts began to stretch and distort, fading like they were being sucked into a drain.
I wasn't dying again.
I wasn't moving.
I was... slipping.
It felt as if I was being peeled out of reality, layer by layer, until there was barely anything left to call "me."
And then—
I blinked—once, twice—and suddenly I was sitting in a soft chair that felt like I could melt into it. My arms were back. My legs were back. My whole body was... there again.
"W-WHAT THE HECK!?" I screamed, grabbing at myself.
"Please stop shouting. You're safe," a gentle, feminine voice said.
I turned. A woman—transparent, almost ghost-like—sat behind a desk stacked with glowing files. She looked like she hadn't slept in a century.
"So, you're number 453453," she muttered, flipping through the papers. "Let's see... ah. You got hit by a car. Something that wasn't planned." She face-palmed so hard her hand passed straight through her forehead.
"Wait—what?" I stared at her, the memory slowly crawling back into my skull. "I got hit by a car... holy—"
"Please, no cursing," the woman snapped, looking even more exhausted. She picked up an old-fashioned phone and dialed with the speed of someone who has done this far too many times.
The phone rang. Then someone answered.
"Yes, hi. Someone messed up again... Yes. Person: Daren Cruz. Supposed to still be alive... No, I didn't do it... Should I go ahead with judgment, or do you want Plan Gaia? ...Plan Gaia? Got it. Bye."
She hung up and gave me a tired, brittle smile.
"Well... sorry to inform you, but you died." She said it like she was telling me my pizza delivery was delayed.
I just sat there.
"...Yeah. I figured."
The woman let out a nervous laugh, the kind people make when they're two seconds away from quitting their job.
"W-Well," she said, shuffling some files, "do you want something to eat? Any refreshments?"
I stared at her.
"...Do I look hungry?"
My voice was flat, deadpan... no pun intended.
"And I'm pretty sure dead people don't eat."
She blinked, tilted her head, and actually checked a page in her file like she needed to confirm that.
"Well, technically you're temporarily dead," she said, tapping the paper. "So snacks aren't off the table."
I just glared.
She immediately moved the bowl of glowing candy off her desk like she was trying to hide the evidence.
"Right. No food. Got it. Very understandable."
A few minutes passed while this... angel? receptionist? sanctuary-of-the-dead lady?—explained what was going on and what would happen to me.
"So," I said slowly, rubbing my temples, "you're telling me you're going to reincarnate me into a different world... I have to start over from zero... and you're letting me keep my memories?"
She nodded, hands folded neatly on her desk. "Yes. However—"
There it was.
The however.
The doom bell you always hear before bad news drops.
"The problem is," she continued, clearing her throat, "we usually allow clients to choose their world. But due to... an incident recurrence—"
"You're kidding me." I stared at her. "Are you seriously saying this isn't the first time this has happened? How often does this screw-up happen?"
Her reaction said everything.
Bright red face.
Eyes darting away.
The shame of a customer service worker who has seen too much.
"Ms. Lady..." I began.
"Please call me Lucy," she whispered. "And yes?"
"You suck at your job."
She didn't even deny it. She just sank into her chair like a deflated balloon.
"Anyway," I sighed, leaning back in the chair, "what world are you sending me to?"
Lucy flipped through her mountain of paperwork, muttering to herself. After a few seconds, her face brightened. She reached under the desk and pulled out a colorful pamphlet like she was offering me a vacation package.
"Here we are! Danmachi: The World of gods and goddesses," she said proudly, holding it up like a brochure for a theme park.
I stared at it.
"Danmachi...?" I repeated. "I know nothing about that world. I've heard mixed things about the show, though."
Lucy blinked twice, surprised.
"You've never watched it?"
"Nope. I was too busy, you know... not dying."
She slowly lowered the pamphlet, her smile wobbling.
"Well," she said with forced cheer, "good news! You're going to learn about it very intimately."
I groaned.
Lucy gave a nervous smile and said,
"B-But there's more, of course. Since you didn't get a choice in where you'll be reincarnated, we'll grant you an ability... a special power."
I rested my face on my hand, staring at her.
"Any power I want?!"
Obviously, Lucy had to set limits, because her expression immediately tightened.
"Well—yes, but nothing that breaks the world, or goes against the laws of distortion. Nothing that would cause the world or the universe to collapse," she added, waving her hands like that would somehow make the rules less strict.
I nodded. Fair enough. Reasonable, even.
Eventually, I decided.
"Alright... I want the Cloud Strife and Zack Fair template. If I remember right, Danmachi has that status screen thing—you know, where you can see your stats and abilities. Merge that with my existing talents."
I looked at her, waiting.
"Can you do that?"
Lucy shook her head with a small smile.
"No, not denying it—just surprised. Is that all you wanted? You can add a little bit more if you want. We do allow... small extras."
I paused, thinking.
"Well..." I rubbed my chin. "I guess I'd like the Buster Sword. The real one. Not a knockoff. Give it to one of my family members or something—like an inheritance item I can claim when I arrive."
Lucy blinked, clearly not expecting that.
"A... giant legendary sword... as a family heirloom?"
"Yeah," I said casually. "Makes it feel meaningful, you know? Plus, I like a challenge. I don't want everything handed to me."
She let out a sigh equal parts confused and impressed.
"You're... oddly modest for someone who just asked for the template of two legendary heroes."
I shrugged.
"What can I say? I'm dead, not greedy. Oh—also, is it possible for me to get the Fusion Sword in the future?"
Lucy perked up at that, smiling like she finally got to talk about something fun.
"I don't see why not. I could make the weapon evolve as you grow. Or, when the Buster Sword breaks, it can be reforged into the Fusion Sword... Ooor we can fuse the entire set together ahead of time?"
"Surprise me," I said, crossing my arms. "As long as I get it eventually, I don't need it right away."
Lucy blinked at me.
"You're very... stoic. For someone who just—you know—died."
I let out a slow breath.
"There's nothing I can do about it. Yeah, it sucks. But I wasn't anything special. No friends. Orphan. My girlfriend cheated on me, got pregnant with some other guy, then left."
I paused, staring off. "Life was still good. I was grateful for what I had. But I won't pretend it didn't eat me up inside."
A beat passed before I waved the thought away.
"Anyway... enough about that. When am I getting reincarnated?"
Lucy smiled warmly.
"Right away, if you want."
"Is there any paperwork I need to sign? Rules? Karma points?" I asked, raising a brow. Might as well make sure I don't get sent to Hell by accident.
"Nope!" Lucy replied flatly, smiling like she'd said this a thousand times. "No paperwork, no karma scoreboards. Just... don't do anything evil. If you mess up, you can still turn back and cleanse yourself."
She clasped her hands together. "Now... shall we begin the procedure?"
"Right?!" I nodded quickly, trying to hide the nerves creeping up my spine.
Lucy scribbled something onto her notepad. I leaned forward, curious — but before I could ask, my body started to fade, piece by piece, like someone was erasing me with a digital brush.
"Well, Mr. Daren, this is it." She stood, smiling softly. "I hope you have a wonderful new life."
Before I could respond, my consciousness felt like it was melting — soft, warm, dissolving like butter on a hot pan. Then it scattered, like raindrops falling into a river...
And then—
Black.
Light...
It was the very concept of life.
I missed it. When I was dead, my flesh felt cold. I don't remember how long it's been since Lucy sent me off. Years? Months? Decades? Centuries?
Does it even matter...?
Because now—
I feel light.
"Yuna, push! Honey, you're doing great. He has your hair color... and the highlights, they're mine."
The rough, masculine voice dragged my consciousness upward, like someone pulling me out of deep water. My soul still felt sealed, locked away, put into a long sleep. Everything was foggy. I was tired—bone-deep tired. Even breathing felt hard.
Light peeked into my vision, but the world was still wrapped in shadow.
Slowly... I felt myself being pushed out.
Pressure, heat, and something wet pressing against my skin. My tiny body didn't understand any of it, only that everything was tight and forcing me forward.
And then—
light.
A dim orange glow seeping through my half-opened vision.
I could smell before I could truly see: the sharp bite of medicine... the bitter sting of chemicals... and beneath it all the warm, earthy scent of burning firewood.
It was strange.
It was overwhelming.
It was real.
"It's a boy."
A feminine voice—gentle, light—drifted through the haze.
Warm hands touched my sensitive skin, soft enough to make my whole tiny body relax. It felt... good. Comforting. After being dead and numb for so long, the simple feeling of touch almost made me want to cry.
She wrapped me in something warm—cloth, a blanket, I wasn't sure. But it hugged my body, keeping out the cold of the world I'd just entered.
Then I felt myself being lifted... passed into new arms.
These were different—trembling slightly, holding me close.
My mother?
I tried to force my eyes open, but everything was still blurry.
All I could make out were soft shapes and drifting colors: a blur of blonde... a hint of blue... pale porcelain skin.
It was like looking at a painting through water.
"He is beautiful..."
A soft, feminine voice washed over me — warm, tender, trembling with joy.
My mother, without a doubt.
"His eyes... they're so unique. A mix of your silver and my blue, dear."
I wanted to look up at her, to actually see her face, but my newborn body refused to cooperate. My head felt like a heavy stone and my vision was still smeared with fuzz and white light. Everything danced between blur and shadow — shapes, colors, nothing solid.
Still... I tried.
My eyes burned, struggling to focus, and through the haze I caught the silhouette of someone large standing beside her.
My father.
Massive. Broad shoulders, thick muscles, skin a deep bronze like caramel kissed by firelight. Even in my weak vision I could tell he was darker than my mother. His hair was black, braided neatly down his back — warrior-like.
For a moment, I felt small.
Not because I was literally a baby, but because they felt real, not like some vague dream after death.
Warmth wrapped around me again, soft fabric pressed to my skin, and all I could do was listen and watch their shapes through blurry newborn eyes.
"Angel... that's his name."
My mother's voice was soft, almost reverent.
"Angel Cruz'zu."