Leonardo Vinard clutched the plastic bag containing his brand new manga volume like it was the Holy Grail. Volume twenty-three of Celestial Wardens, finally. He'd pre-ordered it three months ago, dealt with a shipping delay, and then had to suffer through an entire shift at the convenience store with his manager breathing down his neck about "customer engagement."
Customer engagement. What a joke.
Leo just wanted to go home, crack open the manga, and lose himself in a world where things actually made sense. Where heroes fought for something that mattered, where friendships weren't transactional, and where people didn't ask stupid questions like "Why don't you smile more?"
He hated people. Not in the dramatic, villain-monologue way, more like the quiet, constant background noise kind of hatred. The way they pretended to care about each other while secretly judging everything. The way they acted like their tiny problems were world-ending catastrophes. The way they'd step over a homeless person but cry over a fictional character's death.
At least fictional characters were honest about what they were.
Leo kicked a pebble off the sidewalk as he approached the crosswalk. The light was red, but the street was empty. He glanced both ways anyway, force of habit, and started crossing.
'I wonder if Akira finally confesses in this volume,' he thought, already mentally flipping through the pages. 'Probably not. They'll drag it out another five volumes, minimum. That's how these things—'
The sound hit him first. Not the engine, there was no engine sound. Just the screech of tires that had given up trying to grip the asphalt.
Leo's head snapped up.
A delivery truck was barreling toward him, easily forty miles per hour, and the driver's seat was completely empty. For one impossible, crystallized moment, Leo could've sworn the truck's grille looked like a grinning face, teeth bared in malicious glee.
His body knew what to do. His muscles tensed to jump. His heart rate spiked.
But his brain?
His brain just thought: 'Huh. So this is how it happens.'
He didn't move.
The impact felt like nothing and everything simultaneously, a fraction of a second where pain was just a concept his nervous system hadn't quite processed yet. Then darkness swallowed him whole, and Leonardo Vinard's first life ended on a Tuesday afternoon, three blocks from his apartment, with an unread manga volume scattered across the pavement.
When consciousness returned, it came slowly, like surfacing from deep water.
Leo opened his eyes, or at least, he thought he did. There were no eyelids to speak of, no body to feel. He was just... aware. Floating, existing in a space that shouldn't exist.
The void stretched infinitely in all directions, a darkness so complete it almost had texture. Purple mist swirled around him like cosmic smoke, illuminated by a source of light that didn't seem to come from anywhere specific.
And then there was the wheel.
"What the hell?" Leo's voice echoed, though he had no mouth to speak with. The sound just was.
The wheel was massive, skyscraper-sized, maybe bigger. It rotated slowly in the void before him, each segment labeled with names in glowing text. Some he recognized immediately: Naruto. Dragon Ball Z. Marvel. DC Comics. Others were complete mysteries: To Be Hero X. Cultivation Chat Group. The World of Otome Games is Tough for Mobs.
"Okay," Leo said to the empty void, his mental voice surprisingly calm. "So I'm dead. Definitely dead. Truck-kun got me. Classic." He paused. "This is either the weirdest afterlife ever, or I've finally lost it, and I'm hallucinating in a coma somewhere."
No response. Just the slow rotation of the impossible wheel and the drift of purple smoke.
Leo tried to move closer, and his formless consciousness obliged, gliding through the void like a ghost. As he approached, he could make out more details. The wheel wasn't just labeled—each segment had imagery, scenes from the worlds they represented. He caught glimpses of ninja villages, flying superheroes, mecha battles, and cultivation sects.
"This is like one of those isekai setups," he muttered. "The protagonist dies, meets a god or gets a system, and gets sent to another world with cheats." He looked around the empty void. "Except there's no god here. No smug divine being explaining the rules. Just a wheel and—"
[INITIATING AUTO SPIN... DECIDING WORLD]
Leo jolted, or the consciousness equivalent of jolting. The voice wasn't spoken aloud; it bypassed his ears entirely and embedded itself directly into his mind. Robotic and clinical, it was completely emotionless.
"Wait, hold on—"
The wheel began to spin.
It started slow, then accelerated into a blur of colors and text. Leo watched, helpless, as hundreds of worlds flickered past in a dizzying cascade. His non-existent stomach lurched.
'This can't be happening. This is insane. This is—'
The wheel began to slow.
...One Piece...
...Hunter x Hunter...
...Naruto...
...Demon Slayer...
[WORLD SELECTED: THE ORIGINALS — CONSTRUCTING HOST BODY]
The wheel stopped with an anticlimactic click.
"The Originals?" Leo stared at the segment. "As in... the vampire show? The Vampire Diaries spin-off?"
He'd watched a few episodes once. Lots of drama, attractive people with emotional baggage, and enough family dysfunction to fill a therapy convention. Not exactly his first choice for a fantasy world, but it could've been worse.
"At least there's magic," he reasoned. "And vampires are pretty broken if you know how to—"
As he watched, the name The Originals vanished from its segment, completely erased. Then the entire wheel shuddered and transformed. The segments reorganized themselves, old names disappearing and new ones taking their place.
Now the wheel displayed different options: Vampire. Werewolf. Witch. Doppelgänger. Psychic. Banshee. Siphoner. Dozens of supernatural species from The Originals universe.
[DECIDING SPECIES]
The wheel spun again, faster this time.
"Come on, Original Vampire," Leo chanted, watching the blur. "Or witch. Which would be good. Magic's versatile, lots of potential, no weird blood addiction—"
Vampire... Werewolf... Witch... Psychic...
[SPECIES SELECTED: WARLOCK — DECIDING AGE]
"Warlock?" Leo blinked. "That's... okay. That's actually not bad. Male witch, basically. Less versatile than a regular witch, maybe, but warlocks in that universe had some unique abilities if I remember right." He paused. "Wait, deciding age? What does that—"
The wheel transformed again. This time, the segments showed years and dates spanning from ancient history to the modern day.
Leo's non-existent blood ran cold.
"No. No, no, no. Don't you dare send me back to the Stone Age or something. I need indoor plumbing. I need—"
The wheel spun.
1920 A.D... 1850 A.D... 1200 A.D...
[AGE SELECTED: 955 A.D.]
"NINE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIVE?!" Leo's shout echoed through the void. "That's—that's over a thousand years before the show even starts! Before the Mikaelsons are even born! What am I supposed to do for a thousand years?!"
His mind raced. The Originals were created around 1001 A.D., if he remembered correctly. The main plot of the show took place in modern times, around 2010-2020. He'd be living through the entire span of medieval history, the Renaissance, the Age of Exploration, every single major historical event for over a millennium.
"Wait, wait," Leo forced himself to calm down. "Warlocks don't even live that long, do they? At their core, they're still human; they still age. I'll die before anything interesting happens." He trailed off. "Prepare for what, exactly? What's the point if I won't be alive for anything to really happen?"
[TASK ACQUIRED: DEFEAT THE HOLLOW — FAILURE RESULTS IN PENALTY, SUCCESS RESULTS IN REWARD]
The words appeared before him in glowing purple text, floating in the void like a video game quest notification.
Leo stared.
"The Hollow," he said slowly. "You want me to defeat the Hollow."
The Hollow. The most powerful evil in The Originals' entire run. The entity was so dangerous that it took the combined efforts of the Mikaelson family, the most powerful vampires in existence, to barely contain her. And even then, they couldn't actually kill her. They had to split her essence into four parts just to keep her from destroying everything.
"That's impossible," Leo said flatly. "The only reason they beat her in the show was plot armor and the power of family or whatever. She's literally ancient evil incarnate. I'm going to be a warlock who doesn't even exist yet." He paused. "Also, she won't even be a threat for another thousand years! How am I supposed to defeat something that isn't even active during my lifetime?"
The words remained, unchanging. Mocking him with their simplicity.
"What's the penalty?" Leo demanded. "And what's this reward supposed to be?"
[PENALTY = LOSS OF ALL MEMORIES]
[REWARD = PERSONAL POWER ACQUISITION]
Leo processed this. "Loss of all memories. So if I fail... I forgot everything? My old life, my knowledge of the show, everything?" His consciousness flickered with unease. "But wait, if I die fighting her, what good do memories do me? Unless..."
The implication hit him. "Unless death isn't final, maybe I'll just be brought back here, but without any memories. That'd make being reborn into another world quite strenuous."
"And Personal Power Acquisition?" He examined the glowing text. "That's vague. Does that mean I get to choose a power? Do I get multiple powers? Is this like a wish-granting thing?"
No answer. Of course not.
Leo floated there in the void, trying to think through his options. Except he didn't have options. The wheel had already decided everything. He was being railroaded into an impossible situation with rules he didn't understand and a task that was clearly designed to be unwinnable.
"This is rigged," he said to the uncaring void. "This entire thing is rigged, and whoever or whatever set this up has a seriously twisted sense of humor."
The purple mist swirled around him, almost playfully.
Leo sighed or performed the mental equivalent. "Fine. Not like I can do anything about it anyway. If this is real, I'm already dead. If it's a dream, I'll wake up eventually. Either way..." He glanced at the glowing text one more time. "Either way, I guess I'm about to find out what medieval Europe is like."
He reached out mentally, trying to touch the text, to confirm his acceptance or move things along or something.
[INITIATING REINCARNATION]
The purple mist surged forward, engulfing him in a wave of sensation. Leo felt his consciousness compress, shift, being molded into something new. It wasn't painful, exactly, more like being wrapped in warm water, submerged in a current he couldn't fight.
His last coherent thought before the darkness took him was: 'I really hope my new life is peaceful.'
Then everything dissolved into sensation without thought, awareness without consciousness, existence without self.
[REINCARNATION SUCCESSFUL]
The first thing Leo registered was sound muffled and distant, like hearing through water. Voices speaking in a language he didn't recognize but somehow understood. Old Norse, maybe? Or something close to it.
The second thing was light. Dim and flickering, firelight danced across rough wooden walls.
The third thing was the face.
A woman was holding him, looking down with an expression of pure, overwhelming love. She was beautiful in a way that transcended the word golden blonde hair falling in waves around a face that seemed to glow in the firelight, blue eyes that sparkled with tears of joy. She looked young, maybe early twenties, dressed in simple medieval clothing.
She was saying something, cooing softly in that strange-familiar language, and Leo realized with a start that he understood her.
"My beautiful son," she whispered. "My precious boy."
Leo tried to respond and managed only a weak gurgle. His body felt wrong, too small, too weak, completely uncoordinated. He was an infant. Actually, genuinely a newborn baby.
'Oh god, I'm going to have to learn to walk again, aren't I?'
Movement to the side caught his attention. A man stepped into view, standing beside the woman. He was tall, dark-haired, with sharp features and eyes that...
Those eyes weren't looking at Leo with love. They were cold, calculating, and filled with barely suppressed rage and something that looked disturbingly like betrayal.
The man said something sharp in that old language. The woman's expression tightened, became defensive, but she kept her arms wrapped protectively around Leo.
An argument erupted. Leo couldn't follow all of it; his infant brain was already struggling with consciousness, but he caught enough. Words like "disgrace" and "betrayal" and something that sounded very much like "not my son."
'Oh,' Leo thought, his newborn eyes drifting between the loving mother and the furious father-figure. 'Oh, this is going to be complicated.'
The woman pulled him closer, pressing him against her chest, and despite the argument raging around him, Leo felt something unexpected.
Safety. For the first time since waking in the void, he felt safe.
His infant body, exhausted from the mere act of existing, began to shut down. Consciousness faded at the edges. As he drifted toward sleep, one final thought crystallized:
'Nine hundred and fifty-five A.D. Medieval Europe. A warlock. A broken family. And somehow, I have to survive long enough to defeat an ancient evil that won't even exist for another thousand years.'
'This is either going to be the greatest adventure ever, or the longest, most elaborate cosmic prank in history.'
'Probably both.'
Then sleep claimed him, and Leonardo Vinard—now someone new, someone yet to be named—dreamed of spinning wheels and purple mist and a future over a millennium away.