The glow from the monitor painted my face in hues of electric blue, casting long, distorted shadows from the graveyard of takeout containers littering my desk. Empty ramen cups jostled for space with crumpled chip bags and the sad, plastic sarcophagus of a half-devoured sushi platter. Outside, the world slept the sleep of the blissfully unaware. Inside, I was playing God, or at least, drafting the blueprints for one.
"Eighteen years old," I muttered, the words tasting like stale Pocky dust. My reflection, a pale ghost on the dark screen, showed the usual – tired eyes, hair desperately attempting an escape from my scalp, and the general posture of someone surgically attached to their computer chair. "Peak physical condition: actively decomposing. Social skills: requires tutorial." A familiar sigh escaped me. Yep, that tracks.
But the screen… ah, the screen was where the magic was supposed to happen. The Worm CYOA V6 - Alternate Edition. A labyrinth of choices, a smorgasbord of superpowers laid out like a buffet for the power-hungry imagination. And thanks to the glorious absurdity of 'Creative Mode' granting functionally infinite points, I wasn't just sampling – I was piling my plate high enough to induce a diabetic coma in a cosmic entity.
Click. Invictus. The idea of unbreakable will? Appealing. Click. Sanctity of The Mind. The concept of immunity to mental meddling? Essential. Click, click, click. Accentuate the Positive, Eliminate the Negative, Platinum Kryptonite. A theoretical hat-trick of 'no bad stuff, only good stuff, maybe even better stuff'. Sounded solid on paper. I grabbed immortality options – Chosen Undead, Who Wants to Live Forever? – with the enthusiasm of a drowning man grabbing life rafts. Learning boosters? Yes, please. Conceptual defenses described in language so dense it gave me a headache just reading them? Throw 'em on the pile!
The build taking shape wasn't me. It was an aspiration. A theoretical construct of near-invulnerability, endless learning, and perpetual existence. Less a person, more a walking bundle of "Wouldn't it be cool if...?" The potential radiating from the list of selected perks was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the very actual state of my slightly sticky keyboard and the looming deadline for a paper I hadn't started.
My mouse cursor, the tiny digital agent of my grand designs, hovered over the final gatekeeper: ACCEPT TERMS AND CONDITIONS. Terms? What, like 'By clicking here, you agree that becoming a transdimensional demigod might involve unforeseen existential crises'? Seemed like a risk worth taking, considering the alternative was… well, this. My finger twitched, ready to commit to the fantasy.
And then, the page did something unexpected. It rippled. Not a glitch, not lag. A smooth, deliberate shimmer, like sunlight on water.
"Huh?" I mumbled around a piece of California roll I'd just popped into my mouth. "Did they add an animation? Fancy."
But then, text appeared beneath the button. Crisp, white, unavoidable letters on the dark background: SPECIFY ALTERATIONS & INTEGRATIONS.
My chewing slowed. Hold on. That wasn't standard. CYOAs were static menus, not interactive build workshops. Especially not in Creative Mode, the realm of consequence-free clicking. This felt… off. Like the pizza delivery guy asking if I wanted to help design the molecules for the pepperoni.
But… alterations? Integrations? A chance to refine the blueprint? To ensure all these wildly disparate pieces of theoretical awesomeness might actually work together, instead of just being a chaotic mess of god-tier potential? The part of my brain usually dedicated to optimizing skill trees in RPGs suddenly sat up straight, alert and interested. Fine-tuning the dream before potentially living it? Okay, universe, you have my attention.
My fingers, dusted with tempura crumbs, found the keyboard again. This wasn't activating power; this was writing the instruction manual for it.
Chosen Undead (Refined):Okay, the description mentions potential 'Hollowing'. Let's preemptively forbid that. Type, type. Physiology Instruction: Prevent 'Hollowing' degradation upon activation. Simple. Retain Estus Flask analogue concept (Assume Perk Synergy grants Infinite Charges). Good. Link resurrection mechanic to 'Bonfire' concept: Define death trigger to initiate temporal reset to designated anchor point/time (Set Default Anchor: Point of Entry, Default Time: 04:00 Local). Add variable for future anchor point designation. Theoretically, this turns dying from a game over into hitting a load save button. Much more practical. The idea felt clean, efficient.
Study of Laws and Concepts (Focused Start):Right, the perk says I can study the fundamentals of reality. Seems broad. Need a starting point for the eventual power. My eyes flicked to the 'Chosen Undead' temporal reset note. Start there. Makes sense. Instruction: Set Initial Primary Focus for 'Study' ability to The Law of Time. Type, type. Objective Directive: Prioritize foundational understanding for temporal awareness, minor personal time dilation potential, and analysis/control methods for the 'Chosen Undead' temporal reset. Learning how the theoretical rewind works seems like Step One. The potential outlined in the perk description felt vast, like staring at a library containing all knowledge, but knowing I'd have to learn the alphabet first.
Estus Flask (Synergy Exploit Design):Infinite healing sounds great, but the description feels… plain. Let's design a 'drawback' that the other perk descriptions explicitly say they negate. Adds flavour. A small grin touched my lips. Estus Integration Design: Introduce baseline 'Darksign Resonance' concept - theoretical minor vitality drain (~12% output reduction) when Estus energy is not actively utilized. Sounds cool. Cross-reference Instruction: Ensure 'Eliminate the Negative' & 'Accentuate the Positive' perks nullify all detrimental effects of 'Darksign Resonance'. Retain core healing/restorative function. Define Side Effect Synergy: Constant passive Estus energy flow (to negate theoretical 'drawback') reinforces non-hollowing status design. It's like designing rules for a game I haven't played yet. Perfectly balanced on paper, zero actual downsides.
Physical Template & Intent:Need to specify the avatar design. Can't rely on default settings. Instruction: Utilize Cosmetic Shapeshift allocation upon activation to generate baseline physique: lean, functionally athletic (Handsomespecification applied). Optional: Subtle aesthetic details reinforcing 'Time/Subtle Order' theme if possible within parameters. And the crucial bit… My face felt a little warm. Instruction: Apply 'A Significant Other' Perk Parameter - Target Designation: Rem (Re:Zero). Set Priority: Maximum. Fictional crush, maybe, but if this somehow becomes real, she gets a happy ending. Dammit.
System Integration (Idle Core Concept):Need an operating system for all this theoretical power. Designate Idle Trainer perk as Central Processing Unit concept for power suite management upon activation. Type, type. Define Task Allocation Protocols: Initiate passive conceptual grinding simulation (Study of Laws - Time), establish background skill assimilation simulation pipeline (Knowledge is Power), begin combat scenario pre-analysis routines (Step in the Ring - theoretical), implement automated system maintenance protocols (Estus Resonance concept, etc.). Design intuitive mental feedback/status interface. Maximum efficiency, minimum effort. That's the theoretical dream.
There. The blueprint felt solid. A coherent, synergistic design for immortality, learning, and near-invulnerability, all neatly documented. It was beautiful. Theoretically.
I took a deep breath, the air thick with the smell of day-old sushi and ambition. My mouse cursor hovered over the updated button: CONFIRM & INITIATE TRANSFER. My heart hammered. It was just clicking a button on a website, but it felt momentous. Like signing a cosmic contract written on napkin sketches.
With a shrug that tried to convey nonchalance I absolutely didn't feel, I clicked.
And the Sushi Nation, apparently sensing the precise moment of maximum comedic potential, launched its devastatingly effective sneak attack.
The California roll I'd popped in my mouth earlier? The one I'd completely forgotten about in my fugue state of CYOA design? It chose that exact nanosecond to betray me. With the treacherous cunning of a seasoned assassin, it took a sharp, unexpected detour down my windpipe.
Air. Gone. Not fading, just poof. Vanished. Like a magician's trick, only the rabbit was my ability to breathe, and the hat was my esophagus.
My hands flew to my throat, scrabbling uselessly. Nuh-uh! No way! Panic tried to kick in, but was momentarily overridden by sheer, sputtering indignation. Are you KIDDING me?! My brain screamed silently. I just finished designing my ticket out of mediocrity, my golden path to demigodhood, and I get taken out by… by this? Rogue sushi?! This isn't ironic, it's just offensively stupid!
My vision swam, the monitor dissolving into a blurry mess of mocking blue light. I bet the transfer hasn't even processed yet! I'm dying as plain old me! Lungs on fire, black spots doing the cha-cha behind my eyelids. This is it. The world's dumbest death. My epitaph will read: 'Here lies Neckbeardius Maximus, slain by a California Roll. He had potential. Maybe.'
Then, cutting through the gurgling static of my own demise, a voice. Not in the room, not in my ears, but resonating deep within the rapidly collapsing core of my being. Smooth, deep, impossibly resonant – Morgan Freeman, narrating the most embarrassing death scene ever conceived, and sounding entirely too pleased about it.
"Oh, now this..." A dramatic pause, practically dripping with cosmic amusement. "...this is just perfect."
The voice savored the moment, letting the silence hang before continuing, like a comedian timing a punchline.
"Hours spent crafting the ultimate theoretical vessel of immortality and near-limitless potential... meticulously specifying alterations, synergizing abilities, designing the very blueprint of your ascension..." A low, rumbling chuckle started, building in intensity. "Only to choke on budget sushi before the damn thing could even install?! The sheer, unadulterated, pre-emptive failure! It's... it's art!"
Even as the lights went out, a horrifying realization clicked. Wait... the CYOA asking for edits... the points vanishing... the timing... It wasn't a CYOA. It was an application form! And the final question was 'Can you survive long enough to receive the prize?' Apparently, the answer was NO!
"Right then," the voice continued, shifting gears to brisk efficiency, though the laughter still echoed beneath the words. "Bit of a false start, wouldn't you say? Well, no matter. Application accepted, despite... user error." Ahem. "Off you pop! Re:Zero. Royal Capital of Lugunica. Let's see if the actual build fares better than the applicant." A slight pause, a conspiratorial whisper. "Try not to choke on the local delicacies, eh? And do appreciate that little boost to 'freezing resistance'. Think of it as... hazard pay. For services unfortunately not rendered." A final, dry chuckle resonated as the darkness became absolute. "Enjoy the potential, kiddo. Try not to trip on the way in."
Fuck you, Morgan freeman!
I somehow sent back.
"Sassy, I like you. Tip of the hat."
I somehow felt the image of a man who looked exactly like morgan freeman, except with a smirk and an off-purple to pink suit and a feathered fedora.
He tipped the fedora.
The last thing I felt wasn't the sushi, but the strange sensation of code compiling, of blueprints activating, of potential igniting as the darkness finally, mercifully, took me. This wasn't just a transfer. It was a posthumous upgrade.
One moment, there was only suffocating darkness and the faint, infuriating echo of mocking laughter. The next, a ragged gasp tore itself from my lungs, sucking in air that was shockingly, bitingly cold.
My eyes snapped open. Not to the familiar blue glow of my monitor, but to oppressive gloom. Towering, unfamiliar stone walls pressed in on either side, slick with dampness and grime. Above, a narrow sliver of sky showed a scattering of faint, alien stars against a pre-dawn canvas. The air smelled foul – refuse, stagnant water, and something vaguely metallic. An alleyway. Definitely not my bedroom.
It worked?
The thought slammed into me with the force of revelation. The CYOA… the transfer… despite the utterly idiotic circumstances of my departure from my old life, it had actually happened.
And I felt… different. Startlingly so. My body, previously best described as 'soft', felt lean, tightly coiled, buzzing with a low-level energy I'd never experienced. The cheap t-shirt and worn jeans I'd died in were gone, replaced by simple but surprisingly well-fitting dark trousers, sturdy boots, and a tunic that felt like decent quality material. The Cosmetic Shapeshift and Handsome specifications from the blueprint had clearly been applied post-mortem. A quick, tentative touch confirmed the presence of a cool, smooth ceramic flask tucked securely at my hip. The Estus Flask. Real.
In the back of my mind, a quiet, almost imperceptible hum started up – the Idle Trainer, booting its conceptual processes, beginning the long, slow grind of simulated learning based on the parameters I'd set. The vast potential outlined in the CYOA felt present, nested deep within me like dormant seeds – immortality, learning boosts, conceptual defenses – but utterly inert, waiting for… something. Activation? Understanding? Practice? I had the blueprints, but the factory hadn't started production yet.
A wave of dizziness washed over me. The transition, the death, the sudden reality of it all… I leaned against the cold, damp brick, taking shuddering breaths.
Rem, a hopeful whisper echoed in my mind. If this is real… she might be real. The thought sent a fragile warmth through the disorientation.
But where was I? My eyes scanned the alley, adjusting to the poor light. And then I saw it. Just a few dozen feet away, shrouded in shadow but unmistakable. Squat, slightly dilapidated, radiating an aura of… well, nothing special, actually. The Loot House.
Felt's Loot House. From Re:Zero. It was real. Which meant…
Wait. My blood ran cold, colder than the pre-dawn air. Subaru? Where is Subaru Natsuki? He should arrive around dawn, shouldn't he? Stumble into this alley, meet the thugs, get saved by Emilia… The sequence was burned into my brain from countless wiki dives. But the alley was empty, silent save for my own breathing. Had I arrived too early? Or… had something gone wrong? Terribly wrong?
Before the implications could fully sink in, the world shattered.
FWOOM.
It wasn't a sound, it was a pressure, a sudden, violent absence. The temperature didn't drop; it was annihilated. The very concept of warmth was ripped out of the air, replaced by a void of cold so absolute, so malevolent, it felt like reality itself was freezing over. Frost didn't bloom on the walls – it exploded outwards in razor-sharp crystalline fractals, coating every surface in an instant shroud of white.
The source? The unassuming Loot House erupted. Not with fire or force, but with a blinding, swirling storm of incandescent white fur, coalescing into a monstrous, bestial silhouette radiating an aura of pure, weaponized winter.
Puck?! Now?! WHAT THE FU—
My passive defenses, the theoretical bulwarks I'd selected – Powered Sustenance making me immune to mundane temperature extremes, Eliminate the Negative supposedly stripping away harmful effects – they buckled. This wasn't weather. This was an attack on a conceptual level, a targeted erasure of heat and life. Freeman's 'freezing resistance' gift felt like offering a paper umbrella against a nuclear blast. It did nothing against this onslaught.
Agony, pure and crystalline, lanced through me. It wasn't just my skin freezing; it felt like my nerves, my blood, the very marrow in my bones were turning to brittle ice. My newly acquired 'athletic' body seized up, muscles locking in protest against the impossible chill.
Survival instinct, primal and overriding, screamed louder than the pain. Move! Fire! Warmth! I threw myself sideways, tumbling behind a pile of rotting wooden crates, the impact jarring my already freezing frame. My teeth chattered violently, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden, deathly stillness.
Fire, my desperate mind pleaded, latching onto the 'Law of Fire' I'd designated as a tertiary study focus for the Idle Trainer. Just a spark! Anything! I thrust a trembling hand towards the debris, pushing with every ounce of nascent, untrained will, trying to access the potential I supposedly possessed.
Fzzt.
A tiny, pathetic orange spark flickered into existence between my frozen knuckles. It glowed feebly for less than a heartbeat, casting no warmth, no light to speak of… and was instantly extinguished by the overwhelming tide of absolute zero. Sucked out of existence like a candle flame in a hurricane.
Useless! The gap between theoretical power and practical ability was terrifyingly vast. I had the blueprints for a fusion reactor, but right now, I couldn't even light a match.
Then the voice came. Not Freeman's mocking tones, but a sound that cracked the very air, booming with the fury of a thousand blizzards and the desolate sorrow of a shattered heart.
"YOU CAN ALL SLEEP." Each word vibrated through my frozen core, a hammer blow of icy despair.
Sleep? Daughter? My freezing brain struggled to connect the dots. Emilia?! Is she… already dead?! Before the story even STARTS?!
"ALONG WITH MY DAUGHTER." Confirmation. Horror warred with the encroaching numbness.
"SINFUL LUGUNICA, WHICH HAS CRUSHED HER DREAMS!"
The last vestiges of resistance failed. The cold wasn't just around me; it was in me, pouring through my conceptual defenses like they were sieves. My vision frosted over, the world dissolving into a fractured mosaic of white. Thoughts slowed, sputtered, died. This was it. Death. Again. Swift, brutal, and utterly overwhelming. My grand debut as a transdimensional being: dead in under sixty seconds. Pathetic.
But… as the final frost claimed my nerves, silencing the frantic staccato of my dying heart, something else flickered. Not conscious thought, not a spell, but pure, animal instinct latching onto the design I'd implemented. The 'Chosen Undead' reset. The bonfire link. The 4 AM anchor.
My fading consciousness, the last spark of 'me' before oblivion, grabbed onto that conceptual thread and yanked. Hard.
Reset! Back! Bonfire! Anchor! NOW!
The world dissolved into a screeching static of temporal distortion and soul-freezing agony.
My eyes snapped open. Gasping. Not from ice, but from the raw, phantom memory of it, overlaid onto the blessedly mundane cool, damp air of the pre-dawn alleyway.
04:00. My internal clock, now definitely active and calibrated via the Idle Trainer, confirmed it instantly. The day before. Before the furry ice-pocalypse.
It worked. Holy living crap, it actually worked. The rewind function. My personal 'get out of death free' card, redeemed via catastrophic failure. Relief flooded me, so potent it buckled my knees, sending me staggering against the grimy brick wall. I sucked in air greedily, each breath a reassurance that I wasn't an ice sculpture.
But the relief was fleeting, instantly chilled by the lingering psychic echo of that absolute cold. It wasn't just a physical memory; it felt like a stain on my soul, a terrifying reminder of the power unleashed just moments (or was it a day?) ago. Freeman's warning echoed again. That wasn't just magic; it was something elemental, overwhelming.
And then the real horror slammed back in.
Subaru Natsuki. Still not here.
This wasn't just a minor deviation. This was the entire plot derailed before the train even left the station. Puck going nuclear on Day One? Emilia (presumably) dead before her insignia quest even began? Subaru, the linchpin, the catalyst, the guy whose suffering was supposed to drive the narrative… completely absent?
My meta-knowledge wasn't just useless; it was a liability, painting a picture of a world that clearly didn't exist anymore. Did my arrival cause this? Did Freeman deliberately break the timeline for his amusement? The questions spiraled, each more alarming than the last.
I took a shaky inventory. Body: functional, surprisingly fit (Handsome perk confirmed, still no mirror). Powers: Theoretically immense, practically useless (Idle Trainer humming patiently, Estus Flask present and real). Survival Mechanic: Functional, but requires dying horribly first. Current Status: Alone, clueless, in a broken timeline potentially far deadlier than the original, armed with the potential for godhood but the current skillset of startled prey.
Okay. I pushed myself off the wall, the damp chill a grounding sensation. Plan. Need a plan.
Survive. Priority number one, by a massive margin. Avoid angry spirits, bowel hunters, and suspicious Appa salesmen.
Information. Figure out what the hell is going on. Why did Puck snap? Confirm Emilia's fate if possible. Find any clue about Subaru's existence or lack thereof.
Learn. That pathetic spark… unacceptable. I needed to access the potential I possessed. The Idle Trainer could simulate, but I needed real understanding, real control. How does the Estus work? How does the 'Law of Time' study translate to actual ability? How do I not die instantly next time?
Get out of this alley. Immediately. Before history decides to loop in a less forgiving way.
Blend in. Find different clothes. Maybe figure out the currency situation. Avoid attention.
Rem… the thought surfaced again, a tiny flicker of warmth in the cold dread. Finding her was still a goal. A long-term goal. Right now, survival was everything. This wasn't the power fantasy playground I'd signed up for. This was hardcore mode, blindfolded, with the difficulty cranked to eleven, and my only cheat code was dying.
Time to move. Cautiously. Quietly. And try very, very hard not to attract the attention of anything that could trigger another premature respawn.