His chest burned, every breath shallow and painful as if knives were stabbing his lungs with each inhale. His vision blurred, whether from the thick smoke or the sheer exhaustion creeping into his body, he wasn't sure. The acrid scent of fire and charred metal filled his nose, mixing with the distant, panicked screams that were growing fainter by the second.
Dying. He was actually dying.
How the hell had it come to this? One moment, he was minding his own business, another faceless nobody in the crowd, and the next, everything was fire and chaos. Some lunatic had decided to take out an entire train station, and lucky him—he got a front-row seat to the aftermath. The rubble pinning his body made sure of that.
What a joke.
A humorless chuckle forced its way past his cracked lips. Of course, it would end like this. He was nothing special, just some guy drifting through life without any real direction. No family. No future. No reason to keep going even if he somehow survived this. The only things that ever gave him some sense of joy were anime, working out, and the fleeting escapism they offered.
And now? Now, he wouldn't even get to see how it all ended.
"Shit…" he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. He still hadn't seen Luffy become Pirate King. Still didn't know if Ash ever became a Pokémon Champion. And Naruto—was Boruto even worth watching? Probably not.
The heat surged around him, flames licking at the edges of his vision. It wouldn't be long now. His body was weak, growing heavier with every passing second. He wanted to scream, curse the unfairness of it all, but what was the point? This was it.
Then, just as the darkness began to take him, a voice—no, a presence—pierced through the haze.
"Do you wish to live?"
His breath hitched.
For a moment, all pain, all sound, all sensation vanished. His vision cleared in an instant, no longer filled with fire and wreckage, but instead, an infinite black void. Floating before him was an ethereal screen, glowing softly with crimson red letters.
His first thought?
Yeah, he'd definitely lost his damn mind.
He stared at the screen, mind struggling to keep up. Was this some kind of near-death hallucination? The smoke getting to him? Maybe this was what people meant when they talked about seeing their life flash before their eyes.
But… if this was real—if this was an actual choice—then…
His fingers twitched, his lips parting ever so slightly.
"Yeah," he breathed. "I want to live."
[ACCEPTED.]
The last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him whole was the screen flashing one final message.
WELCOME, RENJIRO.
His consciousness swam through an endless void, weightless and adrift in something vast, unknowable. For a second—or maybe an eternity—there was nothing. No sound. No pain. Just an empty stillness that wrapped around him like a cocoon.
Then, air.
His lungs expanded in a deep gasp, and his eyes snapped open as he bolted upright. His hands clutched at his chest, expecting fire, expecting agony—but there was nothing. No crushed ribs, no suffocating weight. Just… warmth. A cool breeze brushed against his skin, and the scent of fresh air, wood, and something faintly nostalgic filled his nose.
His breath steadied as he took in his surroundings. He wasn't lying in a burning train station or floating in some limbo between life and death. No, he was in a room—his room. Or at least, that's what his gut told him. A simple but well-furnished apartment, complete with a bed, wooden floors, and a desk stacked with scrolls and supplies. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft golden rays over the space.
He swallowed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His body felt… different. Lighter, stronger. More alive than he had ever felt before. His bare feet touched the cool wood, and instinctively, he pushed himself up. The movement was effortless, like his body had been tuned to perfection, each muscle responding with precise control.
What the hell happened to me?
His eyes caught a glimpse of something in the corner—a standing mirror. His feet moved before his brain caught up, carrying him towards it with an anxious energy thrumming in his veins. As he stood before the glass, his breath hitched.
That wasn't his face.
Well, it was, but… not exactly. His features were sharper, more refined, his jawline cut like stone, his hair longer, wilder, darker. His eyes—brilliant green—glowed faintly under the light, brimming with power he could feel thrumming beneath his skin. His physique was something out of a fantasy—lean, muscular, perfectly proportioned. It was like he had been sculpted into the ideal version of himself, no imperfections, no weakness.
Slowly, he raised a hand, watching his reflection mimic the movement. His fingers flexed, the power surging through him humming in response. He exhaled, running a hand through his thick, dark hair.
This wasn't just a new body. This was something more.
A slow grin crept onto his face.
"Okay," he muttered, his voice carrying a depth and strength he wasn't used to. "Now this… is interesting."
Ren turned away from the mirror, his pulse steadying as the initial shock faded. Alright. He wasn't dreaming, hallucinating, or dead. He was here, wherever here was, and his body felt amazing. Now, he needed to figure out what the hell was going on.
His eyes landed on a wooden closet beside his bed. Might as well start with the basics. He walked over and pulled it open, revealing a neatly arranged selection of clothes—shinobi gear, casual outfits, even a few traditional robes. His fingers brushed over the fabric, each one feeling new yet familiar at the same time.
After a moment, he grabbed a black, high-collared shirt and a pair of dark pants, slipping into them with ease. He fastened a green sash around his waist and found a pair of black shinobi sandals that fit perfectly. He had to admit, the look suited him.
Just as he adjusted his sleeves, a soft, melodic voice echoed behind him.
"My, my~ You certainly look good in those, Ren."
He froze.