In a dimly lit room, the only source of light came from the glowing screen of a high-end computer. A man sat before it, dressed in soft sleeping pajamas, reading the latest chapter of Dragon Ball Super. His hair was neat and tidy, and the room around him reflected the dream of every die-hard otaku: a luxurious king-sized bed made from the softest materials, walls lined with rare Dragon Ball figurines—including a limited-edition Goku mid-Kamehameha.
Sigh
"Well, that's it. I'm all caught up with the manga... Now what? I'm out of good fanfics too," he muttered, resting his head on one hand, staring at nothing in particular. With no board meeting scheduled for tomorrow, he was left completely idle—not that it mattered. He had already achieved his life's major goals: becoming a multimillionaire and ensuring his family's happiness.
Yet, despite all his success, there remained a constant itch—an unshakable yearning for something... supernatural. A craving he'd carried for as long as he could remember. Something beyond his wealth, beyond his control. Even if it meant sacrificing some of his success, he longed for something that could make his dull, predictable life interesting.
That familiar thought echoed through his mind for what felt like the millionth time. And so, on impulse, he decided to start a new Dragon Ball fanfic, titling it: Dragon Ball: Rise to Power.
"I guess it's time to make something that'll keep me from going insane with boredom," he thought, smirking bitterly. "Better to write fanfic than do something reckless I'll regret later, especially with this much power at my fingertips."
Lately, destructive thoughts had been tempting him more and more. His life—despite being rich, secure, and respected—felt increasingly meaningless. It reminded him of how Saitama felt after becoming too strong, except his own version of that power was wealth and political influence rather than physical might.
Just as he finished laying down the first chapter, a wave of frustration washed over him. Thinking about Goku—always challenged, always growing—sparked something deep inside. A jealousy. A rage. In a sudden outburst, he smashed the side of his computer, sending it teetering. Why was his world so... dull? Goku never had time to feel empty or useless—he was always pushed forward by new threats, new goals. Meanwhile, most people in the real world barely had time to think between struggling with family, finances, and survival.
He had tried to help. Donating five percent of his net worth to causes worldwide. He wasn't a saint—but neither was he the kind of demon who ignored his conscience or crushed those beneath him for more power. He followed his faith—imperfectly, but sincerely. Unlike others in his social circle who mocked religion, claiming its followers only used it as a moral crutch, he believed that even trying to do some good was better than apathy.
"At least trying is better than nothing," he thought. "Better than not giving a damn about anyone else."
That thought gave him a fleeting sense of peace. He leaned back and let the stillness settle over him, deciding to call it a night.
But he didn't notice the blood-red words flickering onto his screen:
"ANOTHER UNFINISHED STORY BY THIS AUTHOR. I'VE HAD ENOUGH. IF HE WON'T FINISH ONE, THEN I'LL MAKE HIM. HIS LIFE IS NOW THE STORY, AND THE STAKE IS HIS OWN EXISTENCE."
"LET'S SEE HOW HE LIKES FEELING EMPTY—LIKE I DID, WAITING FOR HIM TO FINISH. HE PROMISED HE'D BE BACK. SAID THERE WAS AN EMERGENCY. THEN HE DROPPED A NEW STORY INSTEAD. WITHOUT EVEN A WORD."
Just like that, the screen pulsed—and something began.
The blood-red words on the screen began to ripple—then burst from the monitor, crawling through the air like living things. They wrapped themselves around the man, snaking over his skin and clothes, transforming into glowing runes like those seen in ancient magic tomes or fantasy games.
He didn't have time to react.
In the next instant, the runes pulsed with blinding light—And then came the explosion.
Blood sprayed across the room. Flesh and bone vanished in an instant, erased as though reality itself had rejected him.
All that remained was a glowing, blue sphere—floating silently in the place where the man once sat.
It hovered for only a second before being sucked into a sudden rift—a tear in the fabric of reality that opened and closed without a sound.
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