Shinzo had long forgotten what a "normal life" felt like.
His room was his kingdom, his fortress, his coffin. The curtains never opened, the air smelled faintly of instant noodles and cheap coffee, and the glow of a monitor was his only sun.
Outside that door, the world demanded things from him—things he could never give.
His parents wanted him to be "normal." His relatives compared him to cousins who graduated, married, or got good jobs. His co-workers from his short-lived stints in retail and kitchens whispered behind his back, wondering how someone could be so withdrawn. People called him lazy, ungrateful, or broken.
They never understood.
Work had felt like a cage. His family's expectations were shackles.
And Shinzo, tired of proving himself to a world that spat in his face, simply stopped playing their game.
Instead, he built a new life.
By the glow of his screen, he learned how to make money online—freelance writing gigs, selling digital art, flipping in-game accounts, the occasional crypto gamble. Enough to keep food delivered, the internet running, and his world spinning. He never needed more. He didn't want more.
Because his joy didn't come from handshakes, promotions, or family dinners.
It came from stories.
From anime. From games. From characters who carried the weight of the world, who suffered, who fought against fate.
When he watched Itachi, he envied the tragic nobility. When he saw Obito, he resonated with the bitterness, the desire to reshape reality. And in the shadows of villains and anti-heroes, Shinzo found a truth:
"If only I were someone else… someone powerful… someone who could do whatever they wanted, without chains."
He laughed bitterly at the thought. Reality wasn't a shōnen series. In the real world, he wasn't Itachi, Obito, or Muzan.
He was just Shinzo—a nobody who hid from the world.
It happened quietly.
One night, after a marathon of anime episodes and a game session that stretched into dawn, Shinzo felt a heaviness in his chest. He coughed, clutching his ribs, trying to breathe—but the air wouldn't come. His vision blurred, dark spots eating the edges.
His last thought as he slumped from his chair wasn't of family, or regrets, or apologies.
It was of her.
The dark, mysterious girl he'd always adored on-screen.
Raven.
"I wish… I could meet her… just once…"
And then, silence.
When he opened his eyes, it wasn't his dim room or his cluttered desk he saw.
It was… light. Endless, blinding light, and a figure seated on what looked like a throne sculpted from stars. A presence so vast, Shinzo couldn't even define it as male or female—it was simply godly.
"Welcome, Shinzo," the being said, its voice resonating inside his skull. "Your life has ended. But your story… has not."
Shinzo blinked. "…So, what, I get reincarnated? Is this the part where you tell me I was a good boy all along?"
The being chuckled softly. "No judgment awaits you. No heaven or hell. I am simply giving you… a choice. You may rest, and your soul will dissolve into nothing. Or… you may live again. In a world not your own. Free. Powerful. And unshackled."
Shinzo's lips curved into a weak smirk. "…You sound like a gacha game banner."
"Three wishes," the god said. "That is the limit of my gift. What you ask for now will shape the rest of your existence."
Shinzo didn't even hesitate. For once in his life, clarity struck him.
"One: I want the body and powers of Muzan Kibutsuji, perfected. No weakness to the sun, no hunger for flesh—just blood. Pure, unstoppable power."
The god's eyes gleamed with interest. "Done."
"Two: I want the ability to grow endlessly stronger, through my own will and through demonic magic. I don't want limits. I don't want to be crushed by gods or heroes."
"Granted."
"And three…" Shinzo paused. His smirk softened into something almost vulnerable. "Send me to the DC world. Where Raven exists. Not just comics or anime—her world. That's where I want to live."
The god studied him for a long time before speaking again. "So be it. But know this—her world is not kind. Its demons and angels will not bow easily. Your path will be filled with blood and war."
Shinzo chuckled. "Sounds like the kind of game I'd actually want to play."
Light enveloped him, searing through every nerve. His black hair bled into white, his frail body reshaping into something inhumanly perfect. His heart, once sluggish, now thundered with a demonic rhythm.
When the light faded, Shinzo was gone.
And in his place…
stood Muzan.
The Demon King reborn.