Darkness.
Dirk thought he was gone—erased like a character at the end of a story no one finished reading. No afterlife. No more Netflix binges. No more wishing he was someone else.
Then—air.
His lungs expanded violently, dragging in oxygen like he was drowning seconds ago. His body jolted upright. His heart hammered—not weak, tired beats like before, but thunder in his chest.
Dirk gasped.
He wasn't in his apartment anymore. No dim monitor glow, no energy drink cans stacked like a shrine to bad decisions. Instead, he sat on a bed that smelled faintly of pine and old wood. A wooden ceiling stretched above, beams crossing like ribs. Morning light spilled through a cracked window, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air.
"…Where the hell—?"
His voice caught him off guard. It was deeper. Stronger. He blinked and stared at his hands.
They weren't his.
Or rather, they were—but improved. Perfect. Thick veins traced along muscular forearms. His fingers looked like they belonged to a fighter, calloused but steady. His skin was healthy, warm.
Dirk scrambled to his feet, nearly stumbling as his perspective shifted. The floor felt closer than it should, the ceiling farther away. The bed that had seemed normal when he sat on it now looked like a child's furniture set.
He swallowed. "No way…"
The mirror across the room beckoned him. He approached slowly, each creak of the floorboards echoing like footsteps in a church.
And then he saw himself.
Gone was the scrawny loner with messy hair and hollow eyes. The reflection staring back at him looked like something carved from legend—sharp jawline, feral eyes, a body sculpted as if by gods. His black hair fell wild but strangely fitting. His shoulders were massive, his chest thick, arms coiled with muscle dense enough to break stone. He looked like Toji Fushiguro with the body of Baki Hanma.
And taller. Much taller.
Dirk's mouth went dry. "…I look like a monster."
Not fear. Not disgust. Awe.
He clenched his fist and felt the tendons flex like steel cables. Power hummed in every cell, vibrating beneath his skin. It wasn't adrenaline. It wasn't imagination. It was real.
A thought surfaced—not from logic, but instinct. Fly.
Before he could stop himself, his feet lifted an inch from the ground. His body floated, perfectly balanced, as if gravity itself bent around him. Dirk panicked and dropped with a thud, the wooden floor groaning under his weight.
He laughed nervously. "I… I can actually fly."
The laugh turned into a grin. He couldn't help it. Years of dreaming, wishing, pretending—now reality bent to him.
Curiosity struck. He reached for the bedpost. His grip was gentle. He squeezed.
CRACK.
The wood snapped like chalk. Splinters scattered across the floor. Dirk froze, staring at the broken piece in his hand.
"…I barely touched it."
He flexed again, adrenaline surging. His muscles thrummed with energy, begging for release. His mind raced through possibilities: lifting cars, breaking walls, flying through clouds, fighting gods.
Then a sobering thought hit.
If I'm this strong already… what happens when I grow?
The realization was both exhilarating and terrifying. ROB hadn't lied—his growth had no limit. No ceiling. He was a Viltrumite, but beyond any weakness the comics had ever shown.
Dirk pressed his palm against the mirror, staring into his own eyes.
"This… is my second life." His voice was steady now, full of conviction. "I won't waste it. Not this time."
His stomach growled violently, ruining the moment.
Dirk blinked, then chuckled. "Guess even supermen get hungry."
He looked around the room again. A set of neatly folded clothes lay across a chair. Black slacks, a crisp shirt, and a blazer marked with a crest he didn't recognize—a raven embroidered in silver thread.
The sight tugged at his memory. The crest… Nevermore Academy.
Dirk's breath caught. "Wait… ROB didn't just reincarnate me randomly."
He was in Wednesday's world.
The thought sent chills down his spine. This wasn't a dream, wasn't a simulation. He was in a world he had once only binged on a screen. A world with Wednesday Addams, monsters, mysteries, and now—him.
He slipped on the clothes. They fit snugly across his massive frame, though the blazer strained against his broad shoulders. Dirk adjusted the cuffs and glanced once more at the mirror.
Not the lonely nerd anymore. Not a wasted life.
He straightened his collar. For the first time, he liked the man staring back.
Dirk Sanchez. Royal Viltrumite. Godly Talent. Immortal Will.
And this was only the beginning.
With a deep breath, he whispered, "Let's see what this world has for me."
And with steps that shook the wooden floor, Dirk walked toward the door—toward Nevermore Academy, toward Wednesday Addams, toward destiny.