It seems I was killed after being stabbed by the stalker I had once considered to be like a younger sister, and somehow I was reincarnated.
Wow, that was a mouthful. And no, I'm not joking when I say I've been reincarnated. My state of mind hasn't exactly settled from the confusion, so I'd appreciate it if you'd save your comments until after I finish. Otherwise, it might sound too wild if you interrupt me. Ahem, let me explain from the beginning…
First, my name. I used to be called Kisaragi Ren. However, since I've been reincarnated, let's leave it as "Nameless" for now.
I have a bit of a lapse in memory, but I recall this much: after a hard day of work, some colleagues invited me out for drinks. I accepted, and we went tavern hopping.
Since the next day was a holiday, even those with no tolerance for alcohol kept drinking until morning. I even ended up carrying a colleague home, since she was too drunk to walk on her own.
She fell asleep, and I didn't want to wake her, so I laid her on the bed. My constitution — and my love for alcohol — far surpassed hers. At that time, I had the urge to drink while admiring the full moon. Or so I thought… until I opened the fridge.
The bottom shelf — the one that should've been packed with beer, chūhai, and all sorts of drinks — was empty.
Yesterday, I had finished my entire stock, planning to restock today… had it not been for my colleagues' invitation. I had completely forgotten.
Yes, it was the greatest mistake of my life to have emptied the shelf yesterday. If only I had saved at least one.
No, no… let's not dwell. Let's move the story forward.
Since I absolutely wanted to drink sake, I went to a nearby convenience store — open twenty-four hours — bought five beers, and headed home.
Summer was approaching, yet the night air was still chilly. The full moon, suspended in the clear sky, was beautiful.
Even the clouds slightly veiling it gave a pleasant touch. Indeed, drinking sake beneath the silver moon would make the taste even better than usual.
As I thought about my drink, I noticed a figure standing under a streetlight.
A pretty girl. A face I recognized immediately.
She was what the general public would call… a "stalker."
My stalker was Amamiya Saki, a college student in the local area. She was twenty years old — five years younger than me.
Our relationship isn't exactly what you'd call "normal." Back in my third year of high school, I saw a group of delinquents harassing a girl — the very same person I would later come to know as Saki. She was barely twelve or thirteen at the time. I stepped in, and from that moment, our fates became tangled together.
Well, to say that I "helped" might not be the most accurate phrasing.
Compared to the man I am now, I was still a coward back then. Anyone could see she was being harassed, yet the bystanders pretended not to notice. Pathetic.
At the time, I had no awakened abilities — no special edge. My options were simple: help her, or run.
By fortune — or misfortune — I happened to possess a military-grade stun baton. A birthday gift from my uncle, a weapons enthusiast. He worked with small companies tied to larger defense networks, which made it easy for him to get such things. Those corporations were all under the shadow of one giant: Nexus Arms.
Nexus was already infamous across the world for its weapon designs, my baton among them.
Back then, I didn't have the guts to actually use such a dangerous weapon. It just sat in my room, untouched — more decoration than tool.
That changed when one of my uncle's eccentric friends insisted on seeing it. Shortly after, I got an email saying he was already on his way.
The message included a meeting place, so I decided to go. I brought the nightstick so he could see it the moment he arrived.
Which led to what I remember now.
Though I'd been a coward, I used the military nightstick on the delinquents harassing the girl. I can still recall the odd lightness that came from defending someone pretty from harm.
After bashing them from behind, they turned furious—but no weapon could match a nightstick. A few more strikes and they were sprawled on the floor, foaming and twitching. I grabbed the panicking girl's hand and dragged her to safety.
I was very young then.
Driven by curiosity and a reckless whim, I'd performed a brutal little experiment on those delinquents while rescuing Saki. After that day her attachment to me grew slowly but steadily. It wasn't long before Amamiya Saki became my stalker.
At first it wasn't severe. It escalated after I started working at my current job—she even followed me on business trips to other planets. When dealing with a stalker, one must speak as casually as possible, no matter how much they invade your life.
What I've told you so far may not make sense yet, but once I explain how I died, everything will fall into place.
After buying the alcohol I ran into Saki on my way home. It would've been convenient to call it a coincidence, but under the streetlamp she gave off a black aura—nothing like her usual puppy-like self—so I only tilted my head in confusion.
Saki, even as a stalker, was like a younger sister to me; because of that, I noticed the strange atmosphere and called out to her.
No answer. Her face stayed downcast.
A cold unease crawled up my spine. Even so, I stepped closer to find out why. Before I could react, a sheath knife plunged into my abdomen.
My body was tough and the wound should've been treatable with regenerative care, but the rotating blade—aimed to gouge my organs—sent a pain that was impossible to ignore.
If it had been an ordinary metal blade, I wouldn't have died. But the knife Saki used was the Tsuyodenka: a B-rank ceremonial blade fitted with a thunder property, manufactured by Nexus Arms. Ironically, it was the same firm connected to my uncle's contacts. In plain terms, it's a single-molecule cutter with the shock of a high-voltage taser. Tiny blades along its edge spin like a chainsaw at insane speed; once activated, a surge runs through the victim and movement is temporarily paralyzed. It's military-grade equipment.
I didn't even have time to wonder why Saki owned such a thing. I was shoved down, restrained, and the blade struck me again and again. The blood I spat tasted metallic and excessive as it tore through flesh. Every penetration felt like meat and bone being shredded; crimson painted everything.
Before I realized it, Saki's slender frame, riding atop me, was soaked in my blood.
I'd undergone reinforcement surgery and surpassed ordinary humans because of my work—yet I was killed by Saki, a civilian. How could this be? The Tsuyodenka, that cursed ceremonial blade, might be monstrous, but was it truly enough to destroy a strengthened body? Could a surprise attack alone have broken my stance? Even if the high-voltage current paralyzed my movements, was that all it took?
Regret and disbelief crowded my mind.
Saki's blood-streaked silhouette was seared into my vision; it was too striking to hold clear detail.
Oh well.
In short: I was killed. Killed by Saki.
A mortal wound doesn't always heal, even with regenerative treatment. The last image I kept was the knife's tip sliding toward my eye—toward my brain, that singular, irreplaceable organ. After my skull was torn open, my consciousness bled into darkness.
But the story didn't stop there. Reincarnation hadn't started yet. My awareness stayed stubbornly intact until I noticed the change. I remembered that final scene before everything shut down. No—didn't I die? Was it a dream, or was I still drunk? I pushed those thoughts away; the answer came cold and reflexive.
I had been killed—sure as anything. I could still recall the electric current coursing through me and the chill of the Strong Electric Fang cutting my chest. This was no illusion. And yet I lived. Why? I wanted to know that myself. As the thought formed, my heavy eyelids opened.
There it was — the thing I'd been dreading and, absurdly, half-expecting: something grotesque enough to convince me I'd been reincarnated. Concrete proof, stamped across my vision.
Oh—sorry. Suddenly sleepy. This doesn't end here; I'll continue tomorrow. It wasn't the blackness of death I felt, just exhaustion — the kind that eats your edges clean.