Chapter 1: The Karma of a Forgotten Life
The beeping was the first to go.
It had been the metronome of Kevin Manuel's existence for the better part of three years, a steady, electronic heartbeat that measured out the dwindling seconds of his life. Its absence was more deafening than any alarm. For a moment, there was only the shallow, ragged sound of his own breathing, a desperate and failing machine. Then, that too, stuttered and ceased.
There was no pain. That was the first surprise. The agony that had been his constant companion, a fire chewing through his nerves and bones, simply vanished. The second surprise was the sight of his own body, a skeletal frame lost in the sterile white sheets of the hospital bed. His face, pale and gaunt, with eyes sunken into dark, bruised sockets, held a peace it had never known in life.
So, that's it, he thought, the observation detached, clinical. Fifteen years, and it ends with a silent monitor.
He expected a tunnel of light, perhaps, or the faces of long-departed relatives. Instead, the hospital room dissolved. The white walls bled away into an infinite, starless grey. The bed beneath him vanished, and yet, he was not falling. He was simply… present. Suspended in a vacuum of nothingness. It wasn't cold, nor was it warm. It was devoid of temperature, of sound, of everything but his own consciousness.
This was the Void.
Time became a meaningless concept. It could have been seconds or centuries that he floated there, his mind adrift. He thought of his life, not with a sweeping, cinematic nostalgia, but with the sharp, fragmented clarity of someone reviewing a case file.
He remembered the beginning, the strange fatigue that no amount of sleep could cure. The doctors, first puzzled, then concerned, then grim. The diagnosis: a novel, aggressive carcinoma they designated as Stage 7. It wasn't just cancer; it was a harbinger. It triggered a cascade of other rare, undocumented conditions—a perfect storm of cellular betrayal that medical science had no names for, let alone cures.
He saw his parents' faces, etched with love and fear. The first year, they were pillars. His mother reading him fantasy novels, his father setting up a small TV to play all the anime and movies Kevin had missed. They fought for him, their hope a bright, burning thing.
Then, the second year. The hope began to dim, eroded by the relentless tide of his deterioration. The medical bills, even with government funding, were a crushing weight. The emotional toll was heavier. He saw the light in his mother's eyes flicker and die, replaced by a hollow exhaustion. His father's shoulders, once so broad, became stooped, burdened by a future that held only loss.
The day they stopped coming was etched into his memory with acid. There was no dramatic fight, no tearful goodbye. It was a Tuesday. His mother had called, her voice a thin, brittle wire. "Kevin, sweetie… the doctors say we need to… to focus on our own stability. The government will take care of you. They have the best…"
He had hung up before she finished. He understood. They had run out of hope, and in doing so, they had run out of love. Or perhaps, the love remained, but it was no longer enough to power the grueling machinery of his dying. The government, intrigued by his unique biological cocktail, had declared him a "case of national scientific interest." They covered everything. He became a ward of the state, a specimen in a sterile room, his body a labyrinth for the brightest minds to get lost in.
He didn't blame his parents. Not really. In the countless hours spent reading manga like Oyasumi Punpun or diving into the psychological depths of novels like The Three-Body Problem, he had learned a cruel truth: people have a finite capacity for suffering, both their own and others'. His had simply exceeded their limit.
He lived his last years in a strange isolation, visited only by nurses and teams of soft-spoken researchers who took his blood, his tissue, his DNA with a reverence that was almost religious. He was their tragic Rosetta Stone, a boy made of questions. He filled the emptiness with worlds beyond his own—the intricate power systems of Hunter x Hunter, the brutal political machinations of A Song of Ice and Fire, the cosmic horrors of Lovecraft. These stories were his real family, their characters his companions. They taught him to be calm in the face of the absurd, sarcastic in the face of the tragic, and to trust no one, for even the noblest heroes had their breaking points.
And now, he was here. In the Nothing.
"A fascinating outcome."
The voice did not echo. It had no source, no direction. It was simply there, a statement woven into the fabric of the Void itself. It was neither male nor female, young nor old. It was a voice of pure concept.
Kevin felt no fear, only a weary curiosity. "Is it?" his thought-voice responded. "I suppose from a certain point of view, being dead is more interesting than dying."
"A pragmatic perspective," the Being acknowledged. A form began to coalesce from the grey, not a shape, but a focal point, a place for his consciousness to rest its gaze. It was a shimmering, formless nexus of potential, like a star that had forgotten how to shine. "But it is not your death that is fascinating, Kevin Manuel. It is the consequence of your life."
"Right. The consequence of my life was a fifteen-year-long train wreck that ended in a sterile room. Very fascinating."
"Your sarcasm is a shield I have seen many times," the Being replied, its tone utterly neutral, devoid of judgment or impatience. "It does not change the facts. Your body, your very genetic code, was a unique anomaly. The diseases that consumed you were keys to biological locks humanity did not even know existed. The research conducted on your tissue, your blood, your DNA… it provided the foundational understanding to synthesize cures for ninety-nine percent of all known human diseases."
The information landed not with a bang, but with a profound, unsettling silence. Kevin processed it. All the poking, the prodding, the endless samples… it had meant something.
"So, my suffering was a down payment for the salvation of billions?" he asked, his mental voice flat. "I suppose I should feel proud. Or used. I'm not sure which."
"It is not a transaction," the Being stated. "It is a matter of Karma. A cosmic balance. Your existence, though brief and filled with pain, generated an immense positive karmic resonance across the fabric of your reality. That energy is now yours to wield."
"Karma," Kevin repeated. The concept felt too grand, too spiritual for his cynical worldview. "And what does one do with a fortune in cosmic currency?"
"Reincarnation," the Being said simply. "A new life, in a new reality, of your choosing. Your Karma grants you this privilege. You will not be cast adrift into the cycle unaware. You will have agency."
For the first time since the beeping stopped, Kevin felt a spark. Not of hope, perhaps, but of interest. A new life. A chance to be someone else, somewhere else. To feel a sun that wasn't filtered through a hospital window, to breathe air that didn't smell of antiseptic.
"I'm listening," Kevin said, the sarcasm receding, replaced by a calculating focus. "Tell me about the process. What are the rules? The limitations?"
"The mechanism is a Wheel," the Being explained. "A cosmic engine of possibility. Upon it are inscribed the signatures of countless realities, infinite in their variety. You will spin it. The reality upon which it stops will be your destination."
Kevin's mind, so well-stocked with fictional worlds, immediately began to race. The possibilities were literally endless. "And once I arrive? Do I start as a baby? A fully-formed adult? Do I keep my memories?"
"You will be born anew into that world, with your current consciousness and memories intact, though they may remain dormant until your mind is developed enough to contain them. This is a standard safeguard."
"Good. I'd hate to have to relearn object permanence." He paused, his thoughts sharpening. "You said 'privilege.' A privilege implies an advantage beyond just a new ticket. What's the boon?"
"Perceptive," the Being noted, a flicker of what might have been approval in its concept-voice. "Your Karma is sufficient for one significant boon. A gift to aid your journey in the new world. Its nature is often tied to the reality you select."
This was the negotiation. This was where he could stack the deck. He had read enough isekai to know the importance of a good starting gift. "I want to know more. Show me the Wheel."
The Void shifted. The grey nothingness swirled and condensed, forming a vast, impossible structure before him. It was a wheel, but its circumference was not a solid line; it was a shimmering ribbon of countless, shifting realities. He saw glimpses, fleeting and dizzying: a man in a trench coat battling with tentacles of shadow; a universe where a boy with a strange watch faced down alien monstrosities; a gothic nightmare of endless war where there was only the laughter of thirsting gods; a land of ice and fire where political intrigue was deadlier than any sword; a young boy with a fox spirit sealed within him; a world where artists battled with brushes that brought their creations to life. The names came to him as he focused: Lord of the Mysteries, Shadow Slave, Warhammer 40k, Game of Thrones, Naruto, Re:Creators… It was an infinite catalog of every story he had ever loved and countless more he had never imagined.
"Any of them," the Being said. "Fate, guided by your Karma, will make the choice."
"Then let's not keep Fate waiting," Kevin said, a strange excitement bubbling up through his calm exterior. With a thought, he reached out and set the Cosmic Wheel spinning.
It moved with a silent, majestic grace, the ribbon of realities blurring into a kaleidoscope of cosmic potential. He watched, his consciousness fixed on the pointer, a simple spike of solidified void. He saw worlds of high magic and deep space fly by. He saw worlds of subtle intrigue and worlds of raw, brutal power. His mind whispered hopes for certain ones—the intellectual challenge of Lord of the Mysteries, the familiar shonen path of Naruto—but he forced himself to be passive. This was a lottery. Hope was a sucker's bet.
The Wheel began to slow. The blur resolved back into distinct, flashing images. It ticked past a world of Titans, past a world of Quirks, past a world of Pillars… and then, it stopped.
The image that settled under the pointer was stark and potent. A world of modern cities and ancient curses. A boy with spiky black hair and a fox-like curse residing within him. A world where negative emotions fermented into monsters, and a hidden society of sorcerers battled them in the shadows. A world of Domains, of powerful clans, and a single, overwhelming figure who stood at the pinnacle.
Jujutsu Kaisen.
"A world of Cursed Energy," the Being intoned. "A reality where human negativity is given form and power. A dangerous existence, balanced on a knife's edge."
Kevin absorbed it. It was a harsh world, but one with a clear, if brutal, power system. He could work with this.
"Your boon, Kevin Manuel, is tied to this world's structure. You may choose to be born into one of its three Major Sorcerer Clans: the Gojo Clan, the Zenin Clan, or the Kamo Clan. This will grant you a potent bloodline and a high chance of inheriting powerful innate traits."
His choice was immediate. It wasn't even a debate. The Zenin were a nest of vipers, obsessed with a single inherited technique. The Kamo were known for their blood manipulation, powerful but limited. The Gojo Clan, however, had produced him: Satoru Gojo, the strongest. The man with the Six Eyes and the Limitless. To be born into that lineage was to be born with a chance, however slim, at the very top.
"The Gojo Clan," Kevin stated without hesitation.
"Acknowledged. The year of your birth will be 2001." A significant date. It would make him a contemporary of the key players, born just a few years before the main events would begin to unfold. He would have time to learn, to grow.
"Now, for the second part of your boon," the Being continued. "You have the unique opportunity to design your own Cursed Technique. It must be balanced. It cannot grant you infinite power instantly, nor godlike abilities from the moment of your birth. This is to maintain the fundamental laws of that reality. You must create it, and I will judge its viability."
This was it. The core of his advantage. He couldn't rely on luck to grant him the Six Eyes or some other legendary ability. He had to build his own foundation, something that could not only compete but potentially surpass the established powers. His mind, sharpened by years of analyzing complex power systems across every medium, went to work.
He thought of the core mechanics of Jujutsu. Cursed Energy. Innate Techniques. The importance of reserves, versatility, and adaptability. He thought of his own nature—a consumer of worlds, a collector of knowledge in his past life. He would make a technique that reflected that. A technique of accumulation, of growth through consumption. But it needed a severe limitation, a cost heavy enough to be "balanced" in the eyes of this cosmic arbiter.
After a long, silent moment, he spoke, his thought-voice crisp and clear.
"I have it. I call it Devouring Genesis."
He laid it out, piece by piece. The core ability: to absorb the Cursed Energy of any defeated curse, permanently increasing his own reserves, and to copy the Cursed Technique of any curse by consuming its core. The method for copying a sorcerer's technique: consuming a small amount of their blood. The built-in purification, ensuring the energy he absorbed was stable and his own.
Then, he introduced the crucial limitation.
"However," Kevin continued, "I can only process and assimilate a maximum of three Cursed Techniques at one time. The assimilation process will take two full years. During those two years, I will be unable to use any Cursed Technique—not my own, not the ones I'm assimilating, not any I already possess. I will be effectively a non-sorcerer, reliant solely on my base Cursed Energy reinforcement for survival. Once the two years are complete, the techniques become permanently imprinted, and the slots are freed up for new acquisitions."
He finished, presenting the entire system. It was a technique of delayed gratification, of immense potential power shackled by periods of extreme vulnerability. It rewarded strategy, patience, and survival above all else.
The Being was silent for a time, contemplating the structure Kevin had proposed.
"A technique of profound potential," it finally said. "It allows for a path to nigh-godhood, a collection of abilities that could, in theory, rival any in that universe. Yet, the limitation is severe. Two years of mortal vulnerability for every set of three techniques is a significant price, a true crucible. It prevents instant dominance and forces a cycle of growth, consolidation, and risk. It is… balanced. It is allowed."
A wave of relief, so profound it was almost physical, washed through Kevin's consciousness. He had done it. He had secured his future.
He spent what felt like an eternity more talking with the Being, asking smaller questions about the nature of the Jujutsu world, confirming details. He wasn't seeking an unfair advantage, just clarity. He was a strategist preparing for a new game.
Finally, he felt a pulling sensation. The Void around him began to shimmer, the greyness brightening into a blinding, warm light.
"It is time, Kevin Manuel," the Being's voice echoed, growing distant. "Your Karma is spent, your path is set. Go, and may your second life be happier than your first."
As his consciousness began to unravel, preparing for its journey into a new vessel, a genuine, unburdened smile formed in the heart of his being. It was a smile his face had forgotten how to make.
"Thanks," he thought, a simple, sincere word sent out into the dissolving cosmos. "I think it will be."
And then, there was only light.