Chapter 1 — Beyond the Script of Creation
I died on an ordinary night.
Rain streaked across the road, smearing the city's lights into something abstract and ugly. I remember thinking that the world looked like it had been poorly rendered, like a background image stretched too far past its resolution.
My name was Amamiya Kaito.
I was twenty-four years old, unemployed in anything that mattered, and painfully average in every measurable way. I had no grand regrets, no burning ambitions, and no one who would scream my name if I disappeared.
When the traffic light turned green, I stepped forward without hesitation.
The horn came too late.
Or maybe I noticed it too late.
The truck filled my vision in a fraction of a second, headlights like twin suns, grille like a wall of steel. I didn't feel fear. There was only the absurd thought that crossed my mind just before impact:
So this is how it ends.
Then everything went white.
There was no pain.
No darkness.
No sense of falling.
I simply… was.
Awareness returned first, floating in something that could not be called space. There was no ground beneath me, no sky above me, no direction at all. It was an endless, boundless void—yet it didn't feel hostile. If anything, it felt indifferent, like a system waiting for input.
I had no body.
No heartbeat.
No breath.
And yet, I was thinking.
I'm dead, I concluded calmly.
Strangely, the realization didn't shake me. Maybe because nothing in my previous life felt unfinished. Maybe because I had always felt like I was waiting for something to end.
"Amamiya Kaito."
The voice didn't echo. It didn't resonate. It simply existed, layered directly into my awareness.
"I assume you understand your situation."
I didn't look around—there was nothing to look at—but my attention focused forward instinctively.
"I was hit by a truck," I replied. "So yes. I'm dead."
A brief pause followed.
"You accept this remarkably quickly."
"There's nothing to argue," I said. "Arguing won't rewind time."
Light gathered before me, condensing from nothing into a vague humanoid silhouette. It had no clear gender, no age, no defining features. Its form shimmered like overlapping layers of reality that refused to settle on a single shape.
"I am a Reincarnation Management Entity," it said. "Designation: Administrator."
"So this is the afterlife?"
"This is not an afterlife," the Administrator corrected. "This is an intermediary processing domain. Souls that meet specific criteria are evaluated here before reassignment."
"Reincarnation," I said.
"Yes."
That word stirred something faint in my mind—memories of anime, novels, stories where people died and woke up in fantasy worlds with magic and monsters. I would have laughed, if laughter were possible here.
"Why me?" I asked.
The Administrator regarded me silently. I could feel its perception sweeping through my entire existence—every memory, every thought, every half-formed regret.
"Your soul exhibits adaptive neutrality," it said. "You lack strong ideological anchors, karmic weight, and existential fixation. Such souls are rare."
"In other words," I said, "I was empty."
"Correct."
I found myself amused.
That was probably the most accurate evaluation of my life anyone had ever made.
"You will be reassigned to a newly stabilized worldline," the Administrator continued. "A high-density magical universe governed by skill-based metaphysical laws."
"…Magic," I repeated. "So it really is one of those worlds."
"Yes. Temporal alignment corresponds approximately to the early post-Creation stabilization period."
That phrase triggered recognition.
"Wait," I said slowly. "Skill-based metaphysics… monsters… magic… Is this world by any chance related to—"
"Tensei Shitara Slime Datta Ken," the Administrator said.
I went silent.
"You're telling me," I said carefully, "that I'm being reincarnated into that world?"
"Yes."
My thoughts raced instantly. Rimuru. Veldora. Skills. Ultimate abilities. The Voice of the World. Veldanava. A setting where power scaled to absurd levels, where the laws of reality themselves were governed by conceptual authority.
"…This sounds dangerous," I said.
"It is," the Administrator replied neutrally. "Which is why you are eligible for pre-reincarnation declarations."
"How many?"
"Three."
I didn't hesitate.
"First," I said, "I want infinite potential for growth. No fixed limits. No ceilings imposed by the world."
"Accepted," the Administrator replied instantly. "Declaration: Unbounded Growth Vector."
I felt something settle into me—not power, but possibility. Like an empty space that could never be filled completely.
"Second," I said, "I want a system. Something that helps me grow steadily. Not instant godhood, but structured progression."
"A system?" the Administrator repeated.
"Yes. Something that interacts with the world's laws. Skills, physics, magic—everything. A framework."
"Accepted," it said. "Declaration: Adaptive Sign-In System."
"Finally," I said, pausing briefly, "I want freedom from predetermination. No fixed destiny. No narrative correction forcing me into a role."
The Administrator regarded me for a long moment.
"…That is a significant request."
"I know," I said. "That's why I'm choosing it."
Silence stretched.
Then—
"Accepted," the Administrator said. "Declaration: Causality Override Privilege (Limited)."
Something fundamental shifted.
I didn't feel stronger.
I felt… unbound.
"Before reincarnation," the Administrator continued, "you will receive additional clarification regarding your system."
"Go on."
"The Daily Sign-In System activates upon reincarnation," it said. "You may sign in three times per day, based on the local world's temporal cycle."
"And what does it give me?"
"Variable rewards," the Administrator replied. "These may include skills, items, knowledge, physical enhancements, metaphysical authorities, or… trivial objects."
"…Trivial objects."
"Yes."
"So I could get an Ultimate Skill," I said, "or a useless rock."
"Correct."
I smiled faintly.
"That sounds fair."
"Be advised," the Administrator added, "the system does not violate causality outright. Growth remains gradual. However, your potential is infinite."
"That's enough," I said.
The light around the Administrator began to fade.
"Your reincarnation point has been selected," it said. "Temporal alignment: approximately simultaneous with the birth of the individual known as Rimuru Tempest."
"Same era," I murmured.
"Correct. You will be reincarnated as a newly generated monster-class entity within the Great Jura Forest."
"And my species?"
"Undetermined. It will be influenced by your soul's structure."
The void began to collapse inward.
"Amamiya Kaito," the Administrator said one final time, "live well. Or do not. This world will not care either way."
The nothingness shattered.
---
I woke up to cold.
Not the sensation of cold air on skin—but the awareness that my entire existence was something alien.
I had a body.
But it wasn't human.
I couldn't breathe, yet I didn't suffocate. I couldn't blink, yet my perception was flawless. I felt the ground beneath me, the dense magical energy saturating the environment.
So this is…
I focused inward.
A voice echoed—not aloud, but within my mind.
[Daily Sign-In System initialized.]
[Host detected.]
[Available sign-ins today: 3.]
"…Well," I thought, "that was fast."
Before I could even process my surroundings, another presence rippled across the world.
Far away, deep within a sealed cave, a newborn slime gained consciousness.
---
(Third-Person POV)
In a subterranean cavern, a newly born slime absorbed its surroundings with innocent curiosity. A sealed Storm Dragon watched with mild amusement, unaware that another anomaly had entered the world at the same moment.
The world's balance shifted—just slightly.
Unnoticed.
For now.
---
Back to me.
I looked down—if "down" was even the right word—and finally understood what I was.
I wasn't slime.
I wasn't humanoid.
I was something… abstract.
A semi-transparent, shifting mass of energy and matter, like condensed mist given form. My shape was unstable, constantly adjusting itself as if testing different configurations.
Interesting, I thought.
I felt no hunger.
No fear.
Only curiosity.
"System," I said mentally. "Sign in."
[Sign-In Successful.]
[Reward Obtained: Basic Spatial Awareness Lv.1.]
"…That's it?"
I tested it immediately—and realized I could now perceive space more clearly. Distances, angles, relative positioning. Not omniscience—just clarity.
"Again," I said.
[Sign-In Successful.]
[Reward Obtained: Minor Regeneration Trait.]
That explained why my form felt so stable.
"One more."
[Sign-In Successful.]
[Reward Obtained: Useless Item — Perfectly Smooth Stone.]
I stared at the small, flawless pebble that appeared beside me.
"…You're kidding."
[Sign-Ins exhausted for today.]
I laughed.
Not out loud—but internally, genuinely.
Overpowered rewards.
Useless rewards.
Three chances per day.
Gradual growth.
A world governed by skills and authority.
And somewhere not too far away, a slime named Rimuru was beginning a journey that would reshape history.
I wasn't destined to replace him.
I wasn't destined to follow him.
I was something else.
Something unbound.
As magical energy surged gently around me, I felt the infinite space inside my soul stir for the first time.
This time, I thought, I won't live an empty life.
And somewhere, beyond even the awareness of gods, causality itself paused—uncertain of what I would become.