He didn't die because of monsters.
That was the joke.
In his first life, the world was painfully normal. No curses. No jujutsu. No hidden societies fighting in the dark. Just rules, limits, and consequences—endless consequences for anyone stupid enough to chase excitement.
And he was stupid enough.
Born that way.
From the moment he could choose, he chose danger. Speed that made vision blur. Heights that made legs shake. Moments where one mistake meant everything stopped. It wasn't that he wanted to die.
It was that life only felt real when it could end.
Fear sharpened the world. Risk gave it color.
Everything else was static.
He loved stories about monsters and power—especially Jujutsu Kaisen. He didn't just watch it once. He watched it again and again, memorizing techniques, timelines, deaths. Not because he believed it was real, but because he envied it.
A world where strength mattered.
Where insanity could be called talent.
Where dying violently at least meant something.
Reality never lived up to that.
So when death finally came, it wasn't poetic.
It wasn't dramatic.
It was stupid.
A reckless choice. A moment pushed too far. Physics doing what physics always did.
As the world faded, he felt disappointment—not fear.
That's it?
No curses. No power. No second phase.
Just darkness.
Just boredom, one final time.
Then—
Warmth.
Breath.
A heartbeat that wasn't his old one.
His eyes opened to a ceiling etched with old symbols, cursed energy thick enough that even his newborn body felt it. The air pressed down on him, heavy and sharp, like the world itself was watching.
He didn't cry.
He remembered everything.
His life.
His death.
And most importantly—
Jujutsu Kaisen. All of it.
The realization hit slowly… then all at once.
This cursed energy—
This place—
Voices whispered nearby, tense and reverent.
"The child has opened his eyes."
"The leader's son…"
"Cocupaine Zenin's heir."
Zenin.
That single name made him feel something close to joy.
Of all worlds.
Of all clans.
He had been reborn into the cruelest, most broken family in jujutsu society—a place where children were either weapons or waste.
A place where danger wasn't a hobby.
It was tradition.
He felt cursed energy stir inside him—wild, uneven, hungry. Not refined. Not calm. It didn't feel heroic.
It felt wrong.
And he loved that too.
So this world really exists, he thought.
And I already know how it ends.
The elders leaned closer, eyes sharp with expectation and judgment. They searched for signs of greatness, terrified of weakness.
They had no idea.
The child they were staring at had died once already—
not fighting curses,
not saving anyone,
but chasing excitement in a boring world.
And this time?
This world was anything but boring.
The Zenin clan thought they had gained a successor.
What they had truly gained—
Was someone who welcomed danger,
laughed at death,
and finally lived in a world that deserved his insanity.