"Fuck it. I should just run," Henry thought. "Japan. Korea. Australia. Anywhere that isn't the United States."
Staying here was practically volunteering to be collateral damage. He knew exactly what this country had lined up—apocalypses, demon wars, angels falling from heaven, ancient seals breaking like cheap locks.
Every few months, something catastrophic tried to end existence, and somehow it always centered around the States.
And he didn't even have a system.
No powers. No combat skills. No hunter training. Just the name Winchester attached to him like a curse. That name alone could attract attention—from demons looking for leverage, from angels looking for prophecy, from anything that enjoyed ruining lives.
Why stay in the epicenter of supernatural disasters when he could be on another continent pretending ghosts were just folklore?
The thought had barely settled in his mind when—
Bang. Bang. Bang.
A loud knock slammed against the door.
Henry flinched.
"Who the hell now?" he muttered.
He stayed still, hoping whoever it was would leave.
The knocking didn't stop.
It got harder.
More impatient.
Annoyance pushed past fear. With a curse under his breath, Henry strode to the door and yanked it open.
Big mistake.
Something slammed into him immediately.
Henry barely registered the face before he was knocked backward, crashing onto the floor as the man climbed on top of him. He tried to shove him off, but the guy was stronger—too strong.
"Shit!" Henry grunted, struggling.
The attacker grabbed both his arms, pinning them down, then leaned close. Blood smeared his lips, dripping down his chin, his eyes wild and unfocused as he opened his mouth like he was about to—
"WHAT THE HELL—GET OFF ME, I'M NOT GAY!" Henry shouted.
Pure instinct took over.
He drove his knee up hard.
Right into the groin.
The man let out a choked gasp and loosened his grip just enough. Henry didn't waste the moment—he shoved him off violently and rolled to his feet.
He grabbed an empty beer bottle and pointed it like a weapon.
"Stay back," he snapped, breath uneven. "You crazy piece of shit."
Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes in this world, and this was already happening.
The man straightened slowly.
Then he smiled.
Blood dripped from his mouth as he lunged again.
He didn't hesitate.
He smashed the bottle straight into the man's head. Glass exploded. The man staggered but didn't fall.
"What the—?"
His eyes darted around desperately. His gaze landed on a baseball bat leaning near the wall.
He bent down to grab it.
Too slow.
Arms wrapped around him from behind, crushing his ribs. The attacker snarled in his ear.
Henry slammed his head backward, feeling it connect with a nose. The grip loosened just enough.
Then he grabbed the bat.
He swung it straight at the attacker's head.
Crack.
The man's head snapped to the side—but he was still standing.
"No," Henry breathed. "No no no."
The thing shook its head slowly, bones popping, and lunged again.
Henry tightened his grip, feet planting instinctively.
He swung like he was hitting a baseball.
The bat connected with a sickening crack.
The man's neck twisted sharply—far past what it should have—and his body collapsed to the floor in a heap.
Silence.
He staggered back, chest heaving, hands shaking so badly he almost dropped the bat.
"Whoo… whoo…"
He dragged in deep, uneven breaths, staring at the unmoving body on the floor.
"…Yeah," he whispered hoarsely. "Definitely Supernatural."
Then a translucent red screen shimmered into existence in front of him, the light reflecting faintly off the broken glass and blood-stained floor.
[Congratulations. Demon Infectee Eliminated.]
[Condition Fulfilled: Supernatural System Unlocked.]
[Reward Granted: 1 Supernatural Point.]
Henry stared at the floating interface, chest still rising unevenly from the fight. For a moment he didn't move, didn't blink. Then his brain caught up.
"…You're joking."
Another notification replaced the first.
[Lucky Wheel Activated. (Epic Lottery Triggered – 0.1% Chance)]
The red interface expanded, forming a spinning wheel filled with countless icons. Abilities flashed past—vampire traits, werewolf regeneration, spirit manipulation, wraith phasing, hunter combat skills. The sheer variety made his pulse quicken despite himself.
So he wasn't completely helpless after all.
"Alright," he muttered, more focused now. "Let's see what kind of mercy this universe has."
He pressed the glowing spin button.
The wheel began rotating rapidly, icons blurring into streaks of red and black. It slowed gradually, ticking past abilities that would have made survival much easier.
Enhanced Healing.
Demon Immunity.
Angel Blade Proficiency.
It passed them all.
Then it stopped.
On a blood-soaked T-shirt.
Henry's expression flattened.
[Item Acquired: Failure Is Death]
[Description: A cursed shirt once worn by a fitness fanatic who pushed his body beyond its limits. Even in death, his obsession remained embedded within the fabric.
Wearing this item grants the physique and strength of a trained athlete.
Once per day, the wearer may activate Superhuman Strength for ten minutes.]
[Curse Effect: Residual compulsion urges the wearer toward excessive physical exertion.]
[System Protection Applied: As the System Bearer, the curse will not affect you.]
The shirt materialized midair and dropped to the floor at his feet. It carried a faint metallic scent of dried blood mixed with sweat, like an abandoned gym locker.
Henry looked down at it carefully, as if expecting it to lunge.
Then he looked back at the screen.
"I have a system…"
Henry wasn't even looking at the shirt anymore. The fact that it had appeared out of thin air was proof enough. That meant the screen was real. The rewards were real.
Which meant whatever rules this world operated on—he had just been added to them.
"How does this even work…" he muttered, eyes flicking over the fading red interface. Points. Items. A wheel. No tutorial. Of course there was no tutorial.
Before he could focus or try to interact with it again—
A gunshot cracked through the air outside.
Sharp. Close.
Henry flinched instinctively, body tensing.
Another bang echoed down the street, followed by shouting.
"Fuck," he breathed, moving toward the window cautiously. "Did I land in a war zone?"
Then his gaze dropped to the bloodied T-shirt lying on the floor. It looked disgusting. It smelled worse. But he had just been tackled by something that didn't go down after a bottle to the skull.
He didn't have the luxury of standards.
"…Fine," he muttered, picking it up between two fingers. "We're doing this."
It felt heavier than normal fabric. Warmer, almost.
He grimaced at the smell.
"If I die wearing this, I'm haunting whoever designed it."
Henry exhaled and pulled the blood-soaked shirt over his head.
The moment the fabric settled against his skin, it tightened—and then vanished. Not torn, not burned. It simply sank into him as if absorbed, leaving nothing behind.
He looked down sharply.
The slight belly he'd been cursing minutes ago was gone. His torso tightened visibly, muscle forming beneath his skin as if it had always been there. He lifted his shirt slowly and stared.
Defined abs. Clean. Sharp.
"…You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, flexing his arm and watching new muscle shift smoothly under the skin. "I only ever saw this kind of build on TV."
The warmth inside him felt steady, controlled. Not overwhelming. Just… stronger.
Another gunshot echoed outside.
Henry moved to the window and pulled the blinds aside carefully. Two cars burned near the corner, flames casting harsh orange light across the street.
Smoke rolled through the air, but there were no bystanders, no sirens—just tension hanging heavy over the neighborhood.
"It seems something strange is happening outside," he murmured, though that might've been the understatement of the century.
On the front porch, boots stepped onto wood.
A familiar voice, low and edged with impatience, spoke through the door. "Sam, you sure this is the house?"
Dean Winchester stood with a shotgun in hand, posture tight and ready. He scanned the windows with sharp, practiced caution.
Sam stood beside him, handgun steady, eyes focused. "Yeah. This is it. I saw Dad's photo inside. And someone with the name Winchester. He's connected, Dean. I know he is."
Dean exhaled through his nose. "Great. Because our family's not complicated enough."
Henry stepped back from the window, decision made. Running sounded a lot smarter than dying.
He grabbed an old duffel bag from the corner and started shoving clothes into it without folding anything. Essentials only. Cash, phone, whatever didn't scream "I live here."
He was halfway through stuffing in a pair of jeans when the front door creaked open.
Two figures stepped inside.
Dean entered first, weapon up, stance steady.Sam followed behind him, eyes sharp and assessing.
Henry stared at the two most problematic men in the entire Supernatural universe.
And slowly raised his hands.
Dean's shotgun immediately trained on his chest.
"Easy," Dean warned. "Don't move."
Henry's mind went blank.
'Yeah,' he thought numbly. 'I'm fucked.'
*****
A/N: I've decided to write shorter daily chapters, around 800–1000 words each. The update schedule will be five chapters per week.
I think this format works better since it makes the plot easier to follow and keeps the pacing consistent