The school bell echoed in Isamu’s ears as he stepped out into the dim light of the setting sun. The horizon was painted with streaks of orange and crimson, the colors bleeding into the darkening sky like fire spreading across paper. Yet the beauty of the evening did little to ease the weight on his chest. His bag hung heavy over his shoulder, but it wasn’t the books inside that dragged him down—the dread of what awaited him at home.

He turned into the alleyway, his usual long route. The walls on either side towered like skyscrapers, and the graffiti splattered on them seemed more alive than anything else in this part of town. Trash littered the path, and the faint stench of rotting food and old beer cans clung to the air. The familiar scent churned his stomach, but he kept walking, his steps steady despite the sinking feeling growing in his chest.

His thoughts wandered to his father, slumped on the couch as always, the TV blaring some meaningless game show he probably didn’t even watch. The scent of cigarettes and cheap whiskey would cling to the furniture, the walls, and the very air in the apartment. Isamu could already hear the mumbled curses, the glass bottle rolling across the floor when his father inevitably passed out. If he were lucky, his father wouldn’t bother looking at him tonight.

But luck wasn’t something Isamu believed in anymore.

His mother wouldn’t be home—not yet. She was probably out with her friends at one of the bars downtown, laughing too loudly and spending the last of their money on drinks and nonsense. She’d come home late, smelling like perfume and alcohol, stumbling into the apartment as if she owned the world. And if she bothered to notice him, it would only be to complain.

“You’re so useless, Isamu. Why do I even bother? You can’t even make something of yourself.”

Her words echoed in his mind, sharp and cruel, cutting deeper than she’d ever understand. He tightened his grip on the strap of his bag, his knuckles whitening. The worst part wasn’t even the insults—it was that she was right there in front of him, yet she felt further away than the stars above.

A shout rang out behind him, snapping him from his thoughts. Isamu turned his head to see a group of boys from school loitering near the corner of the alley, laughing and shoving each other. One of them caught his eye and smirked.

“Hey, Kobayashi!” the boy called, his voice dripping with mockery. “Going home to Daddy’s liquor cabinet again?”

The others laughed, their voices grating against Isamu’s nerves. He didn’t respond, didn’t even slow his pace. Words like that didn’t hurt anymore—not after everything he’d already endured. He kept his gaze forward, his jaw clenched as he forced his legs to keep moving.

“Yeah, keep walking,” another boy called. “Not like you’ve got anywhere better to be.”

Their laughter faded into the distance as Isamu left the alley behind, stepping onto the cracked sidewalk leading to his apartment complex. The building loomed ahead, its faded paint and broken windows reflecting the life he lived inside it. He paused at the entrance, staring up at the dimly lit windows. The faint hum of a television seeped through the walls, mingling with the muffled sounds of arguments from neighboring apartments.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The stench hit him first—cigarettes, alcohol, and something sour he couldn’t place. The living room was exactly as he’d expected: bottles scattered across the floor, an ashtray overflowing on the coffee table, and his father sprawled on the couch, an empty bottle dangling from his hand. The television flickered with muted static, casting an eerie glow across the room.

Isamu stepped over the mess, careful not to make a sound. His father stirred slightly, muttering incoherently before sinking back into his stupor. Isamu’s stomach twisted as he looked at the man who was supposed to be his parent, his protector. Instead, he was nothing more than a shell, a reminder of everything Isamu didn’t want to become.

He retreated to his room, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it. The faint light from the streetlamp outside filtered through the cracked blinds, casting long shadows across the floor. His room was small, with barely enough space for his bed and a rickety desk, but it was the only place that felt remotely his own.

Dropping his bag to the floor, he sank onto the bed and buried his face in his hands. The weight of everything pressed down on him, threatening to crush him. He wanted to scream, to cry, to fight back against the life he’d been given. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead, he lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as the sounds of the apartment surrounded him.

Isamu lay motionless on the bed, his mind running in circles. The muffled sounds of the apartment felt like an endless drone—a broken record of misery. He closed his eyes sheepishly, trying to block it out, to escape, even if only for a moment.

Then, his phone rang suddenly, making him flinch. He sat up quickly, reaching for the cracked device on his desk. The screen lit up with a familiar number—his mother’s.

He hesitated before answering, knowing full well this call wasn’t going to bring anything good.

“Hello?” he said, his voice quiet, barely audible.

“Where are you?” her voice slurred slightly, and he could hear the chaos of laughter and music in the background. She didn’t even give him a chance to respond before continuing, “I told you to clean the apartment before I got home, didn’t I? Or are you so useless that even that’s too hard for you?”

“I just got home,” Isamu replied, trying to keep his tone neutral. “I’ll clean it now.”

“You’d better,” she snapped. “I don’t want to come back to the same pigsty your father’s turned it into. You think I work so hard just to live in filth?”

He didn’t bother pointing out that she didn’t work, that she spent whatever money they had on herself while he scraped by on hand-me-downs and skipped meals. Arguing with her never led anywhere—it would just make things worse.

“Okay,” he said simply.

The call ended abruptly, and he let the phone drop onto the bed beside him. His hands trembled slightly, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He stood up and stepped back into the living room, the air thick with smoke and despair.

The mess was overwhelming—empty bottles, cigarette butts, and crumpled fast-food wrappers that littered every surface. His father was still sprawled on the couch, snoring loudly now, oblivious to everything.

Isamu grabbed a trash bag from the kitchen and started picking up the bottles, one by one. The glass clinked together as he worked, each sound sharp and jarring in the otherwise quiet room. He moved quickly, hoping to finish before his mother got home.

But luck, as always, wasn’t on his side.

The front door slammed open, and his mother stumbled inside, her heels clicking unevenly against the floor. Her hair was disheveled, her makeup smeared, and her eyes sharp with irritation.

“You didn’t even finish cleaning?” she spat, her voice rising with every word.

“I was just about to—”

“Don’t you dare talk back to me!” she shouted, cutting him off. Her hand shot out, slapping the trash bag from his grip. Bottles rolled across the floor, one shattering against the edge of the coffee table.

“What’s all the noise?” his father grumbled from the couch, finally stirring. His bloodshot eyes landed on Isamu, and a scowl twisted his face. “What the hell are you doing, boy?”

“I’m cleaning,” Isamu said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You call this cleaning?” His father pushed himself to his feet, unsteady but towering over Isamu. The stench of alcohol on his breath was overpowering. “You’re just as useless as your damn mother says you are.”

The first blow came before Isamu could react—a hard slap across his face that sent him stumbling backward.

“Get up!” his father barked, his voice filled with anger and frustration.

Isamu scrambled to his feet, but another blow followed—a punch to his stomach that knocked the air out of him. His mother stood in the corner, watching with crossed arms and a sneer on her face.

“Maybe that’ll teach you to stop being such a burden,” she said coldly.

Isamu’s body ached with every hit, but he didn’t cry out. He didn’t fight back. He just took it, the pain blending into the numbness that had become his constant companion.

When his father finally tired and collapsed onto the couch, Isamu dragged himself to his room. His vision was blurred, and he refused to shed tears.

He locked the door behind him, collapsing onto the floor as his legs gave out. His whole body throbbed, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache inside him.

He stared at the cracked floorboards, his mind a storm of anger, sadness, and hopelessness. Deep down, a small ember of something began to burn—something that refused to be extinguished.

One day, he promised himself. One day, he would escape this place. He would leave behind the suffocating apartment, the hateful faces of his parents, and the life that had been forced upon him.

But until that day came, he would endure.

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the streets as students roamed in and out of Seiryu High School, their laughter echoing through the cold winter air. Among the crowd, Isamu Yamamoto walked in his usual quiet stride, his black school bag slung over one shoulder. His eyes were distant, focused on the rhythm of his steps, lost in thoughts of another boring day.

Isamu wasn’t like the others. He didn’t like to talk and express himself. He preferred to stay under the roof, doing well enough in school but never pushing himself too far into the spotlight. His classmates knew him as the guy who sat near the window who always read in his free time, and rarely participated in any events. It wasn’t that he disliked people—he just found it easier to be alone.

As he walked home, his mind wandered. Maybe tonight he’d finish the new book he’d been reading or do chores instead. His family lived just a few blocks away, in a small house near the edge of the city. The streets were usually quiet by this time of day, with only a few cars passing by.

He turned a corner onto the narrow side street that led directly to his home. The road was empty, and for a moment, the only sounds were the rustling of leaves in the wind and the faint hum of distant traffic. It was peaceful.

Too peaceful.

The sudden roar of an engine shattered the silence.

Isamu’s head snapped up, eyes widening as he spotted a truck running down the road, out of control, its horn honking but too late to change course. The driver inside was yelling, desperately trying to regain control of the vehicle, but the truck swerved dangerously, heading directly toward Isamu.

Time seemed to slow. Isamu’s instincts told him to move, but his body wouldn’t respond fast enough. The world around him blurred as the truck loomed closer, its headlights blinding. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, louder than anything else.

And then, impact.

Pain ran through his body as he felt himself thrown into the air, weightless for a brief moment before everything went dark.

When Isamu opened his eyes again, the first thing he noticed was the light. It wasn’t harsh like the truck’s headlights — it was soft, warm, almost inviting like spring. He blinked, his vision adjusting, and realized he was no longer lying on the cold ground of the street.

He was standing.

But not on any ground, he recognized. Beneath his feet was a platform of shimmering white material, surrounded by an endless sea of stars. The sky was dark speckled with constellations that shone more brightly than any he had ever seen on Earth.

“What… where am I?” Isamu asked, confused.

A tired voice broke the silence. “Oh, you died from a car accident.”

Isamu turned, startled, and found himself face to face with a figure that made him question if he was still dreaming. Before him stood a woman, so pretty and bright that her light blinded his eyes. Her long, flowing hair was the color of moonlight, and her eyes — they were unlike any human’s, glowing with every color ever imagined.

“Is this heaven… am I dead?” Isamu asked calmly, though his body was shaking. He wasn’t sure how else to process the situation.

The woman smiled softly. “Yes, you did die in your world, Isamu Yamamoto. But that doesn’t mean your journey is over.”

“Who are you?” he asked, confused. Was this some kind of afterlife?

“I am the Goddess of Rebirth,” she said, her voice as calm as the gentle waves from the sea. “It is my duty to guide those who lost their lives before their time was up.”

Isamu’s thoughts spun. One minute he was walking home from school, and the next… this. He was sure he was dreaming.

Maybe this is a prank

“You will be reborn,” the goddess explained. “In another world, very different from your own. A world of magic, kingdoms, and great battles — a place where you will have the chance to live your life again.”

Isamu felt his heart race again, but this time, not out of fear. Something about her words ignited a spark within him. He had always felt out of place in the normal world as if he were meant for something more. But this… a world of magic?

“Why me?” he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with curiosity. “Why was I chosen?”

The goddess tilted her head slightly, her smile never fading. “ I didn’t choose you. You just happened to die and you ended up here. It was fate that brought you here.”

A world of magic and kingdoms. The idea was scary, but at the same time… exciting. For once in his life, Isamu felt a sense of purpose.

“What happens now?” he asked, his voice steadying. “Do I just appear in my new world?”

“You will be reincarnated in this new world. However, as a gift, I will grant you 3 powers of your choosing,” the goddess said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Choose wisely, for this power will shape your new life.”

Isamu paused, thinking carefully. He couldn’t waste this opportunity if he truly was being reborn in a magical world. He thought about all the possibilities: strength, intelligence, or flying.

“What are the options?” asked Isamu, curious as anticipation surged through him.

The goddess smiled, “Anything you could imagine.”

“I want to have the ability to regenerate, element control, and endless stamina,” he said at last.

The goddess’s smile broadened, clearly pleased with his choice. “A noble choice. However there are still limitations on these abilities. You will be granted these powers to help you through your journey.”

Before he could speak again, the surroundings darkened.. The world faded as he closed his eyes. Isamu felt his body grow lighter, his senses fading as he was pulled toward something new, something unknown.

“Good luck, Isamu,” the goddess’s voice echoed in his mind, the last thing he heard before everything went black. “Your new life awaits.”

When Isamu opened his eyes again, he found himself in the arms of a woman, a man standing over the woman who cried out tears of joy.

He had been reborn.

And so, his new journey began.

The world Isamu Yamamoto had opened his eyes to was very different from the one he had left behind. He saw around him his first sight—a warm, cozy room surrounded by soft candlelight. Wooden walls lined with shelves of books and ancient scrolls surrounded him, and the air carried the scent of herbs and spices. Above him, two figures gazed down with joy and tears—his new parents.

The woman holding him had soft blue eyes and silver-white hair that shined like the light of the moon. Her expression was a blend of exhaustion and overwhelming love as she gazed at him. The man beside her, with jet-black hair and broad shoulders, had tears streaming down his face, a face full of pride and happiness. His strong hands gently touched Isamu’s tiny head. Isamu, having his father’s features, black hair and brown eyes, but unlike his father, he has his mother’s intelligence and an innocent face.

“Look at him, Hiroshi,” the woman whispered. “Our son… our little Isamu.”

Hiroshi, his father, nodded, his deep voice cracking with emotion. “He’s perfect, Aiko.”

This was Isamu’s new beginning—not as an orphan in this strange new world, but as the adored child of a family who would raise him with love and care in a world filled with magic and kingdoms.

Isamu’s childhood was a time of wonder and growth. Surrounded by ancient scrolls and magical artifacts in his family’s home, he quickly realized that this world was far more extraordinary than anything he had ever known. His days were filled with excitement watching his father, Hiroshi, a skilled swordsman, and his mother, Aiko, a healer known throughout their village for her powerful magic.

From an early age, Isamu trained under his father’s guidance, learning the art of swordsmanship. Hiroshi was strict but loving, teaching him the importance of discipline and endurance. Isamu also spent time with his mother, learning about healing magic and the natural world. Under her nurturing instruction, he learned not only to heal but also the ways of enchanting, a skill that would serve him well as he grew older.

The village they lived in was at the border of the Eastern Kingdom, far from the larger cities but surrounded by nature. Isamu spent his childhood exploring the dense forests. Often, he would sneak into the practice fields where sorcerers trained in combat magic, observing them and learning by watching. His natural talent for magic and combat grew stronger with every passing year. By the time he was six, his powers had begun to show. The villagers were surprised by the raw strength of his mana—a power more commonly related to nobles than commoners.

Despite his powers, Isamu’s family never allowed him to grow arrogant. His father continued to push him in his combat training, teaching him in swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat. Hiroshi also taught Isamu knowledge of human and monster anatomy, giving Isamu an advantage in battle.

No matter how intense his training became, Isamu’s days were filled with love. His parents supported him, encouraging his growth both physically and mentally. He was never alone in this new world, and for that, he felt grateful.

One afternoon, while exploring the forest near their home, Isamu—now ten years old—was hunting monsters to further his skills. The forest was dense, but he had grown used to its sounds and smells. By the age of eight, Isamu had memorized the entire forest surrounding his village. He knew every tree, every scent, and every monster inside and out.

Suddenly, he heard something unusual—a faint sound of crying echoing through the woods.

Curious, Isamu followed the sound until he saw a young boy, about his age, sitting by a tree with tears streaming down his face. The boy had dark hair and looked scared and lost.

“Are you okay?” Isamu asked, approaching cautiously. “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

The boy looked up, wiping his tears. “I… I got lost,” he said. “My parents… they’re far away on a journey, and I didn’t mean to come this far.”

Isamu sat beside him, offering a kind smile. He’s been through a lot, and deserves kindness. “Don’t worry, you’re safe now. My name is Isamu Yamamoto. I live in the village near the southern border of the Eastern Kingdom.”

The boy hesitated for a moment before replying, “I’m Akira Kobayashi.”

From that day on, they became best friends. They trained together, hunted monsters side by side, and pushed each other to new heights. Though they were different in many ways, their bond grew stronger each day.

As the days swiftly turned into weeks, Akira remained unaware that his parents are walk straight to their deaths.