The first thing Dio noticed upon waking was the weight of his own body. It wasn't right—not how he remembered it. His limbs felt too long, too lanky. His ribs pressed painfully against his skin with every shallow breath. He dragged himself to a puddle, staring at the gaunt reflection of a boy with hollow cheeks, dark eyes, and matted hair.

His memories were also hazy with no recollection of anything.

"This isn't me…" The words came out cracked, as though his throat hadn't had water in days.

Dio forced himself to his feet, legs wobbling beneath him, and staggered through the crooked alleys of the slum. Filthy children darted past, snatching scraps from a vendor's stall. Feral dogs growled from shadowy corners. Every breath carried the stench of rot and desperation. Dio felt his damned stomach protest, a gnawing ache assaulted his little tummy.

'Damn it! Where the fuck am I!?'

Dio's began examining himself. Stripping down to his threadbare clothes, he studied every bruise and scar. He traced the faint discoloration around his wrists and ankles. Shackles? Abuse? His bony fingers brushed the back of his neck, feeling a strange ridge.

"What the hell is this?" he muttered.

The makeshift mirror—a shard of glass he'd scavenged from the trash—offered little help. It only reflected his haunted expression. He realized at this moment he might have transmigrated to another world. Dio realized that he needed to learn more, but first, he needed to fill his stomach with something, right?

Just like that, the slum revealed itself piece by piece as Dio wandered. He moved cautiously, head low, watching and listening. The vendors at the shoddy market hollered over each other.

"Fresh bread!"

"Meat sticks—three for a coin!"

"Medicinal herbs! Cure what ails ya!"

Dio lingered near the bread stall, watching as a small girl pocketed a roll with a sleight of hand so smooth he almost missed it. She disappeared into a nearby alley. Curious, Dio followed, keeping his distance.

The alley led him to an encampment—a gathering of the slum's forgotten. Hunched figures warmed themselves around a pitiful fire. The girl handed her stolen bread to an elderly man, who tore off a piece and handed it to another child.

'Is this how it likes to live in a slum?' Dio thought grimly. 'Why did I get transmigrated to a homeless boy of all people?' he sighed helplessly.

As Dio crept closer, he overheard scraps of conversation.

"The collector's coming tomorrow," a woman whispered. "If we don't pay, he'll take someone again."

A grizzled man cursed under his breath. "That bastard won't leave until he gets his due. We're all in his pocket."

Debt. The word struck Dio like a punch. The boy whose body he now inhabited owed someone dangerous. Dio couldn't ignore it—not if he wanted a chance to survive here.

He stayed hidden until the camp quieted. When the others slept, he approached the bread girl.

"Hey," he whispered. She started, clutching a stick as a weapon. She looked at Dio. "You again!"

'Again? This girl knows the original Dio?'

"Relax. I need information," he said, hands up. "Tell me about the collector."

The girl blinked for a moment. She was quite doubtful. How come someone doesn't know who they owe to?

Reluctantly, she explained. The collector worked for a loan shark who preyed on the desperate. He came every week, demanding payment or compensation—usually in the form of labor or flesh.

Dio gritted his teeth. "What would they do if I can't pay?"

The girl hesitated. "Well, I would likely find your body in the sewer."

"It can't be..." Dio clenched his fist unwillingly. Then he looked at the young girl. "Thanks for that. I'll go now."

...

Dio knew he needed food to think clearly. Stealing was the only option. He spent hours observing the marketplace, noting which vendors were distracted and which corners the guards neglected.

Finally, he spotted his chance: an overloaded stall with a distracted merchant haggling loudly. Dio feigned a stumble, knocking over a crate of produce.

"Oi!" the merchant shouted, scrambling to gather his wares.

Dio moved quickly, his fingers closing around a loaf of bread before he vanished into the crowd. His heart pounded as he ducked into an abandoned building, tearing into the bread like a starving wolf.

Satiated for now, Dio leaned back, wiping crumbs from his mouth. His first steps were complete: understanding his surroundings, his body, and the debt of the original body.

The next part was trickier. He needed leverage, allies, and above all, a plan. But first, he needed to find out who the collector was—and what it would take to get him off his back.