I died.
"Fuck," I muttered, staring at the shimmering, all-too-dramatic figure of a god standing before me. His glowing form radiated power, but his expression looked... bored. Like he'd done this a thousand times before.
"Now what? Hell?" I asked, crossing my arms, trying to mask my panic with nonchalance.
The god paused, stroking his beard. "Hmm… no, you're not going there."
"Then heaven?"
"Nope," he replied, sounding almost amused.
"Then where?" I shouted, my frustration boiling over.
"I don't know...what should I do," he asked looking at me "You're the god here. Figure it out!"
He sighed. "Well, that's the thing. You weren't supposed to die. Not now, at least."
I blinked. "What do you mean, not supposed to die? Who dies by sneezing while eating ice cream?!"
The god raised an eyebrow. "Actually, you were supposed to die by slipping on a bathroom tile and getting your head stuck in a toilet."
I went silent.
He smirked. "So, congratulations, you've cheated destiny. Happy?"
"Haha, yeah, I guess I'd rather go out like this." I muttered. "Anyway, what now? Reincarnation? Do I get some cool powers? Defeat the Demon king?"
The god scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Should I send you back to Earth?"
"No, no!" I yelped, panic instantly taking over. "Please, not Earth! I hate that place. Just... anything else."
The god rolled his eyes. "Fine, here." He handed me a glowing ticket that seemed to pulse with divine energy.
I stared at it. "What's this?"
"Spin it and find out."
Suddenly, a giant golden wheel materialized in front of me, its surface glimmering with names. I saw titles spinning past—Naruto, One Piece, Solo Leveling, Lookism.
"Oh, it's one of those," I muttered.
The god nodded impatiently. "Hurry up. I've got more souls to process today."
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the wheel and gave it a hearty spin. It whirred loudly, the names flashing by in a blur. My heart raced as the wheel slowed, finally landing on…
"PTJ," I read aloud.
"Lookism," the god said, nodding knowingly.
"Wait, Lookism?" I blinked. "Oh, you mean that webtoon with the fights and high school drama?"
"Yep."
"What the hell am I gonna do there?" I groaned. "I'm ugly! Everyone's gorgeous in that world! and I'm weak as fuck!"
The god smirked, not even trying to hide his amusement. "That's true. You've got a face only a mother could love."
"Excuse me? Aren't you supposed to say something inspirational about inner beauty or whatever?"
The god shrugged. "Inner beauty? That's just something ugly people say to feel better about themselves."
His bluntness left me sulking in a corner, drawing circles in the ground with my finger.
"Get up," he said, snapping his fingers. "You've got one more spin. Hurry up."
My head shot up. "Another spin?!"
"Yeah, now do it fast. I don't have all day."
I scrambled to my feet, my excitement bubbling up again as I reached for the wheel. This time, the names flashing by were even more exhilarating: Hanma, Super Soldier, Spider-Man, Aquaman, Stark, Batman.
"Oh shit, this is it," I whispered, rubbing my hands together like a villain plotting his rise to power.
The wheel slowed down, and my anticipation grew with every second. Finally, it landed on...
"Musashi," I read aloud.
The god clapped his hands lazily. "Congratulations. You've unlocked Miyamoto Musashi."
My eyes widened. "Wait, the Miyamoto Musashi? The undefeated swordsman?!"
"Yep. You'll inherit his skills."
"Let's fucking go!" I shouted, pumping my fist in the air. "High five, man!"
I turned to the god, grinning ear to ear with my hand raised.
He stared at me like I'd just grown a second head. "You know I'm a god, right?"
"Yeah, yeah," I said, still holding out my hand.
"So shouldn't you be groveling or thanking me for even showing myself to you in this form?"
"Come on," I said, grinning. "You're the guy with big heart and shit right, right? Just one high five."
The god sighed heavily, muttering something about mortals being insufferable. With a snap of his fingers, my vision blurred.
Before everything went dark, I heard him mumble, "Shit, I forgot to erase his memory."
.
.
.
14 years Later
General Pov
The bustling market street of Tokyo was alive with chatter, the clamor of shopkeepers, and the aroma of freshly grilled skewers. The crowd was a dense ocean of movement, yet one figure effortlessly wove through the throng. A tall boy with long, jet-black hair swayed as he walked, his hands clasped lazily behind his head. His Japanese middle school uniform, the top two buttons undone, revealed a lean but muscular chest. He hummed a catchy tune, half-lidded eyes scanning the world around him with carefree detachment.
The boy exuded an air of arrogance and defiance, and he attracted attention without trying. People turned to stare, their curiosity piqued by his audacious disregard for propriety.
"Hey, idiot! Stop!"
A girl, shorter than him and wearing the same uniform, pushed through the crowd behind him. She was breathing heavily, her long hair disheveled from the chase. What made her truly stand out, however, were the two strange, ancient-looking katanas strapped securely to her waist.
"Lucian, are you listening?!" she hissed, her frustration evident.
The boy, Miyamoto Lucian, didn't even bother to glance back. "Relax, Ojousama. The Yamazakis are chill. Nothing to worry about."
Her face turned pale. "Chill? Are you insane?" she snapped. "The guy whose hand you cut off last week is one of Yamazaki's top vassals! You've got a bounty on your head, and they're ready to pounce the second they see you!"
Lucian chuckled, still not looking at her. "So dramatic. I'm not scared of a couple of thugs. They're just sore losers."
Her mouth opened to retort, but she froze mid-step. The sunny Tokyo sky seemed to darken, clouds looming overhead as if heralding impending doom. The bustling market stilled, the chatter replaced by a tense, eerie silence.
They were surrounded.
The Yamazakis had arrived.
Dozens of men in black suits and leather jackets emerged from the crowd like shadows materializing in the daylight. Their weapons glinted ominously—swords, axes, chains, and knives clutched in calloused hands. The sheer number of them was suffocating, an unending wave of hostility that spread across the street.
The girl's heart pounded as she assessed the situation. Her sharp eyes scanned the area, but all she could see were enemies. There was no escape.
"Lucian," she whispered, her voice trembling. "We're surrounded. There's no way out. We have to—"
Her words died in her throat as she felt a gust of wind at her side. One of the katanas strapped to her waist was gone.
She turned her head sharply and saw Lucian striding ahead of her, the blade casually resting on his shoulder. His confident smirk sent shivers down her spine.
"Oi, dumbasses!" Lucian called out, his voice slicing through the tense silence. He twirled the katana lazily, as if it were a toy. His other hand ruffled his hair back as he stopped inches away from the nearest group of Yamazakis. "Did you all come to welcome me? How sweet."
The Yamazakis said nothing at first, but their glares spoke volumes. These were men who had seen wars on the streets, veterans from generations of the gang. Some bore scars that were tales of survival and ruthlessness. These were no ordinary goons. They were Gen 0 to Gen 1 elites—the foundation of Yamazaki's reign.
And standing before them was a mere fourteen-year-old middle schooler, radiating the kind of confidence that bordered on insanity.
Lucian's grin widened as he looked at the sheer number of men before him. He bit down on the toothpick in his mouth and leaned in slightly. "What's the matter? All that muscle, all those weapons, and no one's gonna say hi? That's just rude."
From the crowd, two figures stepped forward. Unlike the others, these men carried an aura of authority. Each held a katana, their grips firm and their eyes cold. These were no ordinary thugs—they were head of the two prominent vassal families of the Yamazaki clan under Yamasaki Shingen, warriors with bloodied reputations.
"You've got some nerve showing your face here, Miyamoto pest," one of them growled.
Lucian tilted his head. "And you've got some nerve pointing those sticks at me. Didn't your mommy teach you any manners?"
The girl behind him, still frozen in place, was barely breathing. She clenched her fists, torn between running and joining him, though she knew neither option would save them. But Lucian? He looked... excited.
"Lucian," she hissed, her voice barely audible. "Stop provoking them. You'll get us both killed!"
He turned his head slightly, enough for her to catch his trademark smirk. "Don't worry, Ojousama. I'll protect you."
Her heart skipped a beat—not from comfort, but from sheer disbelief.
Thunder rang in the sky, the moment Lucian raised his katana and grinned, his eyes glinting with a manic spark. The sea of Yamazakis surged toward him like a black tide, weapons raised, faces twisted with rage. And in the center of it all, Lucian stood, his shoulders relaxed, his stance casual, as if he were welcoming an old friend.
The first to reach him was a man wielding a chain, swinging it wildly as he charged. Lucian sidestepped effortlessly, letting the chain whip past him. He grabbed it mid-swing with his free hand, yanking the man off balance and slamming the hilt of his katana into his face. There was a sickening crunch as the man's nose broke, blood spraying like a fountain.
Lucian laughed—a low, guttural sound.
Another Yamazaki came at him with a knife, aiming for his ribs. Lucian caught the man's wrist with his free hand, twisting it until the knife clattered to the ground. Without hesitation, he drove his knee into the man's gut, then smashed his forehead into his nose, sending him sprawling to the ground, unconscious.
"That's a nice warm-up," he muttered, stepping over the man's twitching form. His voice carried over the chaos, equal parts taunt and challenge. "I thought you were supposed to kill me! Where's the fun in this?"
The crowd hesitated for a moment, unnerved by his reckless confidence. But then, more of them surged forward, weapons glinting in the dim light.
Another rushed in with a knife, aiming for Lucian's throat. He sidestepped, grabbing the man's arm and twisting it until the bone snapped with a sickening crack. The knife clattered to the ground, and Lucian kicked it back up into his own hand. Without hesitation, he drove the blade into the man's thigh, twisting it viciously as blood sprayed across his face.
Lucian's grin widened, his tongue darting out to taste the blood. "Delicious," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with madness.
The girl watching from behind felt her knees go weak. This wasn't a fight—it was a slaughter.
More Yamazakis charged, weapons raised. Lucian met them head-on, his movements a chaotic whirlwind of violence. He swung his katana in a wide arc, slicing through flesh and bone with horrifying ease. One man's arm went flying, another's face split open like a ripe fruit. Blood painted the air, the ground beneath him slick and crimson.
A hulking brute swung a steel pipe at Lucian's head. Lucian ducked, the pipe whooshing past harmlessly, and closed the distance. He slammed his forehead into the man's nose, shattering it, before grabbing his ear and biting down hard. Flesh tore away in his teeth, and Lucian spit it onto the ground with a manic laugh.
"Tastes like pigs," he sneered, stepping over the writhing man.
The next wave of attackers tried to overwhelm him with sheer numbers, but Lucian thrived in the chaos. He slammed the hilt of his katana into one man's temple, then drove the blade straight into another's gut. As the man screamed, Lucian pulled the blade upward, splitting him open from stomach to sternum.
One of the men tried to grab him from behind, locking his arms around Lucian's torso. Lucian let out a guttural snarl, throwing his head back to smash into the man's nose. As the grip loosened, he drove his elbow into the man's ribs before spinning around and plunging his katana into his chest. The blade punched through the man's body, the tip emerging from his back.
Lucian leaned in close, his face inches from his dying opponent's. "You should've brought more friends," he whispered before yanking the blade free with a spray of blood.
Another attacker, armed with a hammer, swung at Lucian's head. He ducked, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting it until the hammer fell. Then he grabbed the man's face, shoving his thumb into his eye socket. The man screamed as Lucian pressed deeper, his grin widening.
"You like this?" Lucian snarled. "How's the view?" With a final push, he crushed the man's eyeball, his fingers digging into the soft tissue.
Lucian wasn't done. Another man tried to stab him with a dagger, but Lucian caught the blade with his bare hand, letting it cut deep into his palm. Blood oozed down his arm, but he didn't seem to care. He yanked the dagger away, spun it in his hand, and drove it into the man's neck.
"Next!" he roared, his voice echoing over the carnage.
Lucian swung his katana in a wide arc, the blade slicing through flesh and bone with horrifying ease. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc, painting the ground beneath him. He laughed again, a chilling sound that sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened Yamazakis.
"This is it!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the street. "This is what living feels like!"
The girl widened her eyes in horror. "Half demon… half god… an unchained monster…"
The words of the old man echoed in her mind, their weight pressing down on her chest like a physical burden. Seeing Lucian now, drenched in bloodlust, she realized he was neither a demon nor a monster. He was something far worse
Suddenly, the air grew thick, suffocating, as if the very world was bracing for what was to come. The sky above darkened, heavy clouds swirling ominously before unleashing a torrential downpour. Raindrops splattered against the blood-soaked ground, washing crimson streams across the battlefield. The metallic tang of blood mingled with the smell of rain, creating an oppressive atmosphere that made her chest tighten.
Now, Lucian stood alone, his chest heaving, his wild eyes burning with untamed fury. The boy—no, the beast—was surrounded. Two men stepped forward, their presences looming like titans. They were no ordinary warriors. They were the heads of two prominent clans under the Yamazaki banner, men whose names were whispered with reverence and fear throughout Japan.
These men, legends in their own right, had once served the Zeroth Generation—the mythical figures who had carved Japan into Yamazaki's dominion. Each held the hilt of a katana, their grips steady and their auras suffused with an unshakable confidence born of decades of experience.
And yet, in the eye of the storm, stood a mere 14-year-old boy.
Lucian's form was soaked in rain and blood, his shoulders rising and falling with every labored breath. His gaze flicked between the two swordsmen, not with calculation, but raw, primal instinct. He looked nothing like them. Where their stances were poised and deliberate, his was erratic, chaotic. Where their eyes spoke of discipline and skill, his burned with unchained ferocity. He was an animal cornered, not by hunters, but by apex predators.