The morning sunlight cut through the thin curtains of my tiny apartment. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, shaking next to an empty cup of instant noodles and a half-drunk can of coffee. I groaned, slapping the alarm off, when my phone lit up with a call.
"Takashi, don't go to work today."
It was my mom. Her voice sounded soft, almost nervous.
"Mom, I told you. Today's payday. If I don't show up, who's paying the rent?"
"But I had a bad dream… and my chest feels tight. Just for today, stay home?"
I wanted to say something comforting, but time was ticking and the last thing I could afford was being late. "I'll call you after work, okay? I promise."
"…Alright." She hung up.
I biked to Shinagawa Nature Park, same as every morning. Clocked in. The summer heat stuck to my skin like glue, and the faint stink of animal dung clung to my uniform no matter how many times I washed it. My name's Takashi Arata — just a regular, underpaid zookeeper at Shinagawa Nature Park.
For the past three years, my life was a dull rhythm of feeding schedules, cleaning enclosures, arguing with idiot visitors who thought feeding chips to monkeys was funny, and scraping bird crap off warning signs.
But today was Bear Feeding Day, and that was normally the easiest. Our resident bear, a massive Asiatic Black Bear named Bossu, was calm as long as I stuck to his menu — fruits, raw meat, and a milk bottle for his cub.
Simple. Routine. Boring.
At least, that's how it was supposed to go.
When I reached the bear enclosure, I saw a small group of kids and their dad, laughing like hyenas. The dad — some sweaty idiot in sunglasses — hurled a stone into the pen. I froze, watching the rock bounce off the cub's head with a soft thunk.
The cub staggered, then collapsed — too small and too young to understand what had just happened. The father laughed louder, like this was some carnival game, and I wanted to yell at him, but duty called.
I had to feed the bears first — argue later.
I entered through the side gate, dragging a cart stacked with bear snacks — apples, salmon, and a plastic bottle filled with warm milk. The usual peace offering. My shoes scraped against concrete as the heavy door groaned shut behind me.
That's when I saw it.
The cub wasn't moving.
Blood seeped from its small skull, staining its soft fur.
My brain short-circuited — this wasn't part of the job.
I took one step back.
And that's when Bossu turned to face me.
Bears have dark eyes, almost gentle when they're calm. But Bossu's eyes were nothing but hate — boiling, ancient, instinctual hate. His snout curled, lips pulling back to show yellowed teeth, and before I could even lift a hand, the bear lunged.
Teeth tore into my throat. Warm blood gushed over my collar, filling my mouth with copper before I could even scream. I heard my own pulse, hammering inside my skull, as claws shredded through my uniform like paper.
In that moment, my mind flooded with regrets.
I'm a virgin.
I never deleted my browser history.
What about my single mom — who's going to take care of her?
Tears leaked from my eyes even as my body shut down, my life dripping onto the concrete in dark red puddles.
Then the sky split open.
A blinding streak of silver light pierced through the air like heaven itself had lost grip of a star. The meteor slammed directly into Bossu's skull, caving it in with a sickening crunch. Bone, fur, and brain matter splattered everywhere.
And a single fragment — a pebble-sized shard of glowing rock — bounced off the ground and sank directly into my forehead.
Pain. Heat. Something ancient whispered into my soul.
Before I could scream, my world turned black.
---
In the heart of the Eastern Darkwood, a forest feared across the continent, where even the bravest human cultivators rarely step foot — not because they fear the unknown, but because death is guaranteed — lay a cavern, deep within the central region.
In the center of the den, a single colossal bear lay curled up, breathing in slow, thunderous snores. Its fur was pure black, streaked with eerie purple lines that pulsed faintly in the dark. Near its side, a small cub lay curled up — a cub so tiny that compared to its mother, it looked like a newborn lying next to an elephant.
This cub was just a day old.
The cub's eyes flickered open, only halfway, filled with weakness and haze — the kind of exhaustion that feels like waking up after drinking yourself half to death. His body felt wrong — heavy, stubby, clumsy.
Thick, metallic — blood. The same smell that filled his nose in those final moments back on Earth, when his throat had been torn open. But this time, the scent wasn't coming from himself. It was everywhere, soaked into the walls, the ground, the fur he lay against.
His blurry vision adjusted, and for the first time, he saw them — the bones.
Bones bigger than anything he had ever seen. Fangs the size of his entire body. Skulls that belonged to animals no zoo could ever hold. The darkness of the den was thick, but strangely, his new eyes could see through it perfectly.
Warmth pressed against his side — soft, rising gently with each breath. He turned his head, body trembling slightly, only to freeze completely.
What he saw was a bear — a bear covered in black fur streaked with purple, a color so strange it didn't seem natural. But that wasn't what shook him most.
It was the sheer size.
This wasn't just a bear — this was a monster. Over ten meters long, its body radiated terrifying strength even in sleep.
He slowly glanced down at himself — small paws, soft fur, a stubby nose — all the same color as hers. His trembling paw reached up to touch his own nose and teeth, and at that moment, a flood of realization struck him.
This monster… the same as me… this… this was my mother.
I was transmigrated.
Not just transmigrated — I was born as her cub.
A tremor of realization surged through his tiny body, but before panic could take hold, a faint memory surfaced — his human mother's voice. Her gentle scolding. Her worried phone call that morning.
A single tear rolled down the cub's fuzzy cheek.
But before a single thought could settle, a cold, mechanical voice echoed directly into his mind.
[Ding! Host detected. System binding initiated.]