Darkness.
Not the comforting kind you experience when you close your eyes at night—no, this was absolute darkness. A void so complete it felt like I'd been erased from existence itself. No sound, no light, no sensation of time passing. Just… nothing.
So, this is what being dead feels like.
I floated, untethered, my consciousness adrift in this endless abyss. Memories flickered through my mind like scenes from a poorly edited AMV—glimpses of my life, or rather, the underwhelming highlight reel of a high school boy who'd perfected the art of being invisible.
Regret #1: Never confessing to her—the quiet girl in the library who always sat in the corner with a light novel during lunch. I'd rehearsed the perfect speech in my head a hundred times, even imagined scenarios where she'd blush and say yes. But when the moment came, I choked. Too afraid of rejection, too scared of making things awkward. So, I stayed silent, watching from afar like some background NPC in my own life.
Regret #2: Skipping the sports festival because I was "tired" (translation: I'd stayed up until 3 AM binge-watching One Piece for the third time). My classmates had begged me to join the relay race—"We need everyone!"—but I shrugged them off, pretending I didn't care. Later, I saw their team photo, all of them laughing, arms around each other. I wasn't in it.
Regret #3: Letting my only friends drift away because I convinced myself I didn't need them. We used to be inseparable in middle school—gaming, joking, dreaming about the future. But as we got older, they joined clubs, made new friends, while I… stayed the same. Too proud to admit I was lonely, too stubborn to reach out. By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late.
Pathetic.
And how did I die? In the most unremarkable way possible—stepping off the curb while texting, only to meet the front bumper of a delivery truck. Not even an isekai-worthy "heroic sacrifice", just… splat. No last words, no dramatic farewells. Just a dumb, avoidable accident.
Now, here I was, floating in this void, forced to reflect on my wasted existence like some kind of cosmic after-school special.
Then—
DING!
A sound. A notification, crisp and artificial, cutting through the silence like a YouTuber's intro jingle.
[SYSTEM ALERT: SECOND CHANCE PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.]
I blinked metaphorically, since I lacked actual eyelids.
Wait… what?
Golden text burned into the darkness, bold and unignorable:
"CONGRATULATIONS, SOUL #404. YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED FOR REINCARNATION."
I'd have screamed if I had a mouth. Reincarnation?! Was this some kind of divine glitch? Did God run out of better candidates? Or was this the universe's way of saying, "Here, try again, dumbass"?
"CHOOSE YOUR DESTINATION."
A holographic screen materialized before me, displaying a list of worlds—each one ripped straight from my anime watchlist.
Naruto (Ninja? Cool. War-ridden childhood? Less cool.)Bleach (Hollows? No thanks.)One Piece (Pirate life sounded fun… until you get chased by an admiral screaming Justice! )High School DxD (Devils, angels, and… oh.)
My mind raced. DxD—a world where power was everything, where even a loser could rise if they played their cards right. And, let's be honest, the scenery was… aesthetic.
I pressed the red button and it stopped on what I read last. Just Great.
"WORLD SELECTED: HIGH SCHOOL DxD. NOW, CHOOSE YOUR POWER."
The screen shifted, cycling through abilities—Sacred Gears, Devil Contracts, even a Dragon Installation (which, holy crap, was OP). Then—it stopped.
"MARSHALL D. TEACH – BLACKBEARD."
No. Freaking. Way.
The guy who wielded two of the most broken Devil Fruits in One Piece—the Yami Yami no Mi (Darkness) and the Gura Gura no Mi (Earthquakes). A walking disaster.
"Wait, does this mean I become him? Because I draw the line at missing teeth and that… body odor aura he's got going on—"
[ You inherit his powers, not his physical form ]
Thank every anime god ever.
[INTEGRATION BEGINNING.]
A sudden tug—like my soul was being stuffed into a too-small box—and then—
I gasped, lungs burning as if I'd just sprinted a marathon. My vision blurred, then sharpened—blue sky, cherry blossoms, the distant sound of students laughing.
I'm… alive?
I sat up, groaning. My body felt wrong—lankier, weaker. And—glasses? Since when did I need glasses?
Then the headache hit.
A flood of memories—Motohama's memories.
Name: Motohama.Occupation: Professional Peeping Tom (unpaid).Friends: Issei Hyoudou and Matsuda (fellow degenerates).Status: Universally disliked by the female student body.
Oh, come ON.
I groaned. Of all the people to reincarnate as, I got the background character with negative charisma?
But then—
A notification popped up in my vision like a game hud:
[POWER INTEGRATION COMPLETE.]
[CURRENT ABILITIES:]
Yami Yami no Mi Gura Gura no Mi Observation Haki (Basic)Armament Haki (Basic)
Okay. Okay. This is salvageable.
I could work with this.
Before I could celebrate, a shadow fell over me.
Uh-oh.
I looked up.
Standing over me were three girls, their kendo sticks resting on their shoulders like executioners' blades.
Murayama shot me a glare that could melt steel. She wore the standard Kuoh Academy girls' uniform, but the way she gripped her shinai made it clear she'd rather be using a real sword. Katase gave off the aura of a predator sizing up its prey. She looked like the type who'd calmly explain why you were about to die before actually killing you. But the random girl beside them looked like she was just here for the violence, grinning like a madwoman as she cracked her knuckles.
"Well, well," Murayama smirked. "Look who's awake."
I scrambled back. "Uh… hey? Nice weather?"
Katase sighed. "You really thought you could peek on the girls' changing room and get away with it?"
Ah. Right. Motohama's last act before I took over was being a creep.
I coughed. "In my defense—wait, no, I have no defense."
Murayama swung first.
WHOOSH!
But—
My Observation Haki came into play. The world slowed. Her strike was telegraphed like a bad anime filler fight.
I sidestepped.
Her shinai hit the ground. Thwack.
Silence.
Murayama blinked. "Huh."
Katase narrowed her eyes. "Lucky dodge."
They attacked together.
I weaved between their strikes, moving on instinct. My body was weak, but my reflexes? Blackbeard-level.
After the fifth miss, Murayama growled. "Since when are you this fast?!"
I grinned. "Perks of being a virgin—wait, no, that's not right—"
She lunged. I bolted.
I didn't stop running until I was behind the gym, panting like I'd just fought Kaido.
This stamina is garbage.
I needed to train. Badly. Relying on Haki wouldn't cut it forever.
Then—a hand clapped my shoulder.
I spun, fist raised—
"Issei? Matsuda?"
They grinned.
"Dude, you lived!" Matsuda laughed.
Issei rubbed his neck. "Sorry we left you, man. We thought you were done for!"
I stared at them. These idiots left me to die.
I sighed. "You guys are lucky I'm feeling merciful."
Issei blinked. "Since when do you talk like a shounen protagonist?"
Oh crap. Gotta play the role.
I coughed. "Uh… anime marathon?"
Matsuda nodded sagely. "Makes sense."