The light turned green.
He stepped forward.
That was all it took.
A horn blared—too close, too loud. His body froze for half a second, instincts lagging behind reality, and then—
Impact.
The world flipped violently, the sky smashing into asphalt. Pain existed only as a concept, barely registering before everything went dark.
No tunnel of light.
No last words.
Just… silence.
When awareness returned, it wasn't to pain.
It was to nothing.
No body. No breath. No up or down.
He floated in an endless white void, weightless, sensationless, yet unmistakably conscious.
"So," he muttered, surprised his thoughts still worked, "I really died."
"Correct."
The voice did not come from any direction. It existed everywhere and nowhere simultaneously.
Before him, the white space warped, folding in on itself like reality reconsidering its own shape. A presence emerged—indistinct, impossible to focus on. Every time he tried to assign it a form, his mind slid away.
Human.
God.
Concept.
None fit.
"Welcome," the being said pleasantly. "Your death was premature, statistically dull, and entirely unavoidable. I apologize."
"…You're apologizing?" he asked flatly.
"Yes. Professional courtesy."
He exhaled—though he had no lungs.
"Let me guess," he said. "You're a god."
"Close enough. You may call me a ROB—a Random Omnipotent Being. I exist to tidy up narrative inconveniences."
He stared at the being.
"Truck-kun?" he asked.
The ROB laughed.
A genuine laugh.
"Ah, so you're genre-aware. Even better."
Silence settled between them.
He thought of his old life.
Long hours.
Deadlines.
Bills.
An empty apartment.
A routine so stable it bordered on invisible.
No family waiting for him.
No unfinished dreams he cared to return to.
"…What happens now?" he asked.
"You will be reincarnated into another world," the ROB replied. "A world governed by magic, hierarchy, and conflict. As compensation, you may request three wishes."
No dramatic music.
No urgency.
Just a simple offer.
He didn't rush.
If this was his second life, then rushing would be the biggest mistake possible.
"I keep my memories?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Good."
He closed his eyes and thought carefully.
"In my next life," he said slowly, "I want the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception. The exact version used by Shiki Ryougi. Lines and points. Conceptual death."
The void grew quiet.
"That ability allows you to kill nearly anything," the ROB said. "Objects. Beings. Even phenomena, if your understanding is sufficient."
"I know."
"And it will make the world unbearable to look at."
"I'll learn to suppress it."
A pause.
"…Granted."
A faint pressure settled behind his eyes.
He nodded.
"Second wish," he continued. "I want Snow Magic. A full elemental affinity—not ice, not water. Snow."
"Specific," the ROB noted. "Very well. Granted."
Cold brushed against his nonexistent skin—not unpleasant, but familiar.
"And third," he said, voice steady, "I want a royalty-level mana pool. No drawbacks. No artificial instability."
The ROB tilted its presence, intrigued.
"You're not asking for invincibility," it observed.
"I've lived long enough to know that immortality just creates worse problems."
A soft hum echoed through the void.
"Granted."
The white space began to crack.
"One more thing," the ROB said casually. "You will not be reborn as an adult. You will start at the beginning. A baby."
He didn't hesitate.
"That's fine."
"Very well," the ROB said. "Survive."
Reality collapsed.
Cold.
Crushing, suffocating cold.
He tried to inhale and choked instead, lungs burning as air forced itself inside him for the first time.
His body screamed.
Small.
Weak.
Uncoordinated.
This is… awful.
Sound exploded around him—his own cry, high-pitched and unfamiliar. He wasn't speaking.
He was wailing.
Hands fumbled uselessly. Vision was blurred, unfocused, colors bleeding together. Yet behind the haze, his mind remained intact.
I really am a baby.
Snow brushed against his face.
Not falling—settling.
He was lying in a basket, wrapped in rough cloth, placed on cold stone. Even through an infant's dulled senses, he could feel it: the world was overflowing with mana.
So this is the magic world.
For a brief, terrifying moment—
The world split.
Thin, luminous lines appeared across everything he could see. On the stone beneath him. On the wooden door in front of him. Even faintly across the falling snowflakes.
The eyes—already active?!
Panic flared.
Instinctively, he tried to shut them off.
The lines faded—not gone, but muted, as if pushed into the background.
He relaxed.
Good… they respond to will.
Footsteps.
A door creaked open.
"Oh—another one?"
Warmth enveloped him as gentle arms lifted the basket.
"Poor child…" a woman's voice murmured softly.
As he was carried inside, his blurred vision caught two other cribs nearby.
One baby screamed with unrestrained fury, tiny fists flailing like he was challenging the world itself.
The other was quiet.
Too quiet.
Mana flowed around that one unnaturally smooth for an infant.
So… Asta and Yuno, he thought calmly.
Three abandoned children.
One church.
One forgotten village.
And a future that had just been rewritten.
As the warmth settled around him and his consciousness began to fade—
One final thought crossed his mind.
Second life, huh…
This time, I'll be careful.