The sky above was clear, almost unnaturally so.
Perhaps it was the absence of modern pollution, but the stars overhead shone with striking clarity.
A few dry twigs, casually gathered, had been set alight. The flickering flames illuminated a small patch of the dim world around him. Sparks rose into the night, accompanied by the occasional crack and pop of burning wood.
Seff Yoshiro sat alone by the fire, his long sword still within arm's reach on his left side, always.
In front of him lay a scattered assortment of items. Junk, really.
Three days ago, he wouldn't have spared any of it a glance. Garbage, through and through.
And now? It was still garbage.
Only, circumstances had changed, he had to cherish anything remotely useful, no matter how worthless it once seemed.
Among the refuse, three objects stood out, three more long swords identical to the one Seff kept by his side.
He had set them aside, planning to bury them later in some hidden spot.
He wasn't in the arms trade, after all. One sword was more than enough. Carrying extra blades only made him a target, and leaving them lying around meant someone else might pick them up, and point them back at him.
For now, hiding them was the safest option.
With a soft sigh, Seff reached into his clothes and pulled out a rice ball. It wasn't exactly tasty, but it was still edible. After chewing through it in silence, he took two cautious sips from the flask at his waist before tightening the cap with practiced care.
Then he tilted his head up, gazing at the night sky.
And let out a slow, tired sigh.
Tonight marked the third night.
On the first day, he'd thought he wouldn't be able to accept the reality before him.
But who would've thought, human resilience really was something else.
In just three days, Seff had already adapted to life in the afterlife.
Yes. The afterlife.
On the second day, he'd deliberately left one of his attackers alive, long enough to extract some basic intel from the poor fool.
This world, apparently, was called the Soul Society, and it was where humans arrived after death.
The region he was currently in? Rukongai, the outermost district.
Learning that truth had hit him with a strange wave of melancholy.
He was surprised to find that the afterlife actually existed.
But "Soul Society"? He'd never heard of it.
If anything, shouldn't he have at least made a stop in Yomi or the Underworld first?
Was this some kind of Japanese branch of the afterlife?
Where were the Ox-Head and Horse-Face guardians?
And why the hell did a guy who died in other country get picked up by a Japanese-style death god?
Seriously, what happened to the underworld department of his own country?
Of course, ranting was easy, accepting reality was harder.
But as an adult, all he could do was move forward.
The thug he interrogated didn't know much, just scattered bits of vague knowledge.
Seff could only take it with a grain of salt and wait to verify things himself.
He didn't mind the fact that he was dead. Not really.
Because he still had his memories.
Seff Yoshiro, age twenty-five, had already worked a few years. Just your average corporate drone.
He'd been part of the ACGN generation, anime, comics, games, and novels, and was half an otaku.
Work had gradually pulled him away from that world, but he had held onto one passion: cosplay, especially of one character,
Sephiroth.
Not just because Sephiroth looked cool and had serious style.
But also because back in college, one of his roommates had (maybe jokingly) told him he looked kind of like Sephiroth.
That had piqued his curiosity. He spent months completing the full Final Fantasy VII series, then began cosplaying Sephiroth at every convention he could attend.
Seff was serious about it.
He wasn't as tall or broad as the game version, but he kept in shape, trained regularly, and even practiced swordplay with his left hand to match Sephiroth's image.
Sure, his blade wasn't 2.5 meters long, but the 1.2-meter craft replica he wielded posed no difficulty after years of training.
He nailed the look. Easily an 8 out of 10, if not higher. He was always one of the flashiest figures at any con.
And it was at one of those conventions, that very passion, that got him killed.
On his way to an event, he witnessed a robbery in progress.
The thief had chosen the wrong escape route, and Seff, still in costume, intercepted him.
Three swift strikes with his cosplay blade, the thief was down, and the stolen goods returned.
He should've handed the guy over to the police. If he had, he'd still be alive.
But Seff was in a rush.
He didn't want to waste time waiting for officers, filing a report, or answering questions. He simply warned the thief not to try it again, and let him go.
He never imagined that scumbag would hold a grudge.
That night, while Seff was heading home from the event, exhausted and distracted, the same thief snuck up behind him in the crowd.
A flash of cold steel. A white blade going in, red coming out.
Seff had been stabbed, right in a vital spot.
He died before the ambulance even arrived.
That moment taught him a brutal lesson:
Mercy is wasted on the wicked.
The next time he opened his eyes, he was here.
In another world.
Dead.
He had awakened beside several corpses, each dressed in black robes, clutching long swords.
Uncertain of what to do, he buried them under the scorching sun.
In return, he took their food, water… and one of their swords, just in case.
Having played with swords as a hobby, even if only for show, Seff had immediately recognized: this was a real blade.
And waking up next to a bunch of dead people had instinctively put him on guard.
Turned out, that caution was well-placed.
At first, he thought this was one of those reincarnation stories, thrown into another world by a truck or some cosmic accident.
He never expected the afterlife to be a real world.
Only... not quite the kind he'd imagined.
Everyone he'd met so far, if they could even be called "people", were more like ghouls or demons.
No tutorials and guidance
Just blades, hunger, and ambushes.
It was from their malice that Seff learned the first and most brutal law of this world:
Kill, or be killed.
He thought he'd vomit the first time he killed someone.
But he didn't.
Food and water were too scarce to waste.
Puking would mean dehydration.
It was a painfully simple truth.
"Not much food left," he muttered, glancing at his dwindling supplies. "I'll have to move inward soon."
The dead Soul Reapers he looted from had only carried enough food and water for maybe a meal or two, clearly intended for temporary use.
Even combined, the supplies wouldn't last him long.
And in this heat? He worried the food would spoil before he could finish it.
After picking out anything useful from today's attackers, Seff tossed the rest into the fire, letting the flames reduce it all to ash.
Apparently, the deeper into Rukongai you went, the more "civilized" it became.
This was District 80, West Side, the edge of the edge.
He was currently heading toward District 79.
He stared into the flames for a long time.
The orange glow danced across his face, shifting with each flicker.
No lakes. No wells. No rivers.
Not even a puddle.
He hadn't bathed in three days.
Did he look emaciated yet? He couldn't even check.
At least his body still felt strong.
Actually… maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he'd gotten a little taller?
Chuckling to himself, Seff reached over to the sword lying beside him.
He gently drew the blade, watching as its cold light shimmered in the firelight.
In a place with such a "wholesome, honest" culture…
A "friendly outsider" like him should've been eaten alive by now.
Yet the moment he picked up that sword, something inside him had shifted.
Those flashy cosplay moves he'd once practiced?
Now they worked.
Maybe it was the nature of this world.
Maybe it was something else.
But there was power flowing through his body.
Real power.
Those choreographed, theatrical swings now unleashed strikes sharp enough to kill.
Almost like, literal game mechanics made real.
Seff realized something:
This Soul Society…
might have far more hidden secrets than he ever imagined.
For now, though, he had two simple goals:
Stay alive.
Get to a safer, more livable area.
"...Sleep. I'll think tomorrow."
With a final sigh, Seff sheathed his blade.
Then, using the sword as a pillow, he closed his eyes beside the crackling fire.
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200 P.S = 1 Extra Chapters
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• TL/N •
Hello guys Fanfic recommendation!
Check out my other work:
> Naruto: Mind Control
If you like smart and strong MC, this fanfic is for you.
It's Peak.
Give it a chance and you won't be disappointed