Weaving through the forest, Seff suddenly heard the gentle sound of running water. He pushed through the underbrush, following the noise.
In another world, in another story, perhaps he would've stumbled upon a beautiful girl bathing in a crystal-clear spring.
But not here. Not in his story.
If anything, the only thing that could realistically happen now was someone else pushing through the same brush… only to discover a shirtless macho man mid-bath.
Summer was finally starting to fade, but the weather was still warm enough that washing up in a knee-deep stream felt refreshing, not cold.
The same water that could get you killed in District 80, for being just one mouthful, now flowed freely and untouched through District 49.
Seff had often wondered: why did things change so drastically once you passed District 50?
Why did people further inward just… accept their lot and lie down to rot?
Especially in District 50. They were right at the tipping point. Shouldn't they at least try to improve their situation?
But the answer was obvious, really.
Districts 78–80? Those were already beyond saving.
At some point, it became impossible to tell if people ended up there because they were monsters… or if living there had turned them into monsters.
Districts 60–70? Things were rough, but survivable.
What kept people rooted wasn't just the long road ahead or fear of the unknown, it was family.
People had loved ones. Attachments. Bonds. And those bonds kept them tethered to their homes, no matter how terrible those homes were.
But someone like Seff?
Alone.
Strong.
Untethered.
No one to drag him back.
No impossible crisis that stopped him from pushing forward.
Just the stamina to keep moving.
People like that were rare.
Hell, even he wouldn't have believed it if someone told him, when he was alive, that he'd spend two full months nonstop hiking across a spiritual wasteland.
Two. Entire. Months.
That's a whole summer vacation!
But humans are adaptable. Scarily so.
What seems impossible while alive… becomes natural once you're dead.
Cool water rushed past his legs and ankles.
Seff dipped his shirt in and began wiping himself down, using it like a makeshift towel.
Afterward, he'd wash it properly and hang it on a tree to dry.
One thing was for sure, untainted by modern pollution, the water in the Soul Society was insanely pure.
You could see straight to the bottom of the stream.
It was so clean, Seff didn't even hesitate to drink straight from it.
Along his journey, he'd come to recognize something else:
While Rukongai was a brutal, unforgiving place, the cultural aesthetic was undeniably steeped in an ancient Japanese vibe, somewhere between the Heian and Edo periods.
Everything from the clothes to the buildings screamed history.
And not a single piece of modern tech in sight.
No phones. No cars. Not even a damn telephone pole.
Which brought Seff back to a familiar internal question:
Where the hell did I die?
And why did I wake up in a place like this?
I mean, sure, he died cosplaying a Japanese game character…
But still, that face of his? Those features?
Shouldn't he have ended up in some Western afterlife?
Guess there's no hometown service in the afterlife.
As Seff stopped, the water settled and began to mirror the sky.
His own reflection surfaced, clear and sharp.
Solid, well-defined muscles.
A body that would make even other men whistle in admiration:
"Damn! I wanna look like that!"
If he walked into a gym right now, every fit chick in there would probably trip over their own feet.
But the body wasn't the real surprise.
It was the face.
Or rather… his entire appearance.
Seff had started cosplaying Sephiroth because someone once told him he looked a bit like him.
With makeup, a wig, and the right costume? Yeah, eight or nine out of ten on the similarity scale.
But that was after hours of effort.
Right now, though?
The face staring back from the water, was Sephiroth.
That beautifully sculpted, almost ethereal face.
Sharp, blue-green eyes.
Slightly pointed pupils.
And that silver hair.
And the kicker?
He hadn't even done anything.
No makeup.
No wig.
No editing.
This was just his face now.
Sure, the hair wasn't waist-length and flowy, more like it hadn't been cut in two months.
At the moment, it looked closer to Vergil from Devil May Cry than to Sephiroth.
Still…
Even with a Vergil-style spiky cut, if he walked into a convention right now, people would freak out:
"That's him! The real Sephiroth!"
"...What the hell is going on?"
Seff muttered, eyes locked onto the reflection.
He looked incredible, and yeah, it made him feel good.
But if this wasn't the face he was born with…
It was still kinda weird.
He'd lived with that old face for twenty-five years. It felt… personal.
The first time he noticed the change was when he entered a region with abundant water and had a chance to wash up.
Crouching by the stream, rinsing his face,
He saw it.
This… transformation.
He didn't know if dying while cosplaying as Sephiroth had somehow convinced the gods to just commit.
But here he was.
Looking like the real deal.
With a smirk, Seff made a few goofy faces at the water.
The handsome reflection mirrored every expression.
He was now seeing something no game or fanart had ever dared depict,
Sephiroth making dumb faces.
And he loved it.
This was his face now.
He didn't plan to become some angsty, genocidal clone.
He was Seff Yoshiro.
And yes, even making dumb faces, he looked amazing.
"Still… gotta admit, old Sephy's really got the looks."
He shook his head, impressed.
Then, correcting himself with smug satisfaction:
"No. I look like this now. So I'm just as hot."
As Seff basked in his reflection, something strange flickered in the corner of his eye.
At the edge of his vision,
His reflection.
That same Sephiroth face.
Its lips curled up slightly.
Into a subtle, knowing smile.
"!?"
Seff's eyes widened, pupils constricting sharply.
He instinctively turned his gaze back to the water and locked onto the reflection.
What he saw…
Was just his own face.
Slightly startled.
Mostly confused.
And wondering if he'd just imagined the whole thing.