"Finally…"
The teenage boy pushed himself up from his bed, closing the comic book with a soft thump and tossing it onto the floor.
"Man… that was insane. I gotta give it to the artist, they're a genius," he muttered, shaking his head.
He stretched his arms and back, cracking a few joints after sitting still for hours.
Dragging his feet, he walked over to the table, grabbed his phone, and unlocked it.
The screen lit up:
[00:19 AM]
[The leftovers are in the fridge. I won't be home today.]
He stared at the message for a moment, then shook his head and set the phone down.
"She's really busy these days," he said quietly.
With a small sigh, he left his room and made his way to the kitchen.
After a few minutes of walking, he finally reached the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, peering inside.
"So… she actually left leftovers," he muttered.
He closed the fridge and started heading back to his room, shrugging it off.
Then, suddenly, a strange feeling swept through his body.
"What the…? Why do I feel so weird?"
The next moment, he collapsed, hitting the floor with a dull thud. His limbs felt like jelly, his vision swimming with blurs.
"This… this ain't good," he mumbled weakly. "All I've eaten today is junk and soda."
He tried to push himself up, just enough to drag himself back to his room and grab his phone. But his body wouldn't respond. The more he struggled, the more helpless he felt.
His eyes blurred even more.
"Is… is this how I'm going to die?" he whispered, voice barely audible.
He continued, his voice barely holding together,
"If… this is how I die…"
His breathing grew heavier, uneven, like his chest couldn't keep up anymore.
"F-fuck…"
He cursed under his breath, forcing his body to move again, even when it clearly wouldn't listen.
But it was useless.
His vision started dimming, the edges fading first, like the world was slowly being swallowed.
He blinked—
—and everything went dark.
—
After a few moments of darkness, his eyes slowly opened.
He dragged his body, trying to get up—but to his surprise, it felt… normal again.
'What the hell just happened?' he thought. 'Was that… a dream?'
He rubbed his eyes, his vision still blurry, struggling to focus.
After a few seconds, his sight finally cleared.
And then—
His eyes widened, his face freezing in shock.
"W-where am I…?"
Only then did it hit him.
This wasn't his home.
He quickly got to his feet, his head turning from side to side—
—and what he saw made his breath hitch.
A battlefield.
Corpses were scattered everywhere, lifeless bodies sprawled across the ground, blood staining the earth as far as he could see.
"W-wait…" he mumbled, his voice trembling.
His body began to shake uncontrollably as the scene sank in.
"Why… why am I here?!"
His voice cracked as he looked around again, panic rising with every second, the horrifying sight of the battlefield refusing to disappear.
After a few moments of silence, he slowly started moving, his steps hesitant as he walked across the battlefield, still unable to understand why he was here.
"Is this… some kind of hell?" he muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on the corpses around him.
One of them caught his attention.
Its head was completely detached from its body, its face soaked in blood, frozen in a lifeless expression.
A sudden wave of nausea hit him.
His stomach twisted violently, and he quickly covered his mouth, feeling like he might throw up at any second.
He kept walking across the battlefield, wandering aimlessly for what felt like half an hour.
Then—
A figure appeared at the edge of the field.
Its gaze locked onto him. In its right hand, it held a large sword, the blade drenched in fresh blood.
Its eyes… glowed a deep crimson, filled with pure killing intent.
Seeing this, he instinctively stepped back, his breath catching in his throat. The sudden appearance alone was enough to terrify him.
The figure began walking toward him, slow… steady… its grip tightening around the sword.
*Step*
*Step*
*Step*
His heart started pounding harder with each step it took.
'What's going on…? What is this place…? ' he cried inwardly, panic rising.
The distance between them kept shrinking.
*Step*
*Step"
* Step*
At this rate… it would reach him any second.
His mind raced, fear clawing at him—
And then, suddenly, something clicked.
His eyes widened.
"Wait…" he muttered. "This place… it looks familiar…"
He froze for a second, then started recalling something in his mind
After a few moments, it finally clicked.
"This place… Rona. One of the warzones from my favorite comic…"
*Step.*
*Step.*
*Step.*
The figure kept moving toward him, the distance between them shrinking with each step.
"If this really is Rona… then according to the story… you must be…"
He lifted his gaze, staring directly at the approaching figure, trying to remember—
And then it hit him
His eyes widened.
"Hey…" he called out, his voice slightly shaky. "Are you… by any chance… the War Tyrant—Hakuri?"
The figure didn't respond.
It was already just a few inches away from him.
He swallowed hard, his body growing heavy under an invisible pressure that made it hard to even breathe.
"I don't know how you managed to escape me the first time…"
The figure raised its sword, the blade glinting as it prepared to strike.
His heart pounded wildly in his chest, faster than ever before.
He knew—
He was about to die.
"But this time… I'll end you completely."
The figure spoke in a cold, emotionless voice as the sword began to descend toward him.
'This time…?'
'So I really am going to die…'
In that moment, memories began flooding his mind.
School.
The whispers.
The looks.
"Look at him…"
"He's so creepy."
"All he does is read those stupid books every day."
He spent most of his time alone, buried in comic books. Talking to people was never his thing… and eventually, he just stopped trying.
He had no friends.
At home, it wasn't much different.
His mother always came back late, too busy with work to stay.
"Ron, I left leftovers. I won't be home today—I have a lot of work."
Those words… he had heard them more times than he could count.
Every time, he told himself it was fine.
But it never really was.
He just wanted to spend more time with her.
His father had passed away a few years ago from an illness that couldn't be cured.
So in the end…
She was the only family he had left
The sword finally struck.
A spray of blood burst into the air, some of it splashing across the figure's cold face.
'I—I didn't want to die like this…'
Pain shot through his body for a brief moment—sharp, overwhelming—before everything gave out.
He collapsed onto the ground with a dull thud, his body quickly soaking in blood.
For a moment…
Pain was the only thing he could feel.
After striking him down, the figure turned away and began walking off the battlefield, as if it were nothing.
Left lying there, helpless on the blood-soaked ground, Ron cried inwardly—
'Why…?'
'Why do I have to die like this…?'
His vision began to blur again, darkness slowly creeping in.
Tears slipped down his cheeks, mixing with the blood already covering his face.
Then—darkness again.
The next moment, his eyes snapped open.
He found himself floating in a vast, endless white void… completely naked, with nothing around him.
He tilted his head, looking around in confusion.
"…Is this some kind of heaven?" he muttered to himself.
He kept scanning the empty space, his brows slowly furrowing.
"No… even though I've never been to heaven before… this isn't it."
He paused for a moment.
"…And it's definitely not hell either."
Silence surrounded him as he began piecing things together.
"First, I collapsed at home…" he said slowly. "Then I woke up in one of the warzones from my favorite comic…"
His expression darkened slightly.
"And then… I ran into the War Tyrant—Hakuri."
He went quiet again, thinking deeper this time, trying to connect everything.
"…So there's a high chance…" he murmured.
"…that I was transmigrated into the world of my favorite comic."
A brief pause.
"…In the body of a complete nobody."
"Haa…" he let out a long sigh, his expression turning slightly annoyed.
"And now I'm stuck in this endless white space…"
He looked around again, as if expecting something to suddenly appear.
"Seriously… where am I?"
Silence answered him.
He stood there for a moment, thinking, trying to make sense of everything—
Then—
Ding!
Ron's eyes widened as a red interface suddenly appeared in front of him.
[Condition Met]
[Activating Hidden Authority: Crimson Rebirth System]
"Is this some kind of joke…?" he muttered. "Am I dreaming right now?"
Then he suddenly shouted—
"HEY! CAN SOMEONE WAKE ME UP?!"
His voice echoed into nothingness.
No response. Only silence.
A new line appeared before him.
[Do you want to become the system's host? (Yes / No)]
"This… this can't be real, right?" he said, his voice uncertain. "There's no way this kind of stuff actually exists…"
He waited.
And waited.
But the screen didn't disappear.
It just stayed there… floating silently in front of him.
Seconds turned into minutes.
Minutes turned into hours.
After what felt like forever, Ron finally let out a breath.
"…Fine."
"I accept."
The screen flickered—then vanished.
For a brief moment, everything went still.
Then—
[Congratulations, Ron. The Crimson Rebirth System recognizes you as its host.]
Ron's eyes trembled slightly.
"Wait… it's actually real?" he whispered. "This kind of webnovel and comic stuff… it's really happening…?"
Another notification appeared.
[Skill Activated: Reaper's Bloom]
"Huh…? What's Reaper's Bloom?"
[Reaper's Bloom]
[Description: A unique skill that activates upon the host's death.]
[Requirement: 500 Soul Points]
Ron blinked.
"…Wow."
"That actually sounds like a cheat skill," he muttered, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice.
Before he could think further—
Another notification appeared.
[Initiating Resurrection Process…]
"Haa… so I really was killed by Hakuri, the War Tyrant…" he murmured.
A red countdown appeared before his eyes.
[00:59]
[00:58]
[00:57]
Ron stayed silent, watching the numbers tick down.
This time… he didn't panic.
He just waited.
The countdown slowly reached zero.
[Resurrection Process Complete]
Then—
Darkness.
A few moments later, his eyes slowly opened again.
A final message appeared before him.
[Congratulations. You have successfully resurrected.]
He slowly pushed himself up, sitting on a soft, well-decorated bed.
"Now that I'm resurrected… where the heck am I?"
He tilted his head, looking around.
The room was elegant—far beyond anything he had ever seen. Everything looked neat and expensive, like something straight out of a noble's residence.
"…Wow," he mumbled. "This place is amazing."
He was still taking it in when—
The large doors suddenly opened.
A beautiful young lady stepped inside.
Her azure eyes shimmered faintly, her silver hair flowing down neatly, and her figure was perfectly framed by an elegant dress.
Ron's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by her appearance.
'Who is she…?'
The young lady's gaze landed on him—
And instantly, her expression brightened.
"You're awake!"
She hurried toward him without hesitation.
Before he could even react, she reached the bed and pulled him into a tight embrace.
Ron froze.
His mind went blank as he found himself suddenly held by someone like her.
'W-what's going on…?'
Then, while still holding him, she whispered softly into his ear—
"I was so worried…"
"…I thought you were dead, Elder Brother."
Ron's eyes widened.
"…Elder brother?"