Chapter 1: Rebirth

I woke up crying.

Not from hunger or cold, but because it was the only thing I could do.

Everything was blurry. Like the world hadn’t finished loading yet.

No matter how hard I tried to focus, my vision refused to cooperate. Shapes shifted above me, colors bleeding into each other, details slipping away the moment I tried to grasp them.

Two figures loomed overhead, impossibly large, their faces warped and indistinct, like I was looking at them through water.

Who are these people?
Where am I?
And more importantly… why are they so big?

Okay. Okay. Let’s calm down. Let’s think this through.

How did I get here?

I was what people liked to call a “nerd.” Or an “otaku.” Or a “weeb.” Pick your poison. I loved anime, games, and all that stuff. I was a college freshman, just starting my first year. My goal was simple: become an architect.

Life was good.

I had friends I hung out with. A first girlfriend I had just started dating, nothing serious yet. And even though I didn’t really have a family anymore, they were what I considered my family.

That was until yesterday.

I remember walking down the street when I saw a kid suddenly run into traffic, chasing after his ball. I didn’t think. My body just moved on its own.

The heat leaving my body.
Pain everywhere.
Like I’d been hit by a truck.

…Oh. Right. I was hit by a truck.

No wonder I was about to pass out.

The last thing I remember was forcing my head up, just enough to check on the kid. He was crying, but he was alive. Safe.

Good.

That was enough for me.

Then everything went black.

So… yeah.

“Oh. So that’s what’s happening,” I thought. “Reincarnation.”

I didn’t even really believe in this stuff, but honestly? I couldn’t deny how exciting it was. Sure, I felt bad for my friends. For my girlfriend. Sorry for leaving you guys behind. You must be hurting, right?

Still… if someone had to die, I’m glad it was me. Losing a kid like that would’ve destroyed his parents.

As my memories settled, the blurry shapes above me leaned closer.

A man and a woman.

Their faces were still unfocused, but I could feel it, warmth. Relief. Joy. They were smiling at me.

They started talking. 

The rhythm. The tone. They’re speaking Japanese.

I couldn’t understand the words, but after watching an unhealthy amount of anime, I didn’t need a translation to get the gist.

They were happy.

Relieved.

Talking about me.

I tried to respond. I really did. I wanted to ask questions. A lot of questions.

Instead-

“Waaah!”

No words.

Just crying.

It took me longer than I’d like to admit to accept the truth.

I really had just been reborn

The days blurred together after that.

Crying. Sleeping. Being held. Being fed. A cycle so simple it was almost impressive how exhausting it was. My thoughts were still my own, thankfully, but my body refused to cooperate.

Eventually, crawling turned into walking. Sounds turned into words. Words turned into sentences.

And somewhere along the way, I realized something else.

Something important.

I wasn’t just reborn.

I was reborn as a girl.

I won’t lie and say it didn’t bother me.

Inside, I still felt like a guy. My thoughts hadn’t changed. My memories hadn’t changed. Sometimes I’d catch myself thinking or reacting in ways that just… didn’t match what I saw when I looked down.

But this was my body now.

Not ideal.

Still… I was alive. I was loved. And, strangely enough, I was happy.

I could live with that.

My parents, yeah, I guess they were my parents now, were kind. Warm. Normal.

Every afternoon, when I tripped over my feet or scraped a knee, someone would sigh and call my name.

“Mirai, be careful.”

Slowly, the word attached itself to me. Not just a sound, not just a label. Me.

The name my parents gave me. 

Aihara Mirai.

Future.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it. It was just a name.

I didn’t know yet what kind of future awaited me.

All I knew was that this was my second life.

And for now… it was peaceful.

My childhood wasn’t anything special.

And I mean that in the best way possible.

I remember learning how to walk in the small living room, my mother clapping every time I managed a few steps without falling. I remember my father lifting me up high enough that the ceiling felt just out of reach, pretending I could almost touch the sky.

I laughed a lot back then.

I remember scraped knees and bandages with little cartoon patterns. I remember crying more from embarrassment than pain whenever I tripped in public. I remember being told, gently but firmly, not to run inside the house.

Somehow, that never stuck.

At night, I would lie in bed replaying memories from my first life. College lectures. Late-night gaming sessions. Hanging out with friends, laughing over things that shouldn’t have been funny.

Those memories belonged to someone older. Someone taller. Someone who didn’t need permission to stay up past nine.

And yet… they didn’t feel like they clashed with my new life.

They just existed alongside it.

School was where things got complicated.

At first, I didn’t really know where I fit. I gravitated toward the boys out of habit, rough games, shouting, running around without a care, but something always felt off. They treated me differently. Softer. Like I was fragile.

I hated that.

The girls, on the other hand, were easier to be around. Quieter. More patient. I didn’t always understand their conversations, but I felt… comfortable. Accepted. Even when I didn’t quite belong there either.

It was strange.

I didn’t feel like one of them, but I didn’t feel like one of the boys anymore either.

Eventually, I stopped trying to force myself into either group. I floated between them, close but never fully inside.

I learned to live with that too.

I learned quickly, too quickly, maybe, but not enough to draw attention. I answered questions when called on, kept my grades good but not perfect.

Being different was fine.

Being noticed wasn’t.

I didn’t know why I felt that way.

I just did.

There were moments, small, easily dismissed moments, that didn’t quite fit.

Once, during recess, I fell hard while running. I remember the sharp sting, the warmth spreading across my knee. Blood pooled quickly, soaking into my socks.

It hurt.

I cried.

But by the time the teacher came running, the bleeding had already slowed. By the time I was sent to the nurse’s office, the wound looked… shallow.

The scab fell off the next day.

No scar.

The nurse called it “good healing.” My parents exchanged looks I didn’t understand.

It happened again. And again.

Cuts. Bruises. Scrapes. They always healed faster than they should’ve.

Not instantly. Not magically.

Just… unnaturally well.

I never felt anything strange when it happened. No tingling. No awareness. My body just… fixed itself.

If there was anything special about me back then, that was it.

I liked wearing my hair long. I liked dresses, but I also liked climbing trees and coming home with dirt on my knees. My parents never told me I couldn’t do either, and I loved them for that.

Sometimes, when I caught my reflection in the mirror, that familiar disconnect would resurface.

Yeah. I’m a girl now.

Not really ideal.

I still felt like a guy on the inside. Or maybe not a guy, just… me. The body was different, but the core hadn’t changed.

Still, I smiled back at my reflection.

This was my life.

I was still a pretty big nerd, even in this world. Dying and getting reincarnated didn’t magically fix that.

When I got old enough to wander into bookstores on my own, I tried looking for the things I loved back then. Manga shelves were easy enough to find, Naruto, Dragon Ball, One Piece. All the big names were there.

Out of habit, I searched for Toaru, the series I had been reading back then. I’d only just started New Testament before everything ended.

I didn’t find it.

At first, I figured it was just bad luck. Not everything gets stocked everywhere, and I was still a kid with limited options. No computer, no internet, and technology barely went beyond flip phones where I lived.

So I shrugged it off.

Plenty of series from my old world didn’t exist here either. It didn’t mean anything.

…Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

Years passed.

Nothing dramatic happened. No secret organizations. No mysterious powers. Just school, friends, scraped knees that healed a little too well, and parents who loved me more than anything.

I grew older.

And then, one day, when I was about eleven years old, I overheard something I wasn’t supposed to.

It was late. I’d gotten up to get a glass of water when I heard my parents talking in the kitchen, their voices low. Serious.

“…the doctors said it again,” my mother whispered. “They’ve never seen healing like this.”

“They want more tests,” my father replied. “From Academy City.”

I froze.

Academy City.

My mind went blank.

No.
No, no, no.

I told myself it was a coincidence. It had to be. Cities had academies. Academies had cities. That didn’t mean anything.

Right?

But my heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

I backed away quietly, returning to my room, shutting the door with shaking hands. I sat on my bed, staring at the wall, replaying the words over and over again.

Academy City.

In all my years here, I had never heard that name.

Not once.

And yet… I knew it.

I knew exactly what it meant.

That was the moment it finally hit me.

This wasn’t just Japan.

This wasn’t just another world.

This was that world.

The world I thought only existed in fiction.

And I was already part of it.