Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—
The white sheer curtains fluttered, and a slightly fishy sea breeze poured into the room, like an invisible hand sweeping over everything.
A whiteboard covered with photos and dense red lines, a cluttered desk, and on the desk, a black-covered ID card flipped in the wind, revealing a photo with a steel stamp and the information below it:
Sorajima Yuuki, First Year, Department of Medicine, Izu University.
Tap.
A hand pressed down on the flipping student ID.
The young man, with black short hair and crimson eyes just like the photo, pulled open a drawer and tossed the ID inside.
He rubbed his head, then picked up a pen again and hastily wrote on a piece of white paper he’d torn off:
“My eighteenth birthday has passed, and there’s no anomaly. Could it be that I’m truly lucky and have come to the world I’ve always dreamed of? Was that sentence I saw back then just a hallucination from when I first transmigrated?”
His pen tip paused.
He turned his head to look at the mirror on the wall of his rented room.
The young man in the mirror had black hair and red eyes, with a well-defined face that was undeniably handsome.
But there wasn’t much excitement in the young man’s eyes, because he’d been looking at this handsome face for almost ten years; any excitement had long since faded.
Ten years ago, this body, the sole Survivor of a car accident, was taken over by him.
Handsome, with a little savings, parents deceased—a standard protagonist template.
After a brief moment of shock, he was ready to fully enjoy his new life.
But while flipping through Sorajima Yuuki’s diary, he saw words that sent a cold shiver down his spine.
That sentence was still vivid in his memory.
It was written in simplified Chinese, a line of blood-red characters:
“Survive!!”
“So, I spent a long time waiting for monster invasions, the end of the world, spiritual energy revival, system activation, or rule-based anomalies.”
The young man stroked his chin, his eyes moving to the blackboard covered with photos.
It was plastered with pictures—men and women, military bases and strange buildings, and various urban legends.
At the center was a huge red question mark.
“A question mark I drew? Why don’t I remember it?” Yuuki clutched his head, pondering deeply with no result.
He simply brought over an iron bucket, lit the white paper he’d scribbled on, and then threw all the photos and materials from the blackboard into the bucket to burn.
The faint flames flickered gently with the sea breeze outside the window, illuminating Yuuki’s profile.
He stared at the burning photos, lost in thought—a cold-faced black-haired girl, a young man with naturally lifeless eyes.
His wooden expression gradually became more vivid.
“There were no inexplicable gas explosions, no Avengers, and no Men in Black organization. There are conflicts and wars in the world, but generally, it’s very peaceful, similar to my previous life’s Earth. If I had to point out a difference—”
He glanced at the photos turning to ash, names flashing through his mind.
Grand Blue Dreaming, Kaguya-sama: Love Is War, Hyouka, The Pet Girl of Sakurasou, and some other people and events he hadn’t yet investigated, all basically shared a common characteristic:
This was a normal world of everyday youth, with the school lives of boys and girls as the main thread.
The biggest harm would probably only be a stomach ache, and certainly wouldn’t require force to resolve.
“And then I couldn’t find that diary anymore. Could it be that I read too many web novels in my previous life and developed persecutory delusions?” Yuuki’s mouth twitched slightly.
That sentence had made him paranoid and miserable for years.
Waiting for the apocalypse was the most agonizing.
Gradually, he also began to slack off, especially in the last two years, focusing more on reality.
“So I chose to handle both, continuing to prepare while also choosing this Izu University.”
Thinking of this, Yuuki couldn’t help but smile.
With the cheerful Senior Azusa and the curvaceous Nanaka, he could embark on a journey of youthful romance at any time.
Experience the happiest school days, then become a plagiarist after graduation to accumulate wealth, start a family with the person he loves, and have a few close friends to last a lifetime.
Such a life is ordinary, yet very happy, despite somewhat tarnishing the grandeur of ‘transmigration’ and ‘reincarnation.’ But what does that have to do with me?
To be frank, it’s not like I wanted to come here.
Being cautious for so many years is already quite remarkable.
If it were an ordinary transmigrator, wouldn’t they dare to go to Shuchiin Academy to pick up girls at eight years old, turning all the girls into childhood friends?
The paper scraps burned out.
Yuuki picked up the iron bucket, flushed all the residue down the drain, then took a brush to wipe away the writing on the whiteboard.
He paused for a moment when he passed the blood-red question mark, then irritably wiped it clean.
“All the suffering I endured these years was in vain, but on the bright side, what I learned can protect my home. At the very least, to be a playa, you need an excellent physique, right?”
Tossing the brush aside, Yuuki stretched his shoulders.
His mind was already planning a brand-new life, and he incidentally cast his gaze on the coffee table in front of the single sofa.
It was an idol magazine, with a beautiful girl on the cover, with black waist-length hair and light purple eyes.
A pink bunny hair clip adorned her hair, and she wore an almost perfect smile.
Sakurajima Mai, a popular young idol in Japan.
Besides her being another ‘acquaintance,’ Yuuki cared more about something else:
According to known information, this should be the only work with supernatural elements, and Yuuki had been cautious for so many years, visiting Kanagawa Prefecture multiple times without finding any anomalies.
“The time should be about right. If there’s still no problem this time, I won’t have to fret anymore. I’ll just join the Diving Club and live a life of blissful oblivion in oolong tea every day.”
As Yuuki thought this, he felt his heart rate quicken, as if long-suppressed emotions were about to break free from the shackles of reason, finally allowing him to enjoy life without restraint.
He hastily put on his jacket, walked to the entrance, and changed into his shoes.
As he opened the door, he hesitated for a moment, then turned and pulled several gleaming scalpels from a hidden compartment in the shoe cabinet.
The mirror-like blades reflected the smile on his face, and many memories flashed through his mind.
Kendo dojos, octagon cages, gyms, racetracks, dissection rooms…
“I didn’t realize I was so afraid of death. For a potential crisis, I shed so much blood and sweat. Was the only reward a good physical development?”
Yuuki sighed, feeling that he truly had persecutory delusions.
At that time, he didn’t even consider that if he had an accident during these dangerous activities, wouldn’t he die even faster?
“Forget it, it’s all in the past. It’s not bad to use it as bragging rights.”
The blades disappeared into his pocket, as if the ever-ready fighting spirit had returned to its sheath.
With a ‘click,’ Yuuki twisted the doorknob and stepped out.
The smile on his face instantly froze, and his red pupils slightly contracted.
There was no warm afternoon sun, no gentle sea breeze.
Even the feeling under his feet was soft.
Before him was a corridor, a corridor that would absolutely not appear in an apartment building with a monthly rent of 20,000 yen.
The dark, sunless corridor was covered with thick gray carpet, and the pale green walls exuded an ancient aura.
Yuuki felt his previously excited heart stop for a moment, and even his cervical spine became stiff like rotten wood.
It took several seconds for him to turn his head inch by inch.
He still didn’t see the familiar staircase or the boisterous kids he usually encountered.
Only the black wall lamps emitted a faint light.
The monotonous and ancient corridor was deep, with no end in sight.
Am I still dreaming?
Yuuki’s first thought was that he was still dreaming.
Then, as if stabbed in the butt with a knife, he spun around quickly, his palm soon feeling cold—the shape of a doorknob.
Oh, this…
He didn’t twist it.
His continuously constricted eyes blinked several times, because what was reflected in them was not the sixty-centimeter-wide apartment door plastered with small ads, but an oak door taller than a person and several meters wide.
This wooden door had no extra patterns, but like the walls and carpet, it gave off an antique scent.
The smell of aged wood permeated his nostrils.
Yuuki’s hand rested on the doorknob, not twisting it an inch.
Then, in his state of disbelief, he heard a strange sound.
The voice had no discernible gender, and its source couldn’t be traced.
It was more like countless men, women, old, and young speaking simultaneously—laughing, crying, growling, or sighing.
The sound was so chaotic, yet every word was incredibly clear.
“Welcome to the Reincarnation Game.”
“And you, as a lucky one who stands out among all living beings, will experience the extraordinary and become extraordinary.”
“Now, please open the door.”
So it said.