Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Typical Information for the Characters!! BTW, the order for each one might not be in order. 

Hanagaki Takemichi

Title: "Miracle Stitcher" (Secretly: Phantom Medic)

Class: Healer

Guild Affiliation: Independent (Works at the Hunter's Hospital)

Level: ???

Special Skills:

Medical Rewind: Can 'rewind' any injuries by physically touching the patient and focusing. Takes a toll on his stamina and mind depending on how severe the damage is.

Mental Stabilizer: Has a passive ability to give out an aura that calms madness or corruption from dungeon exposure. High resistance to mental attacks and illusions. 

Emergency Burst: In moments of extreme emotional duress, Takemichi can temporarily reverse death - snatching someone back from the brink once per individual. Leaves him drained and unconscious afterward. 

Miracle Hands:When focused, his touch can locate hidden wounds, remove poisons/curses, and accelerate natural healing far beyond normal speed. Said to feel "like warmth and static electricity."

Skill Traits: 

Medical Prodigy: Extensive knowledge of anatomy, field surgery, potion crafting, and magical contamination. Can identify dungeon curse strains on sight.

System Affinity: Unique compatibility with the System AI. Can see detailed status info others can’t, and receives strange “missions” directly tied to the narrative. May be glitched—or chosen.

System Status Sample: 

Name: Hanagaki Takemichi

Class: Doctor (Rare Variant)

Level: ???

HP: 1,500 / 1,500

Mana: 740 / 3800

Stamina: 320 / 500

Skills: Life Rewind (Major), Miracle Hands (Active), Crisis Calm (Passive), System Glitch (Passive), Emergency Burst (Passive), Mental Stabilizer (Active)

Affinities: Time / Holy / Bio

Akina Aoi (OC)

Title: Witch of Tides

Class: Elemental Mage / Support

Guild Affiliation: Independent (Courted by multiple guilds at the moment)

Level: 45

Physical Description: 

Hair: Dark navy blue, cascading in gentle waves down to her waist, often adorned with silver hairpins resembling ocean waves. 

Eyes: Bright green with flecks of turquoise, reminiscent of sunlit sea glass

Height: 5,6" (167 cm)

Build: Slender and graceful, but slightly muscular in the core and legs

Distinctive Features: A luminescent tattoo of a crescent moon on her left shoulder that glows softly when she channels her magic

Special Skills: 

Tidal Embrace: Summons waves of water that can purge negative effects of attacks from enemies.

Moonlit Veil: Creates a shimmering barrier of water that absorbs incoming damage and reflects a portion back to attackers.

Aqua Lance: Condenses water into sharp projectiles that can pierce through enemy defenses

Lunar Tide: During full moons, her powers are amplified, reducing cooldowns and increasing the potency of her spells.

System Status Sample:

Name: Akina Aoi

Class: Elemental Mage / Support

Level: 45

HP: 1,200 / 1,200

Mana: 2,500 / 2,500

Stamina: 800 / 800

Skills: Tidal Embrace (Passive), Moonlit Veil (Defense), Aqua Lance (Attack), Lunar Tide (Passive)\

Affinities: Water /Lunar

Skill Traits: 

Hydromancer's Grace: Enhanced control over water elements, allowing for intricate spellcasting and adaptability in various environments.

Lunar Affinity: Gains bonus effects during nighttime or in moonlit areas.

Empathic Resonance: Can sense the emotional states of nearby individuals, aiding in team coordination and support.

Haruto Riku

Title: Jungle Warden

Class: Summoner / Frontline Support

Guild Affiliation: Independent (Often seen with Akina Aoi)

Level: 47

Physical Description:

Hair: Sage green, shaggy and windswept, falling over one eye. Sometimes braided with bits of dried leaves or feathers from his summons.

Eyes: Deep gold, with subtle flecks of green that glow when he channels mana.

Height: 5'10" (178 cm)

Build: Lean, toned—built like a runner. Quick on his feet and deceptively strong.

Distinctive Features: Has a branching vine-shaped birthmark curling around his right arm; glows softly when casting nature-based spells.

Special Skills: 

Sylvan Pact: Summons elemental spirits—such as wood wolves, root dragons, or bark-armored bears—to fight at his side.

Thorn Ward: Grows a spiny thicket barrier that blocks projectiles and slows melee enemies.

Verdant Rebirth: Revives a fallen ally with partial HP once per day using life essence from his summons.

Living Terrain: Alters battlefield terrain—roots entangle enemies, trees sprout for cover, and the ground heals allies over time.

System Status Sample: 

Name: Haruto Riku

Class:Jungle Summoner

Level:47

HP:1600 / 1600

Mana: 2100 / 2200

Stamina: 950 / 1100

Skills: Sylvan Pact (Passive), Thorn Ward (Defense), Verdant Rebirth (Heal), Living Terrain (Passive)

Affinity: Nature, Beast

Skill Traits:

Beast Whisperer: Natural affinity with summoned creatures—his companions act with greater speed and loyalty.

Natural Armor: Has a passive thornmail effect—melee attackers receive recoil damage.

Mana Regrowth: Regenerates mana slowly while near living plants or nature zones.

Binding Roots (Passive): Occasionally auto-triggers root traps if enemies get too close.

Sano Maniro (Mikey)

Title: “Black King of Reversal”

Class: Berserker / Temporal Fighter

Guild Affiliation: Tokyo Manji / Toman (Leader)

Level: 70

Special Skills:

(Special) Eclipse Step: Mikey can phase between light and shadow, becoming untouchable during movement. His attacks gain devastating kinetic force when emerging from shadows, hitting like black holes condensed into kicks. Prolonged use drains sanity, tethering him to a fragile mental state.

Rewind Breaker: Can rewind a few seconds in battle to dodge or redirect attacks.

Dark Pulse Kick: Unleashes a shockwave from his foot that disrupts magical energy.

Void Rush: A flurry of strikes that target both physical and magical barriers.

Black Zone: Temporarily slows down time within a radius.

System Status Sample: 

Name: Sano Manjiro (Mikey)

Class: Berserker / Temporal Fighter

Level: 70

HP: 3000/3000

Mana: 1000/1000

Stamina: 2500 / 2500

Skills: Eclipse Step (Attack), Rewind Breaker (Passive), Dark Pulse Kick (Berserk), Void Rush (Attack), Black Zone (Passive)

Affinities: Darkness, Void, Time

Skill Traits:

Temporal Sync: Passively improves reflexes by syncing with short time loops.

Berserker Instinct: The lower his HP, the higher his attack damage.

Fearless Leader: Party members receive a morale and stat boost when he’s present.

Void Resistance: Partial immunity to mental debuffs and illusion-type spells.

Ken Ryuguji (Draken)

Title:  Iron-Heart Dragon

Class: Vanguard / Attack / Dragoon 

Guild Affiliation: Tokyo Manji / Toman (Vice Commander)

Level: 65

Special Skills: 

Heaven’s Drive: Dives from above with a thunder-charged spear.

Magnetic Guard: Creates an aura that pulls aggro toward him while boosting defense.

Pulse Cleave: A wide-area arc slash that destabilizes dungeon creatures.

Dragonskin: Temporarily triples defense when HP falls below 40%.

System Status Sample:

Name: Ken Ryuguji (Draken) 

Class: Vanguard / Attack / Dragoon

Level: 65

HP: 3500 / 3500

Mana: 800 / 800

Stamina: 2600 / 2600

Skills: Heaven's Drive (Attack), Magnetic Guard (Passive), Pulse Cleave (Attack), Dragonskin (Defense)

Affinities: Thunder, Dragon

Skill Traits: 

Anchor Stance: Reduces knockback and stun chance by 50%.

Battle Cry: Boosts party stamina regen by 10% during combat.

Elemental Grounding: Naturally resistant to thunder and wind-based spells.

Dragon’s Resolve: Temporary immunity to fear or charm effects.

Chifuyu Matsuno 

Title:  Silent Strategist 

Class:  Ranger / Tactician

Guild Affiliation: Tokyo Manji (Elite Member, Vice-Captain of the First Division)

Level: 58

Special Skills: 

Hunter’s Map: Reveals nearby enemies and dungeon traps.

Pinpoint Shot: High-speed arrow that targets weak points.

Strategic Swap: Instantly swaps places with an ally within 20 meters.

Battle Plan: Boosts entire team’s evasion and critical rate temporarily.

System Status Sample:

Name: Chifuyu Matsuno

Class: Ranger / Tactician

Level: 58

HP: 1800 / 1800

Mana: 1200 / 1200

Stamina: 1600 / 1600

Skills: Hunter's Map (Passive), Pinpoint Shop (Passive), Strategic Swap (Passive), Battle Plan (Passive)

Affinities: Space, Mind

Skill Traits:

Quickstep: Movement speed increases the longer he avoids damage.

Support Marksman: Arrows can carry buffs or debuffs when infused.

Tactical Recall: Can summon allies back from danger zones once per dungeon.

Farsight: Detects hidden enemies and illusions within a 30m radius.

Baji Keisuke

Title: Fire-branded Drifter

Class: Dual Blade Warrior

Guild Affiliation: Tokyo Manji / Toman (Founding Member, Captain of the First Division)

Level: 63

Special Skills:

Flame Rend: Dual slashes that ignite the ground and burn armor.

Crimson Spiral: Spins with blades ignited, damaging enemies in all directions.

Blade Feint: Dodges an attack and counterstrikes with boosted damage.

Blood Pact: Becomes stronger as more allies fall, at a cost to his defense.

System Status Sample: 

Name: Baji Keisuke

Class: Dual Blade Warrior

Level: 63

HP: 2500 / 2500

Mana: 900 / 900

Stamina: 2400  / 2400

Skills: Flame Rend (Attack), Crimson Spiral (Attack), Blade Feint (Attack), Blood Pact (Attack)

Affinities: Flame, Blood

Skill Traits: 

Flame Affinity: Attacks naturally apply burn status.

Battle Trance: Gains immunity to minor debuffs when dual-wielding.

Loyal Rage: Gains attack speed boost when protecting an ally.

Reckless Spirit: Has a small chance to ignore fatal damage once per fight.

Mitsuya Takashi

Title: Weaving Architect

Class: Artificer / Battle Crafter

Guild Affiliation: Tokyo Manji (Founding Member, Captain of the Second Division)

Level: 60

Special Skills:

Threadbind: Binds enemies with glowing threads that slow or immobilize.

Wardrobe Shift: Alters team members’ armor into special sets with passive buffs.

Runic Loom: Creates temporary gear or shields mid-battle.

Patch Heal: Repairs damaged equipment and restores some HP.

System Status Sample: 

Name: Mitsuya Takashi

Class: Artificer / Battle Crafter

Level: 60

HP: 2000 / 2000

Mana: 1800 / 1800

Stamina: 1300 / 1300

Skills: Threadbind (Passive), Wardrobe Shift (Passive), Runic Loom (Defense), Patch Heal (Heal)

Affinities: Craft

Skill Traits: 

Craftmaster’s Touch: Any crafted item gives a 10% bonus effect.

Elegant Defense: Takes less damage when dressed in crafted armor.

Color Theory: Matching ally equipment grants party-wide buffs.

Quick Stitch: Can instantly reinforce an ally’s armor mid-combat.

Tachibana Hinata

Title: Radiant Healer

Class: Cleric / Light Mage

Guild Affiliation: Independent (Freelancer — known as a battlefield medic)

Level: 59

Special Skills:

Blessing of the Dawn: Party-wide healing spell that also removes status effects.

Sanctuary Field: Creates a barrier of light that reduces incoming damage.

Holy Lance: Targets dark or cursed enemies with piercing light damage.

Miracle Touch: Can heal a near-death ally once per dungeon with full HP restore.

System Status Sample:

Name: Tachibana Hinata

Class: Cleric / Light Mage

Level: 59

HP: 2000 / 2000

Mana: 2300 / 2300

Stamina: 1400 / 1400

Skills: Blessing of the Dawn (Heal), Sanctuary Field (Defense), Holy Lance (Attack), Miracle Touch (Heal)

Affinities: Light, Heal

Skill Traits: 

Angelic Resistance: Immune to charm, fear, and curse effects.

Light Echo: All healing spells apply a small regeneration effect for 10 seconds.

Empathic Surge: Heals more efficiently when emotionally charged (friend in danger, etc.).

Holy Affinity: Increased damage against demonic or cursed enemies.

Sano Emma

Title: Cryptic Enchantress

Class: Enchanter / Illusionist 

Guild Affiliation: Independent (Frequent collaborator with Toman / Mikey, Izana and Shinichiro's Little Sister)

Special Skills: 

Mirror Dance: Creates mirror clones to confuse attackers.

Charm Hex: Lowers enemy defense and causes hallucinations.

Aura Bloom: Enhances a party member’s magic or attack power with glowing threads.

Memory Shift: Temporarily scrambles dungeon boss behavior patterns.

System Status Sample: 

Name: Sano Emma

Class: Enchanter / Illusionist

Level: 54

HP: 1700 / 1700

Mana: 2100 / 2100

Stamina: 1300 / 1300

Skills: Mirror Dance (Passive), Charm Hex (Passive), Aura Bloom (Support), Memory Shift (Passive)

Affinities: Illusion, Darkness

Skill Traits: 

Mystic Charmer: NPCs and guild bosses are 20% less hostile on first interaction.

Glamour Weave: Disguises or buffs team appearance for infiltration missions.

Arcane Finesse: Her enchantments last longer and are harder to dispel.

Witch’s Insight: Can detect magical traps, curses, or illusions from far away.

Shiba Yuzuha

Title: Ice-Bound Apostle

Class: Cryo Knight / Brawler

Guild Affiliation: Black Dragon (Elite Member)

Level: 61

Special Skills: 

Frost Gauntlet: Her fists become encased in unmelting ice for brutal melee.

Cold Snap: Freezes the ground in a radius, slowing all enemies.

Shardguard: Armor becomes crystalline and reflects partial damage.

Glacial Burst: Releases a blast of freezing wind when her HP is low.

System Status Sample:

Name: Shiba Yuzuha

Class: Cryo Knight / Brawler

Level: 61

HP: 2900 / 2900

Mana: 1500 / 1500

Stamina: 2400 / 2400

Skills: Frost Gauntlet (Attack), Cold Snap (Attack), Shardguard (Defense), Glacial Burst (Attack)

Affinities: Ice, Frost

Skill Traits: 

Cryo Reinforcement: Attacks stack chill debuff, eventually freezing.

Unbreaking Spirit: Cannot be stunned or knocked down for more than 1 turn.

Tundra Walker: Immune to cold terrain penalties.

Revenge Core: Gains strength as allies fall.

Kawaragi Senju

Title: Storm - Laced Wanderer

Class: Storm Dancer / Wind Blade

Guild Affiliation: Brahman (Leader) 

Level: 66

Special Skills: 

Whirlwind Blade: Spins with electrified speed, slashing multiple enemies.

Jetstream Dash: A teleporting high-speed slash that evades magic traps.

Static Cloak: Adds electrical damage and dodge chance.

Typhoon Breaker: Creates a vacuum slash that interrupts spellcasting.

System Status Sample: 

Name: Kawaragi Senju 

Class: Storm Dancer / Wind Blade

Level: 66

HP: 2500 / 2500

Mana: 1700 / 1700

Stamina: 2500 / 2500

Skills: Whirlwind Blade (Attack), Jetstream Dash (Attack), Static Cloak (Attack), Typhoon Breaker (Attack)

Affinities: Wind, Storm, Electricity

Skill Traits:

Windstep: Grants extra movement per turn in dungeon raids.

Counter Surge: Dodges apply bonus damage to next attack.

Stormlink Reflexes: Increases dodge and parry rate with each combo.

Electric Insight: Can sense mana currents or traps in dungeons.

Haruchiyo Sanzu 

Title: Mad Dog

Class: Trickster / Poison Duelist

Guild Affiliation: Tokyo Manji / Toman (Special Ops, Vice Captain of the Fifth Division)

Level: 64

Special Skills: 

Toxic Mirage: Causes enemies to hallucinate and attack illusions.

Blight Barrage: Fires poisoned daggers that explode on impact.

Laughing Plague: Infects enemies with contagious debuffs.

Death’s Dance: A high-speed chain combo with stacking poison on-hit.

System Status Sample: 

Name: Haruchiyo Sanzu

Class: Trickster / Poison Duelist

Level: 64

HP: 2200 / 2200

Mana: 1600 / 1600

Stamina: 2000 / 2000

Skills: Toxic Mirage (Attack), Blight Barrage (Attack), Laughing Plague (Attack), Death's Dance (Attack)

Affinities: Poison, Illusion, Darkness

Skill Traits: 

Insanity Edge: Deals more damage when his HP is under 50%.

Toxic Laugh: Enemies nearby take passive poison damage every 10 seconds.

Unhinged Mind: Resistant to all confusion, fear, or madness effects.

Shadowstep: Can blink behind enemies mid-combo for surprise attacks.

Kurokawa Izana

Title: Void King

Class: Void Caster / Dimensional Mage

Guild Affiliation: Tenjiku (Leader)

Level: 72

Special Skills:

Void Rend: Tears open a rift in space, displacing enemies into a parallel dungeon layer temporarily.

Graviton Pull: Warps gravity to drag enemies into a black hole.

Singularity Cage: Immobilizes a single enemy in stasis.

Collapse Pulse: Shatters the environment, causing AoE spatial ruptures.

System Status Sample: 

Name: Kurokawa Izana

Class: Void Caster / Dimensional Mage

Level: 72

HP: 2500 / 2500

Mana: 3200 / 3200

Stamina: 1800 / 1800

Skills: Void Rend (Passive), Graviton Pull (Attack), Singularity Cage (Attack), Collapse Pulse (Attack)

Affinities: Darkness, Void, Gravity, Space

Skill Traits:

Dimensional Anchor: Immune to teleportation and forced movement.

Warped Perception: Enemies see afterimages instead of true location.

Entropy Surge: Magic gets more unstable—and powerful—after HP drops below 30%.

Void Authority: Reduces enemy magic resistance by 15%.

(Hitto) Kakuchou

Title: Titan of Tenjiku

Class: Juggernaut / Rune Defender

Guild Affiliation: Tenjiku (Vice - Commander, Leader of the Four Heavenly Kings)

Level: 68

Special Skills: 

Runic Slam: Charges forward with fortified armor, knocking down enemies.

Aegis Pulse: Summons a magic shield that deflects projectile spells.

Stonebound Resilience: Temporarily increases defense and reduces status effect duration.

Bulwark Overdrive: Protects allies behind him with 80% damage reduction for 10 seconds.

System Status Sample:

Name: (Hitto) Kakuchou

Class: Juggernaut / Rune Defender / Attacker

Level: 68

HP: 3700 / 3700

Mana: 1000 / 1000

Stamina: 2700 / 2700

Skills: Runic Slam (Attack), Aegis Pulse (Defense), Stonebound Resilience (Defense), Bulwark Overdrive (Defense)

Affinities: Stone

Skill Traits:

Fortified Core: Immune to knockbacks, break effects, and stuns.

Defender’s Mark: Enemies that damage allies near him receive 10% reflected damage.

Rune Mastery: Shields summoned last longer and gain bonus effects.

Never Yield: Auto-revive with 1 HP once per day.

Haitani Ran

Title: Twilight Conductor

Class: Whip Dancer / Debuff Maestro

Guild Affiliation: Tenjiku (One of the Heavenly Kings)

Level: 65

Special Skills:

Crimson Waltz: A stylish whip combo that stacks bleed.

Tempo Decay: Slows enemy cooldowns and movement.

Orchestra of Pain: Whip attacks hit all enemies in a radius for 6 sec.

Encore Finale: Last attack used is automatically re-cast with bonus effects.

System Status Sample:

Name: Haitani Ran

Class: Whip Dancer / Debuff Maestro

Level: 65

HP: 2300 / 2300

Mana: 1700 / 1700

Stamina: 2200 / 2200

Skills: Crimson Waltz (Attack), Tempo Decay (Passive), Orchestra of Pain (Attack), Encore Finale (Attack)

Affinities: Attacker

Skill Traits: 

Rhythmic Flow: Attacks cannot be interrupted mid-combo.

Cruel Timing: Damage increases the longer a battle goes on.

Harmonized Control: Debuffs last longer and stack.

Dancer’s Veil: +10% evasion against physical attacks.

Haitani Rindou 

Title: Psycho Threader

Class: Crowd Controller / Sound Mage

Guild Affiliation: Tenjiku (One of the Heavenly Kings)

Level: 63

Special Skills: 

Sonic Screech: AoE stun with ringing aftereffects.

Spinal Beatdown: Vibrates enemy bones for paralyze effect.

Echo Trap: Creates a sound cage that explodes if enemies try to escape.

Discord Anthem: Silences spellcasting and voice-based skills.

System Status Sample: 

Name: Haitani Rindou

Class: Crowd Controller / Sound Mage

Level: 63

HP: 2200 / 2200

Mana: 1900 / 1900

Stamina: 2100 / 2100

Skills: Sonic Screech (Attack), Spinal Beatdown (Attack), Echo Trap (Attack), Discord Anthem (Passive)

Affinities: Sound

Skill Traits: 

Auditory Terror: Fear chance increases if enemy hears his skill twice.

Resonance Field: Gains insight into dungeon layouts via sound pulses.

Deafening Aura: All nearby enemies lose 15% focus regen.

Painwave Feedback: When stunned, his aura stuns enemies back.

Inui Seishu (Inupi)

Title: Blazing Engineer

Class: Fire Tinkerer / Gadgeteer

Guild Affiliation: Black Dragon (Tactical Core, Vice Commander)

Level: 63

Special Skills:

Ignition Rounds: Enhances guns or crossbows with explosive fire rounds.

Flame Net Trap: Deploys a heated snare to trap and burn foes.

Core Overload: Makes one gadget perform at 200% for a short time.

Thermal Smokescreen: A hot mist blinds enemies and increases evasion.

System Status Sample: 

Name: Inui Seishu (Inupi)

Class: Fire Tinkerer / Gadgeteer

Level: 63

HP: 2100 / 2100

Mana: 1800 / 1800

Stamina: 2100 / 2100

Skills: Ignition Rounds (Support), Flame Net Trap (Trap), Core Overload (Support), Thermal Smokescreen (Attack)

Affinities: Flame, Gadgets

Skill Traits:

Overclocked Reflexes: Shortens gadget cooldowns.

Fire Immunity (Tier 1): Immune to light fire damage or burns.

Hotshot Engineering: Trap effectiveness increases with environment heat.

Tactical Vision: Can predict enemy movement within a 5-meter radius.

Hajime Kokonoi (Koko)

Title: "Gold-Blooded Broker"

Class: Alchemist / Wealth Mage

Guild Affiliation: Black Dragon (Elite Guard Captain)

Level: 60

Special Skills:

Coinstorm: Summons sharp golden shards from the air to slash enemies.

Greed Pulse: Absorbs mana from dungeon creatures and redistributes to allies.

Golden Binds: Chains enemies in enchanted currency restraints.

Treasure Warp: Can summon vault objects like weapons or armor for 1 min.

System Status Sample:

Name: Hajime Kokonoi (Koko)

Class: Alchemist / Wealth Mage

Level: 60

HP: 2000 / 2000

Mana: 2500 / 2500

Stamina: 1800 / 1800

Skills: Coinstorm (Attack), Greed Pulse (Support), Golden Binds (Support), Treasure Warp (Support)

Affinities: Money

Kazutora Hanemiya

Title: Shadow Feral

Class: Beastblade / Illusionist

Guild Affiliation: Tokyo Manji / Toman (Vice Captain of the First Division, Founding Member)

Level: 61

Special Skills:

Phantom Slash: Creates afterimages to confuse enemies and strike from blind spots.

Feral Shift: Temporarily enhances strength, speed, and perception with animal-like instincts.

Shadow Dive: Merges into shadows to dodge attacks or teleport short distances.

Instinct Echo:  Auto-counters physical attacks with a projected illusionary strike.

System Status:

Name: Kazutora Hanemiya

Class: Beastblade / Illusionist

Level: 61

HP: 2200 / 2200

Mana: 1400 / 1400

Stamina: 2600 / 2600

Skills: Phantom Slash (Attack), Feral Shift (Passive), Shadow Dive (Passive), Instinct Echo (Attack)

Affinities: Shadow, Illusion, Beast

Hakkai Shiba

Title: Ironblood Vow

Class: Martial Paladin

Guild Affiliation: Tokyo Manji / Toman (Vice Captain of the Second Division)

Level: 64

Special Skills:

Iron Chain Blessing: Increases defense of nearby allies by linking with his HP.

Fist of Judgment: A heavy holy strike that deals bonus damage to cursed/dark enemies.

Devoted Barrier: Forms a divine shield around one ally, taking 50% of their damage.

War Hymn: Boosts morale and raises all party members' endurance.

System Status Sample:

Name: Hakkai Shiba

Class: Martial Paladin

Level: 64

HP: 3000 / 3000

Mana: 1600 / 1600

Stamina: 2400 / 2400

Skills: Iron Chain Blessing (Support), Fist of Judgment (Attack), Devoted Barrier (Defense), War Hymn (Support)

Affinities: Light, Protection, Physical

Kawata Souya (Angry)

Title: Azure Fury

Class: Berserker / Cryo-Brawler

Guild Affiliation: Tokyo Manji / Toman (Vice Captain of the Fourth Division)

Level: 60

Special Skills:

Cryo Knuckle: Punches that freeze on contact, lowering enemy speed.

Raging Weep: Boosts power dramatically when emotional distress is high.

Ice Snap Guard: Reflects a portion of melee damage as frost damage.

Furious Avalanche: A wide AoE barrage that slows and knocks down enemies.

System Status Sample:

Name: Kawata Souya

Class: Berserker / Cryo-Brawler

Level: 60

HP: 2500 / 2500

Mana: 1200 / 1200

Stamina: 2700 / 2700

Skills: Cryo Knuckle (Attack), Raging Weep (Passive), Ice Snap Guard (Attack), Furious Avalanche (Attack)

Affinities: Ice, Rage, Close Combat

Kawata Nahoya (Smiley)

Title: Scarlet Grin

Class: Fire Brawler / Chaos Fighter

Guild Affiliation: Tokyo Manji / Toman (Captain of the Fourth Division)

Level: 60

Special Skills:

Ember Spin Kick: A fiery aerial kick that hits multiple enemies.

Mania Rush: Gains random effects (damage, speed, stun) when laughing while fighting.

Wildfire Zone: Creates a burning ring that damages anyone inside.

Scorch Beatdown: Combo skill that accelerates with each strike landed.

System Status Sample:

Name: Kawata Nahoya

Class: Fire Brawler / Chaos Fighter

Level: 60

HP: 2400 / 2400

Mana: 1300 / 1300

Stamina: 2500 / 2500

Skills: Ember Spin Kick (Attack), Mania Rush (Passive), Wildfire Zone (Attack), Scorch Beatdown (Attack)

Affinities: Fire, Chaos, Melee

Sano Shinichiro

Title: The Broken Gear

Class: Time Engineer / Support Tactician

Guild Affiliation: Black Dragon Former Leader (Retired)

Level: 75

Special Skills:

Time Lag Field: Slows enemy movements within a 10-meter radius.

Restore Pulse: Heals allies while reversing minor status effects.

Gear Reset: Returns cooldowns of party members to 0 once per day.

Rewind Fate: Revives a fallen ally with full stats if used within 10 seconds of death.

System Status Sample: 

Name: Shinichiro Sano

Class: Time Engineer / Support Tactician

Level: 75

HP: 2000 / 2000

Mana: 3000 / 3000

Stamina: 1900 / 1900

Skills: Time Lag Field (Passive), Restore Pulse (Heal), Gear Reset (Support), Rewind Fate (Heal)

Affinities: Time, Healing, Strategy

Wakasa Imaushi

Title: Duelist Panther

Class: Assassin / Crescent Monk

Guild Affiliation: Brahman (Executive)

Level: 70

Special Skills:

Silent Cut: Critical hit guaranteed if unseen for 3 seconds.

Crescent Step: Dodge and reposition instantly with increased crit rate.

Panthic flow: Buff that stacks agility and precision per enemy defeated.

Twilight Silence: Area mute that disables enemy skills for 5 seconds.

System Status Sample:

Name: Wakasa Imaushi

Class: Assassin / Crescent Monk

Level: 70

HP: 2100 / 2100

Mana: 1800 / 1800

Stamina: 2600 / 260

Skills: Silent Cut (Attack), Crescent Step (Passive), Panthic flow (Passive), Twilight Silence (Passive)

Affinities: Shadow, Moon, Precision

Akashi Takeomi

Title: The Black Strategist

Class: Warlock / Dungeon Planner

Guild Affiliation: Brahman (Top Executive)

Level: 66

Special Skills:

Hex Command: Forces a dungeon creature to attack its own allies.

Binding Script: Summons rune bindings to paralyze enemies.

Mana Siphon Grid: Drains enemy mana and redistributes to allies.

Dungeon Reforge: Alters dungeon traps to work in favor of the party.

System Status Sample:

Name: Takeomi Akashi

Class: Warlock / Dungeon Planner

Level: 66

HP: 2200

Mana: 2800

Stamina: 1800

Skills: Hex Command (Passive), Binding Script (Attack), Mana Siphon Grid (Support), Dungeon Reforge (Support)

Affinities: Dark, Tactical, Enchantment

Keizo Arashi (Benkei)

Title: Iron Fortress

Class: Shield Master / Earth Warden

Guild Affiliation: Brahman (Top Executive)

Level: 71

Special Skills:

Earthshatter Slam: AOE shield slam that stuns and disorients.

Fortress Stance: Doubles defense, halves movement speed.

Earthen Bind: Roots enemies in place with rising stone chains.

Unmoving Guardian: Becomes immovable and absorbs all damage for 5 seconds.

System Status Sample:

Name: Keizo Arashi

Class: Shield Master / Earth Warden

Level: 71

HP: 3800 / 3800

Mana: 1300 / 1300

Stamina: 2700 / 2700

Skills: Earthshatter Slam (Attack), Fortress Stance (Defense), Earthen Bind (Support), Unmoving Guardian (Defense)

Affinities: Earth, Defense, Guardian

Shiba Taiju

Title: Iron Warden of Wrath

Class: Juggernaut / Flame Templar

Guild Affiliation: Black Dragon (Current Leader)

Level: 73

Special Skills:

Blazing Smite: A flame-imbued hammer blow that explodes on contact, dealing AoE fire damage.

Unholy Purge: Deals bonus damage to corrupted, undead, or cursed enemies while healing a portion of damage dealt.

Wrath Surge: Converts incoming damage into strength for a short period; stacks up to 3 times.

Burning Vow: Temporarily becomes immune to control effects and increases defense and regeneration drastically.

System Status Sample:

Name: Taiju Shiba

Class: Juggernaut / Flame Templar

Level: 73

HP: 4000 / 4000

Mana: 1500 / 1500

Stamina: 3000 / 3000

Skills: Blazing Smite (Attack), Unholy Purge (Attack), Wrath Surge (Attack), Burning Vow (Defense)

Affinities: Fire, Holy, Physical, Resilience

Phew. These were not easy to create, but I managed! In 5 weeks. :)

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: 

Dead Men Don't Do Homework

Takemichi Hanagaki hummed a tuneless melody as he meandered down the nearly deserted street, the soles of his worn-out sneakers scuffing softly against the cracked pavement.

The sun was beginning its descent, casting long, golden fingers of light that stretched across the sidewalk like lazy shadows trying to catch a nap before nightfall.

But Takemichi was oblivious to it all—too absorbed in the dog-eared novel clutched in his hands to notice anything short of an asteroid hurtling toward him.

He was a young man of average height, with slightly tousled black hair that always looked like it had lost a fight with both gravity and a comb. His deep blue eyes, which were currently skimming across the pages with laser-like focus, held a quiet intensity—a storm subdued behind soft waves.

His features were boyish and gentle, the kind that made old ladies want to pinch his cheeks and strangers assume he’d help them carry their groceries. He wasn’t particularly muscular, but there was a wiry resilience to him, as if life had tossed him around a bit and he’d learned how to stay on his feet… more or less.

His casual hoodie hung loosely from his lean frame, swaying slightly as he walked, and his jeans were just the right amount of frayed—whether by fashion or wear and tear was anyone’s guess.

A small crease formed between his brows as he turned the page, completely undisturbed by the occasional breeze tugging at his sleeves or the world spinning on without him.

He had just hit the juicy part of the book—the kind of moment where the protagonist finally spills their secrets, or someone dramatically screams “I never loved you!” and throws a glass against the wall (This is an example).

The street could’ve been on fire and Takemichi would’ve side-stepped the flames without lifting his eyes.

If someone had been watching, they might have assumed he was either a passionate scholar or just incredibly bad at watching where he was going.

Possibly both.

"Are you serious, Mikey?!" Takemichi all but shouted into the dusky quiet of the street, startling a pigeon from its perch and earning a dirty look from a cat lounging atop a nearby wall.

His voice practically cracked with disbelief as he clutched his book like it had just delivered him a personal betrayal. With an exasperated flourish, he flipped the page, releasing a dramatic sigh that would’ve done a stage actor proud. (How dramatic)

“You actually punched Izana? Have you completely lost all your brain cells—and possibly borrowed someone else’s just to lose those too? That’s not just reckless, that’s like slapping a lion across the snout and then turning around with your arms wide open, asking for cuddles and freshly baked cookies.” (Thats also oddly specific, dear Mitchy)

He let out another groan—long, pained, and echoing with the kind of secondhand embarrassment that could only come from watching a fictional disaster unfold in slow motion. His fingers dug into the corners of the book, knuckles whitening as if he could physically restrain Mikey through sheer narrative frustration.

Takemichi winced, a full-body flinch that made it look like he had just been punched.

On the page, the fictional version of Mikey—the infamous male lead, battle-happy wild card, and entirely unpredictable head of the Tokyo Manji Guild—had just done the unthinkable: started a brawl with Izana.

Izana.

As in, the ruthless, sharp-eyed head of the Tenjiku Guild and, oh yeah, Mikey’s brother. Non related, but still his brother otherwise. Which made the whole thing less of a strategic move and more of a dysfunctional family reunion with bonus swords and war declarations.

“No wonder Tenjiku’s declaring war,” Takemichi muttered, narrowing his eyes at the offending paragraph like he was trying to burn a hole through it with sheer mental willpower. “You storm into enemy territory, punch your brother—who, by the way, looks like he eats nails for breakfast and has the emotional stability of a lightning storm—and then you act surprised when he takes it personally? Are you new here?”

With a tired, soul-weary sigh, he let the book rest against his chest and stared up at the sky like he was waiting for divine intervention—or maybe just a plot twist that made sense.

“Idiot,” he whispered, the word leaving his mouth like a prayer and a curse all at once.

Takemichi walked past the towering, wrought-iron gates of the Tokyo Central Medical University—the ones so ornate they looked less like a place of higher learning and more like the entrance to a very judgmental theme park.

As the massive building faded into the background behind him, a subtle shift rolled through his shoulders, the rigid tension of hours spent under sterile lights and sharper gazes finally beginning to melt away.

He exhaled slowly, almost cautiously, as if afraid someone from the upper floors might still be watching through the blinds, clutching a clipboard and taking notes on his posture.

By all accounts, Takemichi Hanagaki was a golden boy in a white coat—a top-of-the-class surgical prodigy whose reputation preceded him like the opening theme of a medical drama.

Whispers followed him through the halls, equal parts admiration and irritation.

He was the student who could diagnose a collapsing lung faster than most professors could spell “pneumothorax,” the one rumored to have once stabilized a trauma patient with nothing but a roll of surgical tape, a stick of gum, and a vague prayer to modern science. People swore he could tie sutures blindfolded while reciting the cranial nerves in Latin. (He couldn’t. At least, not in Latin.)

And yet, for all the accolades, the applause, and the whispered “He’s the next big thing” muttered in corners of crowded amphitheaters—there was a catch.

Praise, Takemichi had learned, was a currency that depreciated quickly.

One moment he was a miracle in scrubs, the next he was a threat to tenure.

Beneath the glowing reviews and politely gritted smiles, he knew the truth like a dull ache in the back of his skull: most of his professors—those weathered, opinionated titans of outdated technique and god complexes—absolutely, unequivocally, despised him.

Jealousy, he’d realized, wasn’t an unfortunate byproduct of success—it was practically in the faculty handbook.

Being a prodigy came with perks, sure, but it didn’t come with immunity to ego-fueled sabotage or unsolicited lectures thinly veiled as public humiliation. There were days he half-expected someone to poison his coffee or replace his scalpel with a plastic spoon “by accident.”

He knew he was talented—brilliant, even—but brilliance didn’t stop your life from feeling like a dumpster fire slowly sliding downhill into a construction site.

Especially not when some of the very people tasked with teaching him anatomy were clearly compensating for a lack of their own. And not just in academic credentials. Some of them couldn’t keep their hands—or their egos—to themselves, lurking a little too long during practicum reviews or twisting feedback into thinly-veiled jabs, or even... the disgusting type of actions. 

It was exhausting and traumatizing. 

The kind of exhausting that coffee couldn’t fix and sleep only mocked.

And as he walked away from those cold, whitewashed halls of ambition and resentment, Takemichi wondered—not for the first time—why being gifted often felt so much like being hunted.

Takemichi came to a stop just before the train crossing, where the metal arms were still raised, but the warning lights had already begun their slow, rhythmic blinking—red and steady, like the lazy heartbeat of the city itself.

The electronic bell chimed with that strangely cheerful ding-ding-ding, the kind that always sounded more like a doorbell than a warning of imminent steel and death.

The tracks ahead remained clear, stretching off into the distance like silver veins threading through Tokyo’s concrete sprawl, but the air had already begun to hum with the distant promise of a train.

He exhaled a slow, tired sigh, letting his shoulders slump.

The wind tousled his bangs into his eyes, and he brushed them away with the kind of dramatic flair only someone on the brink of an existential monologue could manage.

“If I had a yen,” he muttered under his breath, eyes still fixed on the empty rails, “for every time I wished this story was real just so I could punch Mikey right in his smug, chaotic ugly little face—”

Shove.

There was no warning—just a sudden, brutal force against his shoulder, and the world twisted violently sideways.

His breath vanished in an instant, torn from his lungs before he could even gasp.

The ground slipped out from under him, and the edge of the platform flashed past his eyes like a knife.

For a single, suspended second, the city around him seemed to slow, caught in a frame of sheer disbelief—until gravity took hold and yanked him toward the tracks with bone-jarring certainty.

His knees hit hard. Pain exploded up his legs.

The scream came, raw and instinctive—but he couldn’t tell if it was his own voice or someone else’s. His ears filled with the screeching howl of a train’s brakes slamming into metal rails, a grinding, soul-splitting sound that swallowed everything around it.

The lights grew brighter—blinding.

His thoughts, sharp only a moment before, unraveled into panic, into disbelief, into a single jagged question screaming through his skull:

What the hell—?

And then the world vanished in a wall of steel and thunder.

The train hit.

And Takemichi Hanagaki was gone.

(Poor guy, boohoo)

Takemichi opened his eyes.

Then immediately squeezed them shut again.

Then opened them one more time, slower this time, like he half-expected the universe to reverse itself if he looked too fast.

No blood. No screeching metal. No crushing weight. No white light—or ominous flames, for that matter.

Just… stillness.

His first thought wasn’t profound or philosophical.

It was:

I definitely should be dead. Like, 100%, no pulse, flatline, toast. What the hell?

He blinked several times, squinting up at the ceiling above him—half-expecting to see fluorescent hospital lights or, worse, that sad, peeling beige paint from the ceiling of his dingy apartment where the water stain looked suspiciously like a screaming ghost.

But this ceiling… this was something entirely different.

It was nice.

Like, unreasonably nice.

White trim ran along the edges with clean precision, highlighting natural wood beams that arched gracefully overhead. There wasn’t a single cobweb in sight. No flickering lightbulbs. No ceiling fan missing a blade and making that ka-thunk-ka-thunk noise. And above him—of all things—hung a small but fashionable candle chandelier, its flickering flames casting soft, golden light across the smooth surface of the walls.

Takemichi sat up far too quickly, his heart kicking like a startled horse in his chest.

He gasped, lungs dragging in air as if he’d only just remembered how breathing worked. His fingers fisted in the sheets, knuckles white, eyes darting wildly across the unfamiliar space.

The bed beneath him was absurdly comfortable—like sleeping on a cloud that had gone to finishing school. The mattress dipped just enough to cradle him, the covers were heavy but breathable, and the pillows actually supported his neck instead of trying to suffocate him in his sleep.

He wasn’t in a hospital.

He wasn’t in a morgue.

He wasn’t even in a back alley missing a kidney.

Where the hell am I?

The room around him was tastefully decorated in a way that screamed wealth, but not the tacky, over-the-top kind. More like the my-family-has-owned-this-estate-for-generations kind.

There was an elegant wooden desk in the corner, carved with delicate floral patterns, beside a tall bookshelf stacked with neatly arranged leather-bound tomes. Soft cream-colored curtains billowed gently with the breeze that filtered through a nearby window, which let in just enough early sunlight to give the space a warm, golden glow. The walls were painted a calming dove-gray, and the floor beneath the thick woven rug was polished wood—clean, gleaming, and utterly foreign.

The air smelled faintly sweet.

He stilled, nostrils flaring slightly as the scent curled around his senses like invisible fingers.

Lavender.

The scent clung to the sheets, to the pillows, to the room itself—soothing and cool and soft, like being wrapped in a hug made of flower petals. And just like that, something inside him loosened.

His heartbeat began to slow.

His breaths came easier.

His clenched fists uncurled.

For the first time since his tumble onto the tracks, the panic that had wrapped itself around his chest like barbed wire began to slip away.

He exhaled, long and trembling.

“…Did I die and get reincarnated as someone rich?” he muttered aloud, glancing around as if someone might answer. “Because I gotta say… this is definitely not my tax bracket.”

Just as Takemichi was beginning to convince himself that he hadn’t been abducted by rich cultists or spirited away into some influencer’s designer guest room, a soft ding echoed in the quiet air like a polite digital doorbell.

Then—without warning—a shimmering blue pop-up screen blinked into existence inches from his face.

He yelped.

The glow cast an eerie, cerulean light over his skin, and he instinctively flinched back, nearly tangling himself in the sheets like a startled ghost in a luxury hotel. The screen hovered mid-air, semi-transparent and pulsing gently, like it was waiting for applause.

It looked weirdly out of place amidst the old-world elegance of the room, like someone had duct-taped an iPad to a Renaissance painting.

With wide, unblinking eyes, Takemichi stared as blocky text etched itself into view with a cheerful chime:

[SYSTEM WINDOW]

Welcome, Hanagaki Takemichi!

You have successfully reincarnated.

Name: Hanagaki Takemichi

Class: Doctor

Level: ???

HP: 1,500 / 1,500

Mana: 3800 / 3800

Stamina: 1500 / 1500

Skills: Life Rewind (Major), Miracle Hands (Passive), Crisis Calm (Passive), System Glitch (ACTIVE), Emergency Burst (Passive), Mental Stabilizer (ACTIVE)

Affinities: Time / Holy / Bio

Current Occupation: Licensed Hunter’s Doctor

Status: Antagonist Side Character

Reputation: [Universally Despised by Main Characters]

Health: 100%

Trauma: 97% (Stable-ish) – Skill: Mental Stabilizer is currently in use

Special Skill: “Miracle Hands – Medical”

More Information currently loading...]

Takemichi stared at it.

“…Cool. But I didn't ask for it."

The trauma of dying, getting isekai’d, and being greeted by a status screen didn’t even register.

He’d had worse Mondays.

And honestly?

He really didn’t miss his old life.

The sexual harassment from supervisors?

Gone.

The passive-aggressive professors?

Gone.

The fact he could now afford a mattress that didn’t feel like sleeping on bones?

Major win.

Still barefoot and wrapped in the warm embrace of what might have been the most absurdly comfortable pajamas in existence, Takemichi wandered through the arched wooden doorway that led from his bedroom to the small kitchen tucked just beside the sitting area.

His hair was a sleepy, gravity-defying mess, his steps slow and aimless, like someone still partially convinced they were dreaming.

His pajamas—if they could even be called that—felt like they’d been spun from clouds and wishful thinking.

The pants were loose and flowing, made of soft, breathable cotton in a pale sky blue, with subtle white embroidery along the cuffs that looked almost hand-stitched. The shirt was a white top, slightly oversized, the fabric cool against his skin but warm enough to ward off the chill in the morning air. The sleeves were rolled up just past his elbows, and the collar flopped open just a little, giving him the look of someone perpetually caught between comfort and not giving a single damn about fashion. A velvet drawstring kept the waist snug, but forgiving—clearly made for people who liked their breakfasts in peace.

And breakfast, it seemed, was next on the itinerary.

He rubbed at one eye as he strolled into the kitchen, blinking in the early light that spilled through the half-curtained window above the sink.

His body still ached faintly from whatever metaphysical journey had landed him in this unfamiliar, RPG-ready world, but at least the kitchen made him feel like he hadn’t woken up in a dungeon. In fact, it felt—cozy.

No, better than cozy.

It was downright hearth-warmingly pleasant. (Thanks to your mental stabilizer skill)

The kitchen was small in the way cottages were small—purposeful, intimate, and packed with charm.

The floor was made of honey-colored stone tiles, slightly uneven beneath his feet, which only added to the handmade character of the space. Cream-colored cabinets lined the walls, their doors painted with delicate floral designs, vines and blossoms that looked like they'd been traced by a loving hand over generations.

The handles were old brass, polished smooth from years of use.

Above the stove hung a row of cast-iron pans, each one different in shape and age, suspended from a wrought iron rack that dangled above a rustic wooden counter.

Open shelves displayed mismatched ceramic mugs, tiny herb jars labeled in a looping script, and neatly stacked bowls that looked like they belonged in a storybook tavern.

The scent of lavender still lingered faintly in the air, but now it was joined by a richer, homier aroma—something like warm bread, old wood, and the lingering spice of yesterday’s dinner.

The stove itself was a deep green enamel model, a bit old-fashioned but fully functional, and when he twisted the knob, the flame crackled to life with a cheerful pop. It was the kind of stove that demanded you cook something meaningful on it—stews, roasts, fried eggs that felt like a small triumph.

Takemichi cracked two eggs he got from the fridge into a skillet with surprising ease, humming tunelessly as the whites sizzled and the yolks glowed golden in the pan.

He reached lazily for a small jar of sea salt and another of cracked pepper, sprinkling each over the eggs like a chef in a cooking show who’d just been reincarnated into domestic bliss.

Somehow, just somehow, he knew where everything is supposed to be. 

“Well,” he said to himself, voice echoing just a little in the otherwise quiet kitchen, “if I’m gonna be a side character, especially an antagonist type, I might as well have a good breakfast.”

The toaster, an adorable metal contraption with little carved wooden buttons, let out a soft ding of approval.

A single slice of toast sprang into the air, its surface perfectly crisp and golden-brown, edges just the right amount of crunchy. Takemichi turned with practiced grace, leaned back slightly, opened his mouth—

—and caught it.

Right between his teeth.

Victory.

He raised a hand into the air in triumph, the toast clenched like a trophy. “Nailed it.”

Crumbs dusted his shirt.

He didn’t care.

The eggs hissed contentedly in the background, sunlight spilled across the countertop in gold, and for just this one moment, Takemichi felt like maybe—just maybe—being an "antagonist side character" in a new world wasn’t such a bad gig after all.

Just as Takemichi was halfway through chewing his second triumphant bite of toast—still riding the high of having caught it midair like a breakfast ninja—another ping rang through the air.

It was the same polite, musical chime from earlier, but this time it sounded just a little too smug, like a butler about to deliver very bad news with a smile.

He turned slowly, mouth full of toast, and there it was again: that floating blue screen, pulsing gently in midair as though it had all the time in the world and none of the soul-crushing urgency it was clearly about to inflict.

[SYSTEM WINDOW]

[Thank you for not making this hard for us.

You have received your first quest.

MISSION: Get to work on time.

Reward: [???]

Failure: [Public Humiliation + Mild Debuff of “Clown Energy”]]

Takemichi stopped chewing.

He stared at the screen like it had just offered him a promotion to corporate hell.

“…You’re telling me,” he began, voice muffled and incredulous, “I just died, got yeeted into a brand-new universe with chandeliers, lavender-scented sheets, and a kitchen so cozy it deserves its own Netflix series… and I still have to go to work?”

The words dripped with betrayal.

Not even comedic betrayal—existential betrayal.

Divine cosmic comedy with him as the punchline.

He groaned like a man a thousand years older, slumped over the counter in defeat, and took another bite of toast so exaggeratedly dramatic it could’ve won a local theater award.

As if the simple act of breakfast could somehow protect him from whatever new nonsense was about to unfold.

Then the screen changed.

Another soft ding.

Timer: 00:23:59

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

His spine straightened like a lightning bolt had just kissed it. His eyes grew wide enough to reflect the countdown. “Wait. That’s twenty-four minutes. Twenty-four.”

A beat.

Then he exploded into frantic flailing, nearly swatting the skillet off the stove with his elbow, his remaining toast launching into the air like a tragic breakfast casualty.

“WHERE DO I EVEN WORK?!” he shouted, wheeling around the kitchen like a panicked cat trapped in a linen closet. “I don’t have a uniform! I don’t even know what day it is! What do I do?! What if I’m a blacksmith? What if I’m a janitor for dragons? WHAT IF I HAVE TO DO MATH?!”

His voice cracked in horror.

The system screen—still hovering in that maddeningly calm, cheerful glow—flickered again, as if thoroughly enjoying his meltdown. Then another ding.

[Map Activated.]

[Directions: Left out the door. Run. Don’t stop. Pray you make it.]

Takemichi froze.

He stared.

“…This system is trying to kill me,” he muttered, jaw slack. “And I just died. I literally just died. I haven’t even unpacked the emotional trauma yet. I haven’t cried about it. I haven’t processed it. And now I’m being bullied by a status screen.”

The system, naturally, said nothing.

Timer: 00:22:11

He stood there in his heavenly-soft pajamas, barefoot on stone tiles, smelling faintly of lavender and toast crumbs, caught somewhere between a breakdown and a very fast sprint.

There was no time to sit and wonder.

No time to change clothes.

No time to wonder what job he had.

Takemichi grabbed the nearest cloak hanging by the door, yanked it on, and bolted.

Chapter Text

Takemichi didn’t need to ask where his workplace was.

The universe—or rather, the digital system bound to his very soul—was already one step ahead of him.

The moment he stepped outside the front door of his cozy little home, still exhaling the residual lavender-scented calm of his pillows, the air shimmered faintly, and a glowing map flared to life directly in front of his face.

It hovered a few inches above eye level like an overly enthusiastic tour guide, its translucent frame flickering with light blue runes. Bright lines traced a precise route through the district, weaving between streets and corners, while blinking arrows rotated midair as if saying, “Come on, we’ve got healing to do!”

The label on the destination sparkled in ornate silver script:

[Iris Sanctum - Regional Healing Wing]

Takemichi blinked. “...Well. That’s weirdly polite for a magical GPS,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes before squinting up again.

The path pulsed once—eager, perhaps too eager—and he figured he might as well follow it before the thing started yelling at him.

He took off at a light jog, pajama pants flapping slightly at his ankles and his rain boots (Apparently, according to the system, it is supposed to rain later) loudly clamped against the cobbled stone.

The world around him blurred gently as he picked up speed—sunlight spilling across the rooftops like honey, morning mist curling at the edges of the alleys, and voices of people bustling through the streets to get to their jobs 

The scent of warm cinnamon rolls and fresh parchment followed him like trailing smoke. It made him slightly drool. His stomach rumbled a bit, even though he just had breakfast. 

Every hundred steps, the system pinged in his ear with a tone that sounded suspiciously smug.

A glowing [STEP COUNTER REACHED - STAY ACTIVE!] message appeared each time, as if the system had read too many motivational posters.

Takemichi resisted the urge to tell it to shove off.

By the time he rounded the final corner, the building loomed into view, and even Takemichi—who had once done surgery in a broom closet back on Earth—couldn’t help but stop and stare.

The Iris Sanctum stood tall and proud at the heart of the district, a massive, modern-hospital looking but domed structure with white marble columns flanking the front like ancient guardians. Delicate vines of emerald ivy climbed the sides, weaving up between arched windows made of enchanted glass that shimmered with soft hues of rose and sky.

Above the main entrance, a stained-glass crest glowed faintly with what could only be divine-grade magic—a white lily cradling a golden heart, symbolic of the Sanctum’s promise: healing without judgment.

The building radiated warmth and safety, like a place where pain came to rest and never left again.

Takemichi slowed to a walk, breath catching just a little in his throat.

“I… work here?” he whispered, voice breathy in disbelief.

Then, quieter still, “…Damn.”

The moment Takemichi stepped through the tall, glass-panel doors of the Iris Sanctum’s main healing facility, it was as if he’d walked into a completely different dimension of reality—one lined with polished floors, filtered light, and the quiet hum of magically-enhanced HVAC systems.

Gone was the city noise, the sharp scent of car exhaust, and the faint background static of people rushing through their lives.

Inside, the air was clinical, but not in an oppressive way.

It was warm, subtly perfumed with the calming aroma of lavender and eucalyptus—like the world’s best spa fused with a state-of-the-art hospital. The air itself felt filtered and mana-charged, as if it had been purified by some unseen arcane circulation system that made it easier to breathe, like oxygen with a side of serenity.

Soft footsteps tapped against smooth vinyl floors, every inch of which gleamed with a glossy finish.

The walls were lined with sleek digital interfaces, some showing patient vitals in real-time, others looping calming landscapes from enchanted projectors—sunsets, oceans, forests swaying under dappled light.

A nurse in pale scrubs glided by on cushioned sneakers, her ID badge, which was a gold color, pulsing with faint runic light, shone on her right side of her chest. That meant she was also a high level doctor.

Just behind her, a robotic assistant nurse—an enchanted medical golem upgraded with a personality chip—rolled past quietly, balancing a tray of tea, a stack of medical charts, and what looked like a basket of snacks.

Takemichi moved through the space almost reverently, each footstep absorbing the quiet atmosphere of the building.

A few healers stood in small groups, sipping coffee from floating mugs as they discussed patient mana compatibility.

Nurses checked tablet-like grimoires, flipping through files with holographic gestures.

The entire floor pulsed with a kind of organized peace that felt rare in this chaotic world of monster outbreaks, dungeon anomalies, and guild politics. And apparently, judging from their silver and bronze badges, they were normal to medium level. 

Takemichi glanced down at his own badge: A bright, shining diamond color. Apparently, he is the only hunter - doctor in the world with a diamond badge. He slightly grinned, feeling insanely proud of himself. 

His system guided him unerringly through the maze of clean corridors, past security checkpoints, enchanted ID scanners, and a bustling reception atrium filled with patients and healers alike. Eventually, he found himself standing in front of a large glass elevator nestled into a sleek marble alcove, its doors etched with shimmering runes that pulsed gently with ambient mana.

The moment he stepped inside, a soothing chime echoed through the cabin. A smooth female voice—clearly artificial, though oddly polite—greeted him with a simple:

[Destination: Sixty-fourth floor. Grand Healer access confirmed]

As the doors slid shut with a whisper, the elevator rose in utter silence.

No rumbling.

No mechanical jerks.

Just smooth, uninterrupted motion and a floor-to-ceiling view of the city skyline.

Through the crystal-clear glass walls, Takemichi could see the stretch of Tokyo’s dungeonized districts below—strange towers of obsidian jutting up between office buildings, vines from mana-drenched anomalies crawling over rooftops, and hovering patrol drones flitting across magical barrier checkpoints. The old world and the new one existed in overlapping layers now, like some surreal sci-fi fantasy sandwich.

Soft instrumental music played from unseen speakers, paired with glowing runes on the wall that gently pulsed in time with a calming rhythm—probably some enchantment meant to lower heart rates. It almost made him forget that he was heading toward a full shift as the number one healer in the region.

When the elevator finally reached the 64th floor, the doors parted with a gentle hiss, releasing him into a quieter, more private wing of the hospital. This level exuded calm professionalism, from the polished vinyl floors to the filtered sunlight streaming through UV-protected windows. There were fewer people up here, and those who did pass by moved with quiet efficiency, their footsteps muted by soft, enchantment-enhanced flooring.

He saw platinum and even gold badges, but none of them even compared to him. 

Floor-to-ceiling windows let in natural light that spilled across minimalist lounge chairs and carefully placed greenery—plants that softly glowed with healthy mana, calibrated for both aesthetics and therapeutic benefit. Digital paintings cycled through tranquil scenes—rolling meadows, temple gardens, the old Tokyo skyline before the Dungeon Era.

Finally, the system’s glowing path halted before a door.

It looked unassuming at first glance—tempered glass set in a sleek black metal frame, accented by a light-wood panel running across the center—but the etched plaque embedded just above the key scanner shimmered faintly with enchanted lettering:

Dr. Hanagaki Takemichi

Iris Sanctum – Grand Healer, Miracle Stitcher

Authorized Personnel Only. Patients Behave.

Takemichi blinked at the plaque, then tilted his head slightly. He hadn’t been the one to put that last line there, had he?

He reached out and ran his fingers across the polished surface, the faint buzz of mana enchantments tingling against his skin.

“…Did I write that?” he murmured under his breath, equal parts confused and impressed. “Huh. Not bad.”

He stood there for a moment, taking it all in—the sleek corridor, the peaceful lighting, the distant whirr of enchanted machines and air recyclers—and then finally exhaled. The tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying melted from his shoulders.

With a final sigh, he pressed his hand to the scanner.

The door slid open with a smooth hydraulic hiss, and Takemichi stepped into his office, still not entirely sure whether this was a dream, a glitch in reality, or just what his life looked like now.

But either way?

It beat dying on the tracks.

Stepping into his office was like stepping into the quiet sanctum of a nobleman-scholar who had chosen to dedicate his life not to politics or war, but to the pursuit of mending flesh, bone, and magic-warped souls.

The space felt carefully curated and deeply personal—not opulent, but rich with function and comfort.

Along the left-hand wall stretched a series of dark wood bookshelves, polished to a deep sheen, and stacked high with volumes that looked both ancient and obsessively well-maintained. Leather-bound tomes on advanced surgical enchantments and esoteric magical anatomy nestled between modern manuals on field healing techniques and injury triage in dungeon conditions.

A suspiciously large section was devoted to magical afflictions, from curse unraveling to mana burnout syndrome. And there, nestled between two pristine encyclopedias on potion toxicology, sat a battered and unreasonably thick book with a cracked spine and faded gold lettering that read: “Emergency Goblin Bite Procedures (Vol. 6).” Someone—likely past him—had stuck a post-it on it that read simply: Do NOT skip the appendix. Seriously.

At the center of the room stood a stately mahogany desk, the surface wide enough to hold a full surgical map and still have room for a cup of tea.

Today, it was covered with neatly organized stacks of paper, each one grouped and sorted with geometric precision. The folders were color-coded and labeled in clean handwriting, betraying either a system update or a very, very desperate night of clerical organization.

A self-watering potted plant stood regally in the corner near the door, its large leaves a calming shade of mint green that shimmered faintly with enchantment. It exuded a subtle mana-cleansing aura—just strong enough to ease headaches and reduce residual curse interference, but not so strong that you’d fall asleep at your desk. A gentle floral scent drifted from it, not unlike chamomile laced with something faintly herbal.

The tall arched window at the back of the room framed a breathtaking slice of the outside world: golden morning sunlight poured in through crystal-clear panes enchanted to filter both UV and excess mana radiation. The light spread across the room like a soft blanket, warming the hardwood floor and casting gentle shadows across the walls.

The entire space hummed with a quiet kind of peace, like the world had paused for just a breath so Takemichi could begin his day.

Still chewing the very last, crumbly, gloriously butter-soaked corner of his cream toast, Takemichi strolled over and sank into the plush ergonomic chair behind his desk—something clearly upgraded by magic, because no chair on Earth ever felt this forgiving on the lower back.

He exhaled slowly, fingers brushing the side of his jaw before reaching forward and pulling the first folder off the top of the nearest stack of appointment requests.

“…Alright,” he muttered, swallowing the last bite of bread. “Let’s see which poor souls need gluing back together today. Not that I've ever done this before. ”

The moment he flipped the folder open, his stomach dropped.

PATIENT REQUEST FOR TREATMENT AND CHECKUP

Patient 1

Name: Manjirou Sano (Mikey)

Birth Date: August 20

Age: 19

Guild: Tokyo Manji Guild

Skill Types: Shadow Combat, Unarmed Strikes, Berserker-Class Magic

Patient 2

Name: Ken Ryuguji (Draken)

Birth Date: May 10

Age: 19

Guild: Tokyo Manji Guild

Skill Types: Physical Enhancement, Armor Break

Patient 3

Name: Izana Kurokawa

Birth Date: August 30

Age: 20

Guild: Tenjiku

Skill Types: Aura Manipulation, Precision Combat, Monarch’s Pressure

Patient 4

Name: Kakuchou

Birth Date: March 1

Age: 19

Guild: Tenjiku

Skill Types: Weapon Summoning, Guardian’s Vow, Pain Synchronization

Patient 5

Name: Seishu Inui

Birth Date: October 18

Age: 18

Guild: Black Dragon

Skill Types: Firetech Enhancement, Dual Reinforcement, Tool Mastery

Patient 6

Name: Hajime Kokonoi

Birth Date: September 1

Age: 18

Guild: Black Dragon

Skill Types: Resource Manipulation, Trade Magic, Coin-Based Buffing'

Takemichi groaned aloud, dragging a hand down his face with all the exaggerated misery of a man who had just been asked to reassemble a shattered soul using nothing but dental floss and optimism. His eyes narrowed at the top of the stack in his hands, already dreading the names he knew would be there. And sure enough—

“Of course it’s them,” he muttered bitterly, each syllable steeped in disbelief, betrayal, and the kind of emotional exhaustion only repeat patients like these could inspire.

Still holding the folder as if it might bite, he turned to face the sleek monitor on his desk. The flat screen glowed cheerily, casting a pale blue light over his face—unapologetically perky, as if it wasn’t about to ruin his morning. A soft system chime blooped from the speakers, and up popped a bright window lined with digital borders and bouncing UI icons.

[ACCEPT] [RESCHEDULE] [DECLINE]

The screen displayed the incoming appointment requests with unsettling enthusiasm, complete with animated confetti next to Mikey’s name—likely a cruel joke baked into the code. It was formatted to look sleek, modern, user-friendly—like something out of a hospital catalog.

But to Takemichi, it may as well have been the screen of a slot machine where every pull spelled doom.

He stared for a beat, then narrowed his eyes with the intense, disillusioned focus of a man choosing his battles.

Without hesitation, he reached forward and began clicking [DECLINE] for each name. His finger moved with a kind of savage grace, clicking through the requests one after the other.

No hesitation.

No reconsideration.

Just cold, practiced rejection—like swatting flies that had long overstayed their welcome.

Declined.

Declined.

D eclined.

Each name flickered off the screen with a faint electronic sigh, like even the computer agreed with him this time.

Then, with ceremony befitting a medieval execution, he turned back to the physical folders.

He picked up the first one—Mikey’s. The folder had weight to it. The metaphorical kind.

He held it at arm’s length and stared at it like it had personally wronged him, which, in many ways, it had.

“Mikey,” he said under his breath. “You absolute chaos gremlin.”

With a flourish honed by repeated use, he dropped the folder into the trash bin beside his desk. It landed with a soft fshhhh, a papery rustle that felt like justice.

Next: Draken.

No pause.

No sentimentality.

Just a casual toss—fshhh.

Then came Izana.

Kakuchou.

Inui.

Kokonoi.

All of them joined the others in the wastebasket of denial, a little paper graveyard collecting the egos and emotional baggage of several very important and very exhausting men.

The stack was half its size now.

His desk looked lighter.

His soul did too.

“Nope,” Takemichi said, brushing imaginary dust off his hands with smug satisfaction. “No thank you. Absolutely not. Not treating Mikey again. Not Izana. Nobody. Not even if they're crawling in here on their hands and knees crying about tummy aches and existential dread.”

He let out a breath.

Reached again.

And paused.

Two folders remained—thinner than the rest, with names he didn’t recognize.

His brows lifted as he picked them up, noting how... unassuming they were.

No ego.

No chaos radiating off the cover.

Just clean, unfamiliar entries.

Patient 9

Name: Akina Aoi

Birth Date: April 14

Age: 17

Guild: Independent

Skill Types: Water Affinity, Supportive Casting

Patient 10

Name: Haruto Riku

Birth Date: December 2

Age: 18

Guild: Independent

Skill Types: Nature Affinity, Summoning

At the very bottom of the digital forms, nestled under the formal lines of patient information and appointment requests, there was a section reserved for notes—a sort of open forum where patients could write additional comments for their chosen healer.

Most people left it blank.

Others occasionally scribbled hasty "urgent plz help" or emojis that made Takemichi want to delete the entire system.

But this time, two modest notes blinked at him with almost comical simplicity:

Reason: First Check-up.

Preferred Doctor: “Seemed nice in his profile picture.”

Takemichi stared at the line like it had grown legs and slapped him.

“…Huh,” he breathed, blinking slowly. “Someone actually asked for me. On purpose?”

For a moment, he just sat there, stunned by the idea that someone out there had chosen him—not because he was famous, overqualified, or the last resort—but because he looked nice in a photograph. Like he wasn’t barely holding his mental stability together with caffeine and the passive-aggressive power of office slippers.

He clicked the file, and a small image attachment expanded on screen.

There they were.

Two young hunters—barely out of their teens by the look of them—standing shoulder to shoulder in front of a glowing, rune-etched guild board.

Akina, with long, dark blue hair pulled into a wind-tossed braid, her bright green eyes sparkling like someone who still believed the dungeon system wasn’t actively trying to kill everyone.

And Haruto, standing just beside her, his sage green hair tousled like he’d just come down from a mountain, and eyes the color of burnished gold—calm, steady, the kind of presence that made you think, yeah, he probably meditates next to waterfalls at dawn.

Both of them were smiling—awkwardly, yes—but it was the genuine sort of awkwardness.

No posturing.

No “I once soloed a dragon with my shirt off” aura.

Just two people who looked like they filed their taxes on time and said thank you to waitstaff.

Earnest.

Normal.

Sane.

Honestly?

That was rarer than mana potions during a sale.

He accepted them without a shred of hesitation.

His fingers moved with the smooth grace of a man making the one good decision of his morning. He clicked the glowing icon labeled [ACCEPT], and the system emitted a polite ping in return:

[Request Approved. Notification Sent.]

Takemichi exhaled, sinking back into his office chair like it had just earned its entire paycheck.

He stretched with a groan that started in his soul and ended in his spine, a symphony of joints popping like ancient floorboards under a curse.

Being the number one doctor in the world was great, sure—but it didn’t mean his body had caught up to the reality of being reincarnated into a career adult with an advanced medical degree and a backlog of emotionally unstable clients.

He rubbed at his face with both hands, smudging the edges of exhaustion further into his skin, then wiggled out of his slippers with a sigh so deep it might’ve echoed into another plane.

“…I need bread,” he muttered at last, voice rough and certain.

Not healing magic.

Not a health potion.

Not coffee.

No, what his soul craved at that exact moment was something warm, fluffy, and filled with cream or carbs or maybe both.

Bread.

Bread would fix this.

Bread could fix anything.

He trudged out of the office with the gait of a man who had emotionally and spiritually left his body fifteen minutes ago, and whose legs were now moving purely out of contractual obligation.

The hallway lights dimmed as he passed under them, casting soft golden glows in rhythm with his footsteps—like the building itself was trying not to wake him up too abruptly.

His rainboots whispered against the floor tiles, muffled, reluctant, half-dragged.

The system map floated dutifully in front of his bleary eyes again, the glowing trail this time a soft honey-gold, winding like a river toward a new destination.

A tiny digital crumb icon bounced along the path, labeled cheerily: [Bakery - Crumb & Cure]. He blinked at it, squinting, then sighed like a man preparing for a noble journey.

The corridors curved gently through the Healing Ward, stretching wide and serene like the inside of some fairytale estate-turned-modern-infirmary. The ceilings were high, the light filtered—sunlight that had been softened through magic-treated glass—and enchanted lanterns floated midair like low-hanging stars, bobbing slightly whenever he passed underneath.

Hushed voices echoed distantly behind doors, the hum of healing spells and the clink of glass vials giving the air a quiet industriousness.

Winding staircases appeared at intervals, carpeted in muted blues and golds, with bannisters polished to mirror shine.

Somewhere above, soft harp music drifted from unseen speakers—or perhaps, enchanted instruments playing themselves. There was no chaos. No footsteps of panicked patients or shouting nurses. It was, somehow, peaceful. Like a place designed specifically to soothe the bones of both healer and healed.

And then—

The scent hit him.

Warmth.

Sweetness.

That slightly yeasty, golden scent of bread that had only just finished baking—the kind that wrapped around your soul like a childhood memory.

He stopped walking before he realized it.

Inhaled, deeply.

The air smelled of sugar and flour, of toasted crust and creamy custard. Somewhere nearby, a door opened and a new wave of warm bakery air washed over him, like a hug from a grandmother who forgave all sins.

The trail on his map flashed once, eagerly, then vanished as he turned into a sunlit alcove.

Tucked cozily beside a lush internal garden filled with potted herbs and bioluminescent flowers was a bakery so charming it could’ve been plucked from the pages of a bedtime story. The walls were painted soft cream, shelves lined with baskets of freshly baked goods. Steam curled from open ovens behind the counter. The name above the door was hand-painted in curling script:

“The Crumb & Cure – Fresh Breads for Brave Hearts.”

Takemichi stood frozen for a second, just taking it in.

The atmosphere was warm, not just physically but in its design—cobblestone floor, handwritten chalkboard menu, and the faint clatter of utensils behind the scenes. A painted wooden sign read:

“Take a seat, take a breath. All heroes need to eat.”

He didn’t need a line.

There wasn’t one.

As if summoned by d

Takemichi trudged down the long corridor, cradling his still-warm cream bread like it was a sacred artifact personally baked by the gods.

He chewed slowly—methodically—the sweet, custard-filled pastry melting on his tongue like a soft hymn of comfort.

After surviving death (he didn't), reincarnation, a glowing map yelling at him to run, and his entire trauma score hovering just below triple digits, this bread was the one thing anchoring him to sanity.

Well, that and his always-active skill, Mental Stabilizer, which mercifully kept his mind from spiraling into chaos no matter how insane his new life got. He could hear his soul exhale.

The Healing Ward sprawled around him like a quiet little city trapped inside an elegant castle, its smooth marble floors muffling his slippered footsteps.

Magical light filtered down from crystal panels embedded in the ceiling, enchantments thrumming softly through the air like a heartbeat. Glass-paneled doors whispered shut behind him. Potted plants with glowing leaves breathed faintly in the corners.

And then, just as he turned a familiar bend near the waiting area, there were two people, but he continued walking.

The Haitani brothers. (Takemichi doesn't know this btw, he's too tired to care)

Two silhouettes that could only belong to them, lounging in high-end hospital chairs like they owned the place—or were casing it for a robbery.

Ran, tall and serpent-sleek in designer black, one leg thrown over the other with the casual grace of a man who hadn’t paid for coffee since 2012.

Rindou, sharp-eyed and slouched just enough to look bored but not enough to wrinkle his jacket. They looked like a magazine ad for “Crime But Make It Fashion.”

They saw him immediately.

Their eyes locked on him in unison.

And there was something else in their gaze too—an edge of anticipation.

Not excitement.

Definitely not joy.

But the kind of bracing-for-impact stare you give a person who used to be dangerously obsessed with you.

Because Takemichi had been that guy once. Clingy, awkward, always lingering just too long, always throwing himself into their space like a lovesick golden retriever with poor impulse control.

He’d idolized them.

Worshipped the ground they walked on.

Tried—repeatedly—to be their friend, their errand boy, their little sidekick with the ever-burning candle of hope.

So they were ready for it.

The familiar wave.

The excitable chirp.

The overeager "Raaaaan~ Rindooooou~ long time no see~!!"

But instead…

Takemichi made eye contact.

And walked past them.

Just like that.

No greeting.

No pause.

No visible recognition of the earth-shattering power these two had once held over his nervous system.

Just a sleepy doctor, clutching his bakery treasure like it was state property, face completely unreadable behind a bite of custard-filled bliss.

Ran blinked.

Rindou squinted.

Takemichi didn’t even slow down.

He glided straight through the corridor, half-shuffling, half-floating in his boots.

His cream bread was now at a perfect temperature for savoring. T

he air in the hall was peaceful.

Life was simple (Its not. You sound like Marinette from Miraculous).

Behind him, the silence thickened.

“Did…” Rindou finally murmured, brows drawing together. “Did he just… ignore us?”

Ran tilted his head, as if that would change what he’d seen. “While eating cream bread.”

They both stared at the hallway where Takemichi had just vanished, the door to the healer’s elevator slowly hissing shut behind him like the final punctuation mark on an essay they hadn’t studied for.

There had been no spark of recognition in his eyes.

No sheepish grin.

No awkwardly trailed-off sentence.

Just—

Chewing.

Click.

Gone.

Meanwhile, Takemichi eased himself back down into his chair with the grace of a man who had just survived several near-death experiences, and now all he had to worry about was whether his cream bread was going to vanish too quickly.

He gave the chair a little gentle swing, feeling the familiar creak of the polished wood and the faint hum of the magical enchantments that kept his office comfortably warm and utterly peaceful. The last bite of the custard-filled bread melted luxuriously in his mouth, like a tiny sweet cloud reminding him that yes, life could indeed be nice sometimes.

The sunlight filtered softly through the tall window, painting the room in golden hues that made the leather-bound books and neatly stacked papers look almost cozy.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, a deep breath of relief and contentment escaping him like a secret sigh from a man who had just been given a moment’s peace in the chaos of his bizarre new existence.

“…Finally,” he murmured quietly to himself, the edges of his lips quirking upward. “A good day. For once.”

He paused and glanced back toward the corridor, where the Haitani brothers (Again, he doesn't know who they are) had sat like some kind of stylishly criminal wallpaper—dark shadows against the sterile white of the hospital.

Who were those two, anyway?

Delinquent rich-wannabes?

Bad boys with a serious flair for dramatic looks and perfectly tousled hair?

The kind of people who probably spent more time picking out their jackets than actually working on their delinquency?

He shook his head slightly and chuckled to himself.

Whatever their deal was, Takemichi wasn’t about to get sucked into that whirlwind again.

Not today.

Today, he had cream bread, peace, and—most importantly—his Mental Stabilizer keeping his sanity locked tight.

And for once, that was more than enough.

Chapter Text

The sun had dipped well below the skyline by the time Takemichi Hanagaki dragged his half-dead body out of the Iris Sanctum’s side entrance, the soft golden hues of early evening replaced by a chilled, violet dusk. The streetlights flickered on one by one, enchanted bulbs glowing with slow, steady light as if the world was easing into sleep. The sounds of the city still buzzed in the background—hovercars gliding overhead, footsteps of late workers on their way home, and the occasional bird-familiar cawing at passing pedestrians. It was peaceful.

He was not.

His spine cracked audibly as he stretched.

“I get that I’m the number one doctor-hunter in Japan, but this much paperwork? On day one?”

His voice echoed slightly against the sidewalk as he groaned, rubbing his face with both hands.

Papers.

Files.

More papers.

More files.

The documents had towered on his desk like a cruel inside joke from the system, a bureaucratic boss battle with no end in sight. His reincarnated soul may have had the perk of Adaptability—World Integration (Passive) and that blessedly stable Mental Stabilizer, but even those didn’t make up for the soul-crushing weight of medical charts stacked like ancient relics waiting to bury him alive.

“I swear, the system wants me to develop a caffeine addiction and carpal tunnel at the same time.”

He sighed.

The air outside was crisp, and for once, silent.

The streets were clear.

The glowing street lamps blinked overhead like sleepy eyes.

But something still gnawed at him.

Not stress.

Not fatigue.

No—it was a craving.

"...I want something sweet," he mumbled to himself, eyes scanning the street like a man on a divine mission. "Cold. Refreshing. Not water. Not coffee. Something like..."

He paused.

“Peach tea. Yes. That’s what I want. That’s what I need.”

He followed the glowing trail of his craving like it was a quest marker, spotting a vending machine peeking out from a narrow alleyway just up ahead. It was slightly tucked between two buildings, humming faintly with enchanted refrigeration. A big pink ad on the side read: NEW! Summer Chill: Peach Nectar with Ice Bloom Crystals!

Bingo.

Takemichi made a beeline for it, stepping into the soft shadowed alley without a second thought. His slippers scuffed the stone pavement. The quiet buzz of the machine welcomed him like an old friend.

He reached for his wallet—

And froze.

From deeper in the alley, muffled by bricks and shadows, came a sound.

A groan.

Low. Pained.

Wet.

Takemichi’s spine snapped straight. Every muscle in his body tensed. His Mental Stabilizer kept him from spiraling into panic, but it couldn't stop his doctor instincts from kicking in full throttle.

He hesitated only for a second.

Just one heartbeat.

Then he was moving.

He jogged deeper into the alleyway, the shadows deepening with every step. That groan turned into a wheeze—labored, broken, and wet with something awful. And then he saw him.

A young man slumped against the brick wall, one hand clutching his stomach. Blood dripped in thick ribbons between his fingers. The wound looked deep—ragged, torn open by something sharp. A blade? A beast? Maybe both. Blood leaked out of his mouth in thin red lines, trailing down his jaw and soaking into his pale shirt.

Takemichi stared for a full second.

Then two.

His brain took a literal snapshot.

Young.

Early twenties.

Sandy and kind of long blond hair, messy in a way that should’ve looked disheveled but somehow made him stupidly handsome.

Pale skin.

M uscles tight with pain.

Sweating like a fevered ghost.

“Holy shit,” Takemichi breathed.

He dropped to his knees beside him. “Hey! You—uh, hey! Are you okay? No, dumb question—you’re literally leaking! I'm going to touch you, okay?”

He reached out, hand brushing the man’s shoulder.

The reaction was immediate.

Black eyes snapped open—sharp and full of venom—and glared straight into Takemichi’s soul.

“Touch me and I bite,” the man hissed through gritted teeth.

Takemichi blinked. “Oookay, noted, noted! Very aggressive pain response. Happens a lot in trauma victims. Totally normal! Also terrifying!”

But he didn’t back away.

“I’m a doctor,” Takemichi said, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder firmly despite the glare. “And I’m not gonna let you bleed out in a back alley just because you think you’re tough.”

He focused. Energy pooled behind his eyes, warmth flooding through his fingertips.

“Medical Rewind,” he muttered, activating the skill.

A faint blue glow spread from his hand. The wound began to close—slowly at first, then faster, the torn flesh knitting itself together as time itself rewound the damage. At the same time, Takemichi activated his second skill.

“Miracle Hands. C’mon, don’t let there be internal bleeding...”

More light. A soft pulse. His fingers scanned the man's abdomen, locating every hidden rupture, clot, or damage. The healing process was painfully slow—but it was working. The man's body twitched. His breathing evened out. Color returned to his face.

But the pain shifted—to Takemichi.

A sharp pang stabbed through his own gut, exactly mirroring the wound. His stomach felt like it was being torn apart. Sweat gathered on his forehead. His vision swam.

“Urgh... it’s fine,” he wheezed. “You’re literally dying—I can handle a little stomachache.”

Time blurred.

When it was finally over, Takemichi slumped forward, panting. “There. You’re good. Mostly. I mean, don’t go doing backflips, but you’re not gonna die. So that’s nice.”

The man didn’t respond at first.

He just stared.

Not blinking. Not moving.

Takemichi squinted. “...What? Do I have blood on my face or something?”

But then he saw it—the glint in the other man's eye. The tilt of his head. The slow way he studied Takemichi's features like they were a puzzle he was dying to solve.

And then it hit him.

That face. That hair. Those dead-inside but murderously intense eyes.

“Wait,” Takemichi whispered, color draining from his face. “WAIT—no way—this is—this is—”

His brain connected the dots.

Manjiro Sano.

Mikey.

The literal protagonist of the damn novel he was reincarnated into.

SHIT.

Takemichi bolted upright, panic flooding his system.

“Gotta go!” he blurted, already turning to flee.

But Mikey’s hand shot out lightning-fast—grabbing Takemichi’s wrist with surprising strength.

His face cracked into a crooked grin—dark, delighted, and slightly unhinged.

Takemichi paled.

Oh god, he’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me for touching him. I should’ve let him bleed out!

“Let GO—!” Takemichi yanked his wrist back with an adrenaline-fueled jerk and took off sprinting out of the alley at full tilt.

He didn’t stop.

Not even when the vending machine beeped to let him know his peach tea had been dispensed.

The sweet, chilled drink sat there—unclaimed. Abandoned.

Forgotten.

Takemichi didn’t stop running.

He didn’t stop when his lungs started to burn, or when the pain in his abdomen flared in time with every step. He didn’t stop when his slippers slapped unevenly against the sidewalk, or when a vendor called out to ask if he was okay. He didn’t even stop when he finally saw his cozy little house in the distance, glowing softly under the streetlamps like a welcome home sign from a much kinder universe.

He burst through the front door like a man escaping a crime scene, slammed it shut behind him, locked it, double-locked it, and then shoved the nearest chair in front of it for good measure.

And then—

Only then—

Did he finally exhale.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”

He staggered backward, slumping to the floor in the middle of his hallway. His back hit the wall with a soft thud, his breath ragged and uneven, his pulse racing like a jackhammer in his throat.

His hands trembled.

His heart refused to slow down.

“I just— I was just trying to get some peach tea,” he gasped, dragging both hands through his hair, still shaking. “Peach tea! I wasn’t asking for some Main Character Emergency Encounter at midnight!”

The image was still burned into his brain.

That man.

That face.

The one he saw at the top of every damn chapter of that web novel he’d binged before dying. The sandy blonde hair. The blank but dangerous expression. That psychotic little smile like he was remembering how to feel human.

That was Mikey.

Manjiro Sano.

The main character. The emotionally unstable, power-wielding, darkness-infested protagonist of the entire damn story.

And Takemichi—bless his idiotic soul—had not only recognized him, he had healed him. Touched him. Spoke to him. And then, to top it off, he’d bolted like a stray cat mid-vet visit.

“OH GOD,” he groaned, curling in on himself. “I touched him. I touched him. His shoulder. His stomach. His blood. That was main character blood!”

He shook his head like that might erase the memory. But it didn’t.

And worse?

Worse was the look Mikey gave him.

Not confusion.

Not annoyance.

No.

It was interest.

A glint in his eyes like he’d just found a new game to play. Like Takemichi had become a problem to solve. Or worse—like he was something he wanted to keep.

“Don’t be weird, don’t be weird,” Takemichi muttered to himself, slapping his own cheeks. “He probably just… appreciated the healing. Right? Just grateful! Totally normal, non-obsessive gratitude from a dangerously unpredictable gang leader who eats trauma for breakfast.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“…Right?”

The silence in the house didn’t answer.

Takemichi let out a miserable groan and buried his face in his arms. His abdomen still throbbed in empathy from overusing his skills. His brain felt like pudding. He hadn’t even gotten his peach tea.

Today had been too much.

First day on the job, and he’d already rejected half the main cast, gotten stalked by a living status screen, and performed major alleyway surgery on the literal protagonist.

And now?

Now there was a non-zero chance that Mikey was going to come knocking.

Or worse—smiling.

Takemichi curled up tighter on the floor.

“I'm never leaving this house again."

Meanwhile…

Mikey hadn’t moved from the alley.

The blood that had once soaked through his clothes had dried in jagged, rust-colored patches. The pain was gone now—every ache, every torn muscle and broken nerve rewound and repaired by those small, steady hands. His body was fine.

But his mind?

His mind was absolutely not fine.

He sat against the wall, eyes half-lidded, hand curled loosely at his side—still tingling from the moment it had grasped that slender wrist. It was like the warmth of it had stuck to him. Branded him. That simple human contact had left a trail of heat in his skin, like a thread he could follow back to the source. And he would.

He leaned his head back, staring up at the slice of star-pocked sky between the buildings. But he wasn’t really seeing the sky.

He was seeing him.

The doctor.

The one who would stop trying to get his attention. 

But he was also:

The one who had refused to treat him today.

The one who had rejected his appointment today.

The one who had run from him—after saving his life.

Hanagaki Takemichi.

The name was already etched in his brain like a permanent rune, glowing hot behind his eyes every time he blinked. And now, that face... that face was haunting him with the soft persistence of a lullaby that wouldn’t stop replaying.

Porcelain pale skin, as if sculpted from moonlight and prayer. The kind that made him want to touch. (Ayooo?)

Raven-black hair, soft and messy, the kind of black that shimmered like obsidian under dim streetlamps, curling delicately around his jaw and cheekbones in a way that made Mikey’s fingers itch.

And his eyes.

Those ocean blue eyes.

Mikey had never seen anything like them. Not in real life. Not in memory. Not even in dreams. They were too vivid. Too clear. Like someone had carved sapphires from the sea and tucked them gently into his face. When he looked into those eyes, it hadn’t felt like being seen—it had felt like being understood.

Drowned.

Rewritten.

It wasn’t beauty.

It was, but in a different way.

It was something else.

Something dangerous.

Something that made Mikey’s darkness—the ever-churning void inside his chest—stop.

He blinked slowly, the sky above blurring at the edges.

He hadn’t felt fully at peace in over a decade.

Not since he was ten years old.

Not since the day he’d first awakened his Darkness ability, the one everyone feared.

The one that gave him power so immense it cracked minds, warped energy, shattered lives—and chewed at his own sanity in return.

He was never alone. Not really. The darkness whispered constantly, scraping his thoughts raw, pulling at him with claws made of grief, rage, and something deeper. Something hollow.

But then… he had touched him.

That boy. That doctor. That—whatever he was.

And it was like being submerged in still water after a lifetime of storms.

For the first time in years, the howling in his head had gone quiet.

The waves had stilled.

Peace hadn’t crept in.

It had crashed.

It had slammed into his soul like divine intervention—blinding, warm, soft-edged, and terrifyingly addictive.

Mikey lifted the hand he’d used to grab Takemichi’s wrist.

He stared at it.

His fingers trembled—not with weakness, but with something far worse.

Need.

He remembered the way Takemichi had glared when he was about to run.

That flash of panic.

The absurd squeak in his voice.

The way he sprinted like a kicked cat.

And Mikey had laughed.

Not out loud.

But deep in his chest, something had curled and bloomed.

He’s scared of me, he thought.

Good.

Let him run.

Let him scramble and sweat and slam doors behind him.

Because Mikey wasn’t worried.

He’d tasted that warmth.

He wasn’t going to let go.

Hanagaki Takemichi had gone from “that top-ranked healer guy I never paid attention to” to “the only person in this world who made the noise stop.”

And Mikey wasn’t a fool.

He knew exactly what that meant.

He smirked, low and slow, as the first stars pierced through the clouds above.

He stood up—body healed, mind sharpened—and started walking toward the edge of the alley like a wolf tracking the scent of something long craved.

“I’m gonna find you again,” he murmured, fingers still twitching with phantom warmth. “And next time?”

His smile turned wolfish. Possessive.

“You’re not running.”

"You're going to be mine."