I fished the jagged little key from my pocket and jiggled it into the stubborn lock of my decrepit apartment door. It took three tries and a harsh shove with my shoulder before the rusted hinges finally gave way with a protesting screech. Stepping inside, the familiar scent of cheap instant noodles and damp drywall greeted me. I locked the door behind me, leaning against the flimsy wood for a long moment, just breathing.
I was alive. I was actually alive.
I pushed off the door and headed straight for my cramped bedroom. My hands were shaking slightly as I started stripping off my clothes. The fabric was stiff, cold, and sticky, soaked completely through with drying blood and a gritty mixture of alley dirt and god-knows-what other unspeakable substances. I peeled the ruined garments off my body with a grimace of pure disgust, bundling them up and throwing them violently into the trash bin in the corner, intending to never, ever wear them again.
"Motherfucking assholes," I muttered aloud in the empty room, cursing the thugs who had chased me down. Not only had they murdered me—which was incredibly rude—but they had completely wasted my perfectly fine hoodie and my only good pair of jeans. I know it sounds petty after literally surviving a bullet to the brain, but I didn't have a lot of clothes to begin with. Replacing them meant dipping into my already pathetic excuse for a budget. The whole situation was seriously getting on my nerves.
Sigh. At least I didn't die. Or, well, at least I didn't stay dead, I thought morbidly, staring down at my blood-stained hands.
Shaking off the lingering phantom pains, I dragged my naked, shivering body into the tiny bathroom. I cranked the shower dial all the way to the red, waiting for the water to heat up before stepping in. The scalding spray hit my skin like liquid fire, but I didn't flinch. I needed the burning heat. I needed to wash away the repulsive feeling of having 'slept' all night on the wet concrete of that gross, rat-infested alleyway.
I stood under the blistering spray for what felt like at least an hour, a bar of cheap soap in hand, scrubbing myself down until my skin looked raw and pink. I watched the rusty-colored water swirl down the drain, taking the physical evidence of my own murder with it.
Finally feeling somewhat human again, I shut off the water, grabbed my threadbare towel, and stepped out into the steamy bathroom. As I aggressively dried my hair, I passed in front of the cracked, fogged-up mirror hanging above the sink. I wiped the condensation away with my palm and made a complete, dead stop.
I stared into the glass, the towel slipping from my grasp and hitting the floor.
I could now confirm my earlier assumption from the alley: I had, in fact, received a massive physical upgrade. My skin, usually dull and scarred from a lifetime of poor nutrition and scraping by in Coldstone, was now extremely fair, completely unblemished, and smooth as a newborn's. My facial features, once harsh and gaunt, had refined themselves into striking, perfect symmetry. I leaned closer to the glass, absolutely mesmerized by my own reflection. My pupils, which used to be a dull, forgettable brown, had taken on a beautiful, vivid shade of deep blue laced with vibrant emerald green.
Between the striking eyes, the flawless skin, and the delicate but sharp bone structure of my jawline, I had acquired an almost androgynous, otherworldly look that I definitely didn't possess yesterday. And it wasn't just my face. My torso was ridged with lean, perfectly defined muscles, looking like something carved by a master sculptor rather than the unfortunate byproduct of starvation and minimum-wage labor.
Well, it seems dying is a really good look for me, I thought, utterly bewildered by the gorgeous stranger staring back at me.
Okay, Samsara, calm down. Let's think about this logically. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. Fact 1: I died. I remember the gun, the sound, the darkness. Fact 2: I didn't stay dead. I woke up. Fact 3: When I resurrected, I clearly received some kind of insane physiological upgrade.
I walked out of the bathroom, leaving the wet towel on the floor, and dressed myself in a simple, clean white t-shirt and an older pair of faded jeans. They fit quite a bit tighter around my newly broadened shoulders, but they would have to do for now.
There has to be some kind of mysterious, supernatural power at play here, I concluded.
I sat down at my rickety wooden desk, resting my elbows on the surface and pressing my hands against my face in a classic thinker pose. But I didn't dream about meeting some mysterious, bearded grandpa in a void. I didn't meet a reincarnating god or goddess, and I didn't wake up hearing the monotone, mechanical voice of a system in my head.
My extensive, embarrassingly thorough knowledge of web novels, mangas, and anime allowed me to deduce at least that much. I was a veteran reader of the isekai and urban fantasy genres. Usually, there was a prompt, a spiritual guide, or a magical artifact. I had none of those.
After mentally filtering out all kinds of exterior interference—no magic rings, no glowing tattoos, no radioactive spider bites—I deduced that this had to be an innate power of mine that had just forcefully awakened. But what I didn't know was the exact nature, limits, or rules of this power.
I can safely assume that it won't let me die permanently, I reasoned, staring at my pale, strong hands. But I should still be extremely careful. Seeking death just to test it out is not exactly my hobby, after all. What if I get beheaded? What if I'm burned to ash? There are some things I really don't want to experiment with.
Calming down after finally rationalizing the impossible situation, I decided I needed a distraction to ground myself back in reality. I was suddenly in the desperate mood to read some trashy novels or binge-watch an anime. I reached out and powered up my bulky desktop computer, listening to the loud hum of the cooling fan.
I immediately opened my browser and navigated to my favorite reading site. A quick refresh showed that a few new chapters of my current favorite novel were out. Perfect.
I clicked on the first chapter and started reading. But almost instantly, I noticed something else was glaringly different. My reading speed was insanely fast. My eyes darted across the glowing text, absorbing entire paragraphs in the blink of an eye. And even more astonishingly, every single word, name, and plot detail was instantly, flawlessly retained in my head. I wasn't just reading; I was practically downloading the information directly into my brain.
Holy crap... my brain was upgraded too, wasn't it? I realized, dragging a hand through my damp hair in disbelief.
I leaned back in my creaky chair, a sudden wave of annoyance washing over me. Fuck. If only I could see my own status sheet, I wouldn't be stumbling around in the dark about my own abilities like an idiot.
As if directly responding to my mounting frustration, a soft chime echoed in my ears. Suddenly, a glowing, translucent blue screen flickered into existence, floating in the empty air directly before my eyes.
I let out a very undignified yelp and violently rubbed my eyes, but when I opened them, the holographic blue panel was still hovering there, gently illuminating the dark room. I stared at it, dumbfounded. I willed it to disappear, and instantly, it vanished into thin air. I thought about it again, wishing it back, and pop—it reappeared.
I was absolutely ecstatic. A status screen! It was real! Without any further ado, I leaned in and eagerly read the glowing white text displayed on the interface.
Name: Samsara Yu Age: 17 years old Race: Human? Unique Ability: Death with benefits Lifespan: 200 years
I stared at the floating letters, my brow furrowing in deep confusion. "Human with a question mark? What does that even mean?" I muttered. But the real head-scratcher was the skill itself. Even if you literally name the skill 'Death with benefits,' I still don't fully get it, you know?
A sharp, sudden headache pierced my temples as I focused intently on my unique ability. Then, like a dam breaking, precise pieces of information started pouring directly into my mind, translating the system's vague text into concrete, undeniable knowledge.
[Death with benefits]: Upon every death of the ability wielder, he resurrects with an all-around improvement of his overall physical and mental capabilities. Note 1: Depending on the type of death—be it by suicide, heroic sacrifice, murder by an enemy, or a random natural catastrophe—the upgrade degree and specific enhancements may vary. Basically, it heavily depends on how entertaining or significant your death was. Note 2: The existence of this specific power is a random, one-in-a-septillion mistake due to a particularly incomprehensible set of cosmic circumstances. Or, more simply put, it's a massive glitch in the workings of the multiverse. (Chance of it happening again: 0.00000000000000000000000000000000000001%... well, you get the drift.)
I sat completely frozen, the blue light reflecting in my newly vibrant eyes.
Wow. It's just... INCREDIBLE!!!
A massive, unhinged grin spread across my face. Maybe with this, I can actually turn my miserable life around! I don't even have to live in fear of those mafia assholes finding out I survived and coming back to finish the job! Let them come! Since I can't stay dead, I'll just keep coming back stronger! Hahahahahaha!!!! I laughed smugly and triumphantly in the quiet confines of my mind before finally forcing myself to calm down.
Looking back at the screen, my eyes drifted to the bottom line. I noticed that my lifespan had been explicitly upgraded. This discovery shocked me to my very core. This meant that the upgrade hadn't just healed me—it had doubled my natural lifespan. I didn't need to worry about getting frail, sick, or old anytime soon! And if it increased every time I died... I could theoretically live forever. As long as I continued to die, of course. What an ironic, twisted paradox.
Now, I should definitely plan my future deaths carefully. After all, who doesn't want to constantly improve themselves? I thought, thoughtfully scratching my perfectly smooth chin.
But for now, I need to completely remove the fear of death and the fear of pain from my personal dictionary. If I hesitate, if I cower, I can't exploit this glitch. I can't become stronger! I clenched my fists, determined to become an absolute powerhouse so as to never, ever feel as utterly helpless as I did bleeding out in that dirty alleyway.
Just as I was solidifying my epic, life-altering resolution, my stomach let out a ferocious, thunderous growl. The resurrection and physical overhaul must have burned through every single calorie I had left in my system. I was absolutely starving.
I grabbed my beat-up wallet off the desk and flipped it open, only to be met with immediate, crushing depression. Sticking out from the worn leather was a single, lonely fifty-dollar bill. Immortality and superhuman beauty were great and all, but they apparently didn't pay the rent or buy groceries.
I sighed, grabbed a dark, oversized hoodie from my closet to conceal my newly striking features, and headed out of the apartment into the neon-lit gloom of the Coldstone district in search of some cheap sustenance.
As I walked down the cracked, uneven sidewalks, dodging overflowing trash cans and suspicious puddles, my mind started racing with schemes. I started thinking about how exactly I could monetize my newfound, glitchy power.
Maybe I could be a high-end bodyguard? Taking bullets for rich politicians? No, dealing with spoiled elites is what got me fired from the café in the first place. That sounds like a massive pain in the ass. I kicked an empty soda can into the gutter, lost in thought. Maybe an extreme stunt double? A mercenary?
My grand entrepreneurial reverie was abruptly shattered as I was passing by a narrow, pitch-black alleyway sandwiched between an abandoned laundromat and a dive bar. A sudden, sharp woman's scream pierced the chill night air.
I stopped in my tracks and peeked around the brick corner out of sheer curiosity. In the dim glow of a flickering neon sign, I saw the classic, cliché setup for a tragedy: a burly man had aggressively cornered a beautiful young woman against the dead-end wall.
The girl looked to be in her early twenties. She had a deceptively slim, fragile-looking frame, but with devilish, impossible proportions. She was wearing a light grey, ribbed tank top under a cropped leather jacket, paired with tight denim jeans that perfectly hugged her backside and showcased her wonderfully long, slim legs. She looked terrified, her delicate shoulders trembling violently.
The man looming over her was middle-aged, built like a brick outhouse, wearing stained, ripped jeans and a filthy white wife-beater t-shirt. He had a sickeningly perverted, predatory look plastered across his stubbled face as he leaned in dangerously close to her.
He must be one of the many pieces of shit inhabiting this godforsaken district, I thought, my blood boiling slightly. I didn't want to get involved, but I was basically immortal now, right? As I started pondering how to jump in, save the gorgeous lady from this lecherous thug, and play the dashing hero saving the beauty in distress, the scene shifted so violently I practically got whiplash.
Before I could even take a single step forward, I witnessed something absolutely astonishing.
The weak, terrified, trembling expression on the beauty's delicate face instantly vanished, replaced by a gaze as cold and dead as a frozen lake. Without a single word of warning, her right hand blurred with terrifying, inhuman speed. Her slender fingers wrapped around the heavy man's thick throat, lifting his entire two-hundred-pound body clean into the air using only one arm, as if he were nothing more than a light sack of potatoes.
My jaw practically hit the pavement. At that exact moment, I understood with profound clarity that I had just walked myself straight into yet another unbelievably troublesome situation.
The man started to thrash and struggle wildly, his face turning a deep shade of purple as his heavy boots kicked uselessly at the empty air. But his desperate efforts were entirely in vain. Her grip was like a steel vise. She calmly, almost affectionately, brought her beautiful face close to his pulsing neck.
As her lips parted, the dim neon light caught the gleam of her teeth. They were pearly white but unnervingly sharp—elongated and lethal, like a predator's fangs. Without an ounce of hesitation, she sank those teeth directly into his flesh, effortlessly breaking the skin's surface, and began to freely, greedily drink from his carotid artery.
The sight was deeply chilling, horrifying, and yet... strangely, darkly beautiful at the same time. The stark contrast between the brutal violence and her elegant poise left me completely frozen in place.
Like usual, my brain completely missed the golden opportunity to get the fuck outta here while she was distracted.
After a few agonizingly long seconds, the man stopped struggling entirely, his thick arms falling limp at his sides. The girl casually opened her hand, letting his drained, lifeless corpse fall to the wet concrete floor with a heavy, wet thud, discarding him as if he were just a piece of trash she had grown entirely bored with.
She slowly lifted her head, wiping a stray drop of crimson blood from the corner of her pristine mouth with the back of her thumb. She turned toward the alley entrance, where I stood frozen in the shadows.
Our eyes met.