Silence. No, not the kind you get in a quiet room or a back alley after a fight. This was different—wrong. Heavy. Dead. Absolute.

…What the hell?

I couldn't move. My body was just… gone. Only my mind floated in some endless void. Like I'd been dumped into a bizarre, infinite room—no walls, no ceiling, just a vast, suffocating black nothing.

…Damn. I remember that guy on the ground, the old man's words, and… a truck.

So this is it, huh? The King of the Streets, taken out by a damn truck.

…That's just ridiculous. I spent my whole life balancing on a knife's edge, survived hundreds of fights, dodged countless traps, and in the end… I get one-shot by a freaking truck?

I really hope that driver at least had a license. Would be real tragic if I got isekai'd by a "Mario Kart" truck.

…Alright, so what now? Where's the whole light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel thing? Or did I actually earn myself a one-way ticket to hell? Where's the boiling cauldron? The demons with pitchforks?

Instead of an answer, I suddenly felt something pulling me forward. Like a massive invisible hand grabbed me and yanked me through an unseen tunnel.

What the—?

My head spun, and before I knew it, I was screaming like a kid on a rollercoaster.

I don't wanna diiiie! Holy shiiiiit!

…Wait. I'm already dead.

And just like that, everything stopped. It felt like I'd been spat out into an entirely new space.

The place looked like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. Vast. Towering columns glowing with an eerie golden light. No visible ceiling—just an endless star-filled sky. And the floor? Polished like a mirror, reflecting every single detail.

— Whoa… did I actually make it to heaven? Not gonna lie, with my track record, that seems pretty damn unlikely.

And then… I heard it.

— Welcome to my domain, Raisuke Fujiwara.

The voice was bizarre—deep, like a bass drop, yet mocking as hell.

— And who the hell are you?

I glanced around. No one.

— What, you some kind of discount Gandalf? Come out already, I'm not playing hide and seek with you.

A few seconds later, a figure began to take shape.

At first, just a hazy mist. Then, something more solid.

Narrowing my eyes, I spotted a guy dressed in pure white. He stood there, hair slicked back, golden eyes practically glowing, and a smug little grin that made me wanna punch him in the face.

He covered his mouth with one hand, and I heard a muffled snicker.

— Pfft… Pffft… Phihihihi…

…Oh great. This guy's already pissing me off.

— You good, or did you just lose a few screws?

But he kept going, now laughing even louder.

— Heeheehee…

I stepped forward, glaring.

— Listen up, glowstick—cut the laughing crap. If it's that funny, mind letting me in on the joke?

He finally lowered his hand from his face, and his golden eyes gleamed, reflecting a mocking glint.

— Sorry, sorry. It's just… this is hilarious. The King of the Streets. The most terrifying, ruthless, sinful man…

I clenched my teeth.

— Go on, don't stop now. I'm flattered by all this attention.

— …Got taken out by a freaking truck!

And then he burst out laughing. Loud. Almost choking on it. Like he'd just heard the greatest joke of his life.

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…Is this bastard mocking me?

I threw my hands up.

— Yeah, yeah, I got hit by a truck. Yeah, it's dumb! But what the hell are you getting such a kick out of?!

He finally stopped, wiping away an imaginary tear from his cheek, then looked straight at me.

— Oh, but how can I not laugh? You—a man who built his entire reputation on being untouchable. A street king who could put anyone in their place… And you got wiped off the road by a damn truck. That's just… comedic.

…I swear, if he calls my death 'comedic' one more time, I'm ripping him apart.

— Oh, come now, don't get so worked up.

His grin widened.

— Death is simply a natural part of life's journey.

— Natural, my ass! I got run over by a truck, you idiot! And right after I let some bastard live! How the hell is that natural?!

…And there he goes laughing again. If I'd known dying meant becoming some cosmic joke, I would've prepared better.

— Alright, alright. I suppose that's enough fun. Let's move on to more pressing matters—I haven't even introduced myself yet.

— Do you really need to? Even an idiot can tell—you're a god, right?

— Sharp as ever.

His smirk remained.

— Well then, Raisuke, as you've figured out—I am God. And I have chosen you… to grant you a second chance.

…Is he serious?

— Look, are you sure you're all there? Maybe check my file before making your 'choice.' I'm not some hero who's gonna save the world from the Demon Lord.

— You don't need to be a hero. In fact, you're the complete opposite. And that is exactly why I chose you.

— The opposite?

…I'm starting to doubt this guy's really a god.

He tilted his head slightly, still grinning like an asshole.

It almost felt like he was enjoying this.

— I want to give you a new life. A chance…

He paused, and his eyes shone with divine radiance.

— …for redemption.

— Re…demption...?

He's definitely screwing with me.

— Dude, do I look like some kind of holy paladin? I'm way more likely to send someone to the afterlife than help some old lady cross the street!

— Exactly. You are no hero. You are Raisuke Fujiwara. A man who goes all the way, without looking back. A man who isn't afraid to break the rules to get what he wants.

…Where the hell is he going with this?

— So you want me to be some kind of dark knight? An 'antihero' solving other people's problems?

— Hmm, an interesting guess. But no. It's much simpler.

His voice dropped slightly, his gaze holding something deeper.

— You are a unique individual. Someone with the power to change the world. Which direction you take it… is entirely up to you. I'm giving you the tool. What you do with it… will depend on your choices.

— And what kind of tool is this?

— This... is a magic mark.

— A magic mark...?

...That sounds kinda... lame.

— Yes. It will be your key to power in the new world.

— Can't you at least give me a magic wand?

His face changed slightly. The smile disappeared, and his gaze hardened. It seemed like his patience was running out.

— Listen here, you little shit. I'm not giving you a choice. You either accept this gift, or your soul stays in this void forever, because it can't return to the cycle of life anymore. And if you want to play the clown, do it in the new world. There, you can joke all you want—until someone cuts off your damn tongue.

...Shit, he's actually serious.

— Alright, alright, let's say your mark is some great gift. But how the hell does this thing even work?

— Glad you finally asked the right question.

His tone softened slightly, but there was still a hint of irritation in it.

— Listen carefully, because I'm only explaining this once.

He took a step forward, and a strange hologram appeared in his palm. It wasn't just an image but a complex diagram, resembling a magic circle covered in symbols and patterns.

— The magic mark is the foundation of all magic in the world you're going to. It determines your potential, your strength, and even your place in society.

...Sounds like social discrimination.

— Magic in that world is based on the connection between a person and nature's energy. Everyone who undergoes the ritual at the age of seven receives a mark. The mark reflects your bond with magical energy. The stronger the bond, the more powerful the mark. The more powerful the mark, the greater your potential.

— And if someone doesn't have a mark?

— Then they become outcasts. In that world, those without a magic mark are considered weak and useless. They can't use magic, which means their fate is either to serve or die at the hands of those who are stronger.

— Can you at least teach me a couple of spells? Because from what you're saying, I won't survive a damn day without them.

He let out an exasperated sigh, as if I were a schoolkid struggling with basic multiplication.

— Magic in that world doesn't work the way you imagine. Forget your silly ideas from movies and books. There are no spells to memorize. All you need is your mark.

— And how the hell am I supposed to use this mark?

— It's simple. Your mark will be the source of your power. It will allow you to control the energy around you. The mark determines not just your strength but also its type. Each person's mark is unique. Some can control fire, others ice, others shadows... It all depends on your lineage and the mark you receive.

— And if I end up with a mark that, I don't know, controls wind? What am I supposed to do? Start a "Blow the Hat Off" show?

The god rolled his eyes, as if I were the most stubborn idiot he'd ever met.

— You underestimate magic. Even a seemingly weak mark can be deadly in skilled hands. It all depends on how you use it.

— And what kind of mark will I get?

— Your mark is special. It will reflect your essence, your past, your strengths, and your weaknesses. It will become a symbol of your new life and your path.

— And what kind of symbol do you think suits me? A baseball bat? A knife?

— A rose...

— A rose... You're kidding, right?

— No. A rose. It symbolizes your strength, beauty, and cruelty. It's a reflection of your past and a reminder of who you were.

...A rose... Damn, that actually sounds kinda cool.

— Alright. A rose it is. But what exactly is this mark?

— The mark is a symbol of your magical power and your essence. It appears on your body and stays with you for life.

— Like a tattoo? You know, I already have a rose tattoo on my neck. Can't you come up with something new?

— This isn't just a tattoo. It's a magical emblem tied to your new life. And as for your rose... it will become your magic mark.

I ran my fingers over my neck instinctively, remembering the day I got that rose tattoo to show that I was "sharp as a thorn."

— And what will it look like? A rose surrounded by glitter? Or are you gonna make it glow?

— Its appearance will depend on your magical nature.

...Great, now my old tattoo is going to be some kind of badge in the new world. Though... maybe that's not so bad.