The rain fell relentlessly, turning the streets into murky mirrors that reflected the diffuse glow of streetlights. Heavy droplets pounded the asphalt, creating a constant, monotonous sound, as if the sky itself were weeping. The air was cold, thick with moisture, and every breath the bloodied young man took came out in faint, almost imperceptible little clouds.
He wasn't entirely sure how he had ended up there.
The last fragments of memory were like pieces of a scattered puzzle—blinding lights, the screeching sound of tires singing on the wet pavement, a violent impact that wrenched the world off its axis. Now, he lay on the sidewalk, his body a tangle of pain, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Blood mingled with the rainwater, forming rust-colored streams that trickled into the gutters.
Around him, distant voices echoed, filled with panic and urgency.
"Someone call an ambulance!"
"Oh God, he's really hurt!"
"Don't move him, you could make it worse!"
But he couldn't hear them clearly. The sound was muffled, as if he were submerged. The only thing he could perceive with any clarity was the rapid beating of his own heart—a frantic drum pounding in his ears, as if trying to escape his chest.
'It hurts...'
Every fiber of his body screamed in agony. He tried to move a finger—nothing. An arm? Nothing. His legs? Nothing. His nervous system seemed to have shut down, leaving him trapped in a prison of shattered flesh and bone. Frustration and fear swirled inside him, but even those emotions felt distant, as if they belonged to someone else.
'I'm sleepy...'
Exhaustion dragged him down like a tide pulling a drowning man into the depths. His thoughts were hazy, the pain beginning to fade into a dangerous numbness.
'Just for a moment... I'll close my eyes... just for a moment...'
His eyelids, heavy as lead, slowly lowered. Darkness enveloped him—soft, comforting, promising endless rest.
That was when something—or someone—landed beside him.
Even without opening his eyes, he felt a presence. A tall man, with hair as white as snow and a black blindfold covering his eyes, leaned over him. The stranger's lips curled into an enigmatic smile before his body began dissolving into a dark mist, seeping into the wounded young man like smoke penetrating every wound, every pore.
And then...
Silence.
...
The sun shone over the courtyard of Kami High School, where groups of students laughed and chatted, enjoying the break between classes. The air was fresh, the sky blue, and the weather perfect—a stark contrast to the darkness and rain from just moments before.
In the classroom, a young man with snow-white hair suddenly woke up, his body jerking upright in shock. He looked around, disoriented, before bringing his hands to his chest, as if searching for something—a wound, perhaps, or the echo of a pain that was no longer there.
"Where... am I?"
His eyes scanned his arms and legs—unharmed, without a single scratch. His confusion deepened as he checked his pockets and found a cell phone and a student ID.
When he opened it, two details jumped out at him:
Name: Yohan Gojo.
And the photo showed a white-haired young man wearing sunglasses, with a carefree smile.
The name made him pause. Gojo.
A distant memory surfaced. A character from a manga. The strongest. Killed abruptly, almost insultingly, off-screen.
Satoru Gojo.
His fingers tightened around the ID involuntarily.
"What... is happening?"
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his eyes, as if two white-hot needles had been driven into his pupils. Yohan gritted his teeth, instinctively squeezing his eyes shut as he brought his hands to his face, trying to relieve the unbearable pressure.
"What the hell is this...?"
He rubbed his eyelids, sensing something strange—a pulse, a flow of energy that hadn't been there before. When he finally opened his eyes again, the world had changed.
Everything was clear.
Not just clear—perfect.
He could see the specks of dust floating in the air, the tiny cracks in the ceiling, even the pores on the skin of a student passing by in the hallway. But that wasn't all.
People glowed.
A subtle, almost imperceptible aura surrounded each individual—some faint, others slightly more intense. It was as if he were seeing their very life essence.
"Is this... the Six Eyes?"
The knowledge surfaced in his mind as if it had always been there. The power to perceive the flow of energy at its most fundamental level. The ability that made Satoru Gojo the strongest sorcerer.
"This is impossible..."
But it was real.
His heart raced as the pieces fell into place. He had died—or nearly died—on that bloodstained sidewalk. And now he was here, in a new body, with abilities that only existed in works of fiction.
Reincarnation? Transmigration?
Whatever the case, one thing was clear: he was no longer in his original world.
Quickly, Yohan put the sunglasses back on, easing the information overload his new eyes were absorbing. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, then stepped out of the room and into the bustling school hallway.
Students laughed, chatted, and lived their normal lives—completely unaware that among them was someone who did not belong to this reality.
Yohan looked through the window, observing the courtyard.
Auras. So many auras.
In the world of Jujutsu Kaisen, only sorcerers or spiritually sensitive people would have visible cursed energy. But here… almost everyone had something.
"So this definitely isn't Jujutsu Kaisen…"
He considered other possibilities.
Yu Yu Hakusho?
If it were, he'd recognize Yusuke Urameshi or Kuwabara from a mile away—after all, a delinquent in a green uniform and a guy with a pompadour wouldn't exactly go unnoticed.
Bleach?
No. If it were, he'd see Hollows—spiritual monsters with white masks—or the distortions in the air caused by Shinigami on missions.
Hunter x Hunter? Maybe… but the auras there were denser, more physical.
Dragon Ball? Absolutely not—the power levels there were so absurd he would've already sensed someone with overwhelming Ki.
So… where the hell was he?
A new world? A parallel universe where supernatural powers were common but subtle?
Or worse—a world where he was the only one with these abilities?
His fingers tightened around the sunglasses.
"I need to figure this out… and fast."
Yohan began walking toward the courtyard, his footsteps echoing softly in the nearly empty hallway. The distant sound of students chatting and laughing outside reached him as a murmur, but something else caught his attention—a peculiar presence, different from the others.
He stopped.
An aura.
It wasn't like the others. While most people emitted a faint, almost imperceptible glow, this one… this one pulsed.
It was dense, harmonious, as if the energy itself danced in the air.
'Interesting.'
His lips curled slightly into an intrigued smile. Without hesitation, he changed his course, following the trail of that unique energy. His steps led him to a slightly ajar door, from which came a sound that made his newfound senses vibrate—the piano.
This wasn't just someone playing. It was art.
Each note flowed with supernatural precision, as if the fingers executing them didn't belong to a mere student but to a true virtuoso. The melody was soft, melancholic, and yet deeply captivating, as if telling a wordless story.
Yohan stood still for a moment, simply listening.
Then, carefully, he pushed the door open slowly, the faint creak lost in the music.
Inside the room, seated before a black grand piano, was a lone figure.
A slender young woman with long, silver hair that cascaded like a curtain, partially obscuring her face. Her fingers glided over the keys with hypnotic fluidity, each movement calculated, each note intentional.
But what truly caught his attention were her eyes.
Large, round, with dilated pupils that seemed to absorb all the surrounding light.
Yohan stood there, watching, until the music came to an end.
The young woman stopped, her fingers hovering over the keys for a second before pulling away. It was then that she seemed to notice his presence.
Unhurried, she turned her head toward him.
Her eyes met the dark lenses of his glasses.
And in that same instant, Yohan recognized her.
The serene posture, the delicate features, the aura of mystery—it was unmistakable.
"Kouki Yukishiro?"
The name escaped his lips before he could think.
The young woman tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second—as if trying to decipher him.
"Do you know me?"
Her voice was soft, almost ethereal, but there was a hint of curiosity in it.
Yohan kept his smile, but inside, his mind was racing.
'If she's here... then this world isn't just any ordinary place.'
He took a deep breath, deciding to tread carefully.
"I liked the music. Will you play for me?"
Kouki fell silent for a moment, studying him.
'This is the world of Dandadan!' The realization struck like thunder—this world was... insane.