He opened his eyes, only to find whiteness around him. He couldn't remember a thing, blinking awkwardly. The hesitation and nervousness of a person potentially going through amnesia was utterly absent on his face.
Instead, there was calm, confusion, and more than anything—curiosity.
"Didn't I die?" he thought to himself, his mind trying to catch up to the reality in front of him.
He remembered what happened—he was shot. It was a bank robbery, unfortunately taking place when he happened to be there.
Unfortunately, that robber had to have a gun, and even more unfortunately, out of all the people he could have taken hostage and later killed, it was him.
For a moment, he didn't know whether to curse his luck or just be amused at how life throws curveballs at him.
Looking around, he noted that this wasn't a hospital. There was no way he could live after a direct shot to the head like that.
Meaning, there could be only one thing, one outcome: he had been reborn.
Again, there was calm in him—no state of panic, surprisingly. At least he was supposed to show some sort of reaction when this happened, right? But nope. Nothing.
Perhaps he was too used to this scenario after reading countless reincarnation fics and fanfics. Instead of panicking, he was rather delighted.
There was no confirmation, but that didn't stop him from fantasising about the adventure-filled life of a reincarnated protagonist. At least he believed he would be the protagonist. If he were to be the same boring bum after dying by a straight shot to the head only to come back to life, then he better should have remained dead.
Soon, he chose to move around, to find out where exactly he was. A small tingling feeling spread as soon as his own hand touched his face.
"Smooth and soft." That was his estimate after the first test. He looked at his hands and noticed they were small. A kid, merely five or six years old.
"So, transmigration then." He pursed his lips. This was the not-so-wanted method he wished to be reincarnated, since this meant he overtook a person's body rather than properly getting born here in this place.
"But beggars can't be choosers, I guess," he muttered. The voice came out way too soft for his liking. A child's voice was supposed to be like this—that was fine—however, there was an inkling of hesitation before he slowly let his hand wander down below.
The roaming hand wasn't just wandering aimlessly, of course. Instead, it had a purpose: to figure out whether he could still call himself "he" or not.
And sure enough, he soon found the protrusion between his legs. He let out a sigh he didn't know he was holding. At least the entire gender-swap fiasco was not a problem for him.
After that, he looked around and noticed the place he was in—a rather cozy small room with a bed, books, and some toys littered around.
His eyes aimlessly wandered around until they spotted a mirror. With a self-nod, his mind created a self-task for himself:
"One… look at your face and wish you're handsome.
Two, try to recall if you remember anything and more importantly, figure out where the hell you are.
And three, most important of them all: do you have a system or something similar?"
With his mind set, he jolted up, only to immediately lose balance and fall down. Good thing the bed was soft.
He wasn't used to this kid's small body. Though the muscle memories were there, it shouldn't take him that long to get used to it.
Sure enough, after a little bit of testing, he was as good as he was back in his own body. Testing from jumping to speaking—everything checked out. No deformities or problems. A perfectly healthy boy.
That sent a pang of remorse through him, knowing that he was indirectly the reason a healthy child like this one died.
"Sigh, don't think about it. I can't do anything about this fact no matter the case." Shaking his head, he got up and went to complete his first objective.
The room was dark. The only lingering light that made vision possible came out of the almost frighteningly lit-up curtain blocking the evil forces of morning sunrays from disturbing a child's sweet dreams.
A hero indeed.
As a matter of fact, he didn't believe his eyes could adapt to that light yet, and thus, he let those curtains fight with the forces of evil just a little while longer.
Now in front of the mirror, he saw a boy with a cute face and…
"Pink hair?" At first, he thought he was misjudging because of the lack of light, but no—they were indeed pink.
A small scowl spread on his face. This was his least liked colour. This also indicated the fact that either this boy had some really supportive parents to let him dye his hair pink, or he was indeed in an anime world.
Hell, that would even explain someone having horns growing out of their heads, having a tail, or seeing ghosts. These were just pink hair—much tamer in comparison.
"Okay, a perfectly healthy boy of five or six with pink hair. As for whether I am handsome? Can't say. The kid—now me—is pretty cute, though he might look only slightly above average in the looks department if my estimations are right."
Of course, he wasn't ready to let that happen. Since he was small, this was the perfect time to mold his body while growing up.
Lookmaxxx all the way to adulthood.
As for the second goal, he still couldn't remember anything. Veins almost bulging on his temples to recall anything, but nothing.
"Come on brain. At least let me know my name?" he muttered with irritation. He was afraid to open that giant door—which was actually pretty normal-sized, rather he was the one who was small—and go see what was out there without his memories.
"This boy… dear, go and call your brother, please. He's still sleeping."
Just as he was ready to give up on his poor semi-toddler brain and look around to find anything about him, a voice from downstairs almost rattled him. It came so suddenly, catching him off guard, almost making him jump, his heart rate spiking.
And that's when suddenly something strange took place. Still in front of the mirror, he saw blue energy emitting from his body, leaking out, almost creating a shockwave of sorts.
This made him tumble back to the ground, while the mirror vibrated, a minute crack visible on its sides.
"Okay… mission three complete. Found my golden finger," he muttered in a daze. A little bit of embarrassment hit him for calling the power 'Golden Finger.' That was so much like those Chinese fics he used to read.
"Okay, only second goal left. Back to my name again," he muttered with irritation and got up, only to be startled again as another voice came from outside the room this time. And this one was high-pitched, almost sending shivers down his gut at the sound.
"SUKUNA… get out! Mom's calling!"
He was dazed—first from the extremely uncomfortable high-pitched screech of this girl (had to be a girl at this rate—how did she even tolerate her own voice?)
And second, from the name itself.
As soon as it hit him, it was like a floodgate of memories opened. Memories of his predecessor came rushing in. Two predecessors, in fact.
One was the boy whose body he was in. And second, the man—no, the curse—whose name he just heard.
The former didn't have enough memories in the first place, being at most half a decade old. The latter, though—that shook him to his core.
Gore. Bloodshed. Cruelty. Fighting. Cutting. Cursing.
A thousand years' worth of pure menace slammed into his head, almost frying his brain in the process.
Pure agony rushed through his mind, like someone shocking him with a defibrillator.
A powerful force rippled out of his body—this time much stronger and more defiant. The poor mirror didn't survive this time around. It shattered into pieces.
Not only the mirror, but even his surroundings were affected. The shockwave created a powerful wind pressure that finally let those heroic curtains off their misery, flapping them open.
Blinding light came rushing into the room.
And then, once again—just like how he got hit by that bullet—his vision went black. His poor semi-toddler brain unable to handle the load.