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Chapter 1 – Forgotten Blood
The smell of cheap engine oil and cigarette smoke clung to the inside of the bus like a second skin. The old machine rattled over cracked asphalt, its suspension squealing at every pothole.
In one of the back seats, a young man sat hunched over, his thin frame swaying with the motion of the ride. His name was Majin—a time traveler from another world, though nothing in his appearance hinted at that strange truth. To anyone looking, he was just another fragile face in the crowd.
But Majin was not just fragile—he was born that way. His bones were one and a half times weaker than a normal human's, brittle like dry twigs under strain. It was the cruel gift he had inherited from fate.
And he was also… a Zoldyck.
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The Forgotten Son
Majin was the elder brother of Silva Zoldyck, heir to one of the deadliest assassin families in the world. But where Silva's name inspired fear, Majin's was forgotten, erased from memory before he was even a man.
When he was barely old enough to walk, the family elders had examined him, searching for the cold steel and killer's potential that every Zoldyck was expected to possess. They found nothing.
He remembered the day clearly: Zeno Zoldyck, had looked down at him with expressionless eyes, and said in a voice without warmth:
> "This is just trash. He isn't even qualified to bear the Zoldyck name. How could such a weak thing be my grandson, let alone the head of the family?"
With a simple order, his mother had been told to abandon him. And so she did, sending him away to Meteor City, the land of castaways and criminals—the place she had once called home before marrying into the Zoldyck family.
There, in a rotting apartment in one of the city's older districts, Majin had grown up alone.
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Meteor City was a place without law, without government. A graveyard of the world's unwanted people and unwanted things. It was a patchwork of cultures, gangs, and unspoken rules.
The bus Majin rode today was filled mostly with locals—people with weathered faces, speaking in low murmurs about the day's news. They talked about the top elders of Meteor City, about gang leaders whose names carried more weight than any police badge. The tension in their voices hinted at something brewing.
When the bus stopped, Majin stepped out into the humid air, his plain shoes crunching on loose gravel. He kept his head down as he moved through the maze of narrow alleys, slipping past rusted metal fences and flickering street lamps.
The old building he lived in leaned slightly to one side, its paint long peeled away by the wind. He climbed the creaking stairs to the second floor, unlocked the cracked wooden door to his apartment, and stepped inside.
It was small—just one room, a cramped kitchen, and a toilet. The walls were yellowed with age, the floor sagged in places, and the smell of mildew lingered no matter how much he cleaned.
Majin survived by working long hours in menial jobs—lifting crates, scrubbing floors, whatever paid enough for a week's worth of food. Even with that, his malnutrition was obvious. His skin was pale, his black hair limp and lifeless. The constant work only wore his fragile body thinner.
Still, he had survived to twenty years old. Somewhere far away, his younger brother Silva would be seventeen or eighteen now, already making a name for himself as a killer. Majin wondered, not for the first time, what it would feel like to live the lavish life of strength and power—but those thoughts always ended the same way.
In this world, everything depended on strength. And he had none.
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That night, somewhere two alleys over, the sound of roaring engines split the silence. Majin paused mid-step in his tiny kitchen, frowning.
The noise grew louder.
Multiple vehicles rolled into the narrow streets—cars and jeeps painted with the emblems of two of Meteor City's most dangerous gangs: the Raging Tiger Gang and the Snake Machinery Group. Both were notorious for extortion, smuggling, and worse.
Tonight, they had chosen this district to decide who would rule the area.
Gunmen spilled from the vehicles, weapons glinting under the dim streetlights—knives, pistols, even short rifles. The tension snapped like a rubber band, and with a roar of engines, the fight began.
Shots rang out. Bullets tore into brick walls. Men shouted curses and threats as they ducked behind cover. The sharp scent of gunpowder filled the air.
Majin, lying on his futon, grimaced. This was nothing new. Gang fights happened almost weekly here. Usually, he ignored them.
But tonight, his luck ran dry.
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The End Comes… or Should Have
A group of gang members used his apartment building for cover. Bullets whizzed through his thin walls, splintering wood and plaster. Majin scrambled toward the window to see what was happening outside.
That was when he saw it—a hand grenade arcing through the night air.
Time seemed to slow as it tumbled toward him, landing on the windowsill.
His breath caught.
The blast hit before he could even turn away.
An ear-splitting roar. A wall of heat. The shockwave lifted him off his feet and threw him backwards, smashing him against the far wall. Pain like fire lanced through his chest and legs.
Blood filled his mouth. His vision swam.
As darkness closed in, his final thought was bitter:
If I hadn't been born into that family… maybe I could have lived a good life. I don't hate them for abandoning me. I hate my own weakness.
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From the depths of unconsciousness, a sound echoed in his mind:
> Ding! Found host. System activating…
Ding! System online.
A flood of information poured into him—not words exactly, but concepts. A store. Items. Prices. Random refresh cycles.
Today's offerings:
1. Healing Potion (Harry Potter world) – Heals any serious disease or defect. 10 yuan. (Rare)
2. Super Soldier Serum (Marvel world) – Grants perfected peak human strength. 100 yuan. (Epic)
3. Wax Wax Devil Fruit (One Piece world) – Control and transform anything into wax, perfected without sea weakness. 1000 yuan. (Legendary)
Majin's fingers twitched. He could feel his wallet in his pocket—5000 yuan, saved over months of labor.
Without hesitation, he bought the Healing Potion.
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The glass jar appeared in his hand, filled with thick green liquid that shimmered faintly in the dark. He pulled the cork and drank it down.
It was cool, almost minty, sliding down his throat. Then a warm glow spread through him, wrapping him in green light.
Before his eyes, the jagged hole in his chest knitted shut. The blood on his legs dried as skin and muscle reformed beneath it. Even the constant ache in his bones faded.
He stood, breathing hard, the taste of metal still on his tongue—but whole. More than whole. His body felt… alive in a way it never had before.
The gunfire outside had stopped. The gangs were gone, leaving behind the smell of cordite and the faint crackle of small fires.
Majin opened the system menu again. Two items remained. He bought them both.
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A slim glass tube of blue, crystal-like liquid appeared in his hand—the perfected Super Soldier Serum. He didn't think twice. He uncorked it and drank.
The effect was instant.
Agony ripped through him. His muscles tore and rebuilt themselves, layer by layer. His brittle bones shattered and reforged, denser, stronger. Black, foul-smelling liquid seeped from his pores, pooling on the floor.
Every nerve screamed. His jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth would break.
But when the sun rose, its light streaming through the blasted hole in his wall, Majin stood as a different man.
His once-thin frame was now tall and broad-shouldered, his chest wide and muscular, his arms corded with lean strength. His face had sharpened into something striking, his skin smooth and healthy.
He flexed his hands. The power surging through him was intoxicating. It was as if he could shatter the sky with a single punch. He knew it was an illusion born from the sudden increase in strength—but it was still more than he'd ever had before.
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From his inventory, he pulled the final item: the Wax Wax Fruit. The gnarled, spiraled patterns on its skin were strangely hypnotic. He had no idea when the shop would refresh again—months, years, maybe decades—so there was no point saving it.
He bit into it.
The taste was revolting, like rancid oil mixed with chalk. He gagged but forced it down.
Almost immediately, a white, glossy substance oozed from his skin. Majin focused on it, and it shifted at his will—hardening into a blade sharp enough to slice through his wooden table, then softening into a puddle at his feet.
He shaped it into a chair, a spear, a wall, a perfect wax replica of his own face. The possibilities spun in his mind like wildfire.
> It's not the fruit that's weak… it's the user.
With the right training, this could be as dangerous as Katakuri's Mochi Mochi Fruit—or more.
His system panel now showed a new growth bar: Wax Wax Fruit Mastery – 22%. His strength stat glowed far beyond normal human limits.
Majin looked around at the ruined apartment, the sunlight streaming in through shattered walls.
The forgotten son of the Zoldyck family…
…had just been reborn.