Rudra, an eighteen–year–old boy, was what many would call a hardcore otaku. Unemployed, unmotivated in the eyes of others, but deeply passionate inside, he found his greatest inspiration in Dragon Ball.
The series wasn't just entertainment to him — it was the fire that kept him alive. Because of it, Rudra had even created his own YouTube channel, entirely dedicated to Dragon Ball content. Among all his videos, the "What If" series became his favorite. He loved crafting alternate scenarios, imagining what would happen if events had unfolded differently in the world of Goku and Vegeta.
Sometimes, when he edited videos late at night, he would imagine himself standing alongside the Z Fighters, ready to protect Earth.
"If only I were really in Dragon Ball… it would be so much fun!"
That night, as he muttered those words, Rudra lay back on his bed, closed his eyes, and drifted into sleep.
But something jolted him awake. A strange shock ran through his body, forcing his eyes open.
"What was that sound?"
He looked around — and froze. This wasn't his room. The posters of anime characters, the shelves lined with Dragon Ball manga, the messy desk — all gone.
"What? Where's my Dragon Ball manga library?"
Panic rising in his chest, Rudra rushed to the window, pulled aside the curtain, and stared outside.
His heart skipped a beat.
"What is this?"
Outside were round houses, the iconic Capsule Corp–style domes. Cars floated gracefully in the sky like metal birds. The landscape itself was futuristic, a scene he had only ever seen in anime.
His lips trembled. His eyes widened.
"Am I… in the Dragon Ball universe?"
He fell back onto the bed, trembling, his mind unable to process the impossible. Hours slipped away in silence as Rudra sat there, stunned.
Then the weight of reality crushed him. His thoughts spiraled into worst–case scenarios. What if he never returned? What if this wasn't a dream?
Tears welled up, spilling over. He broke down.
"Mom! Dad!"
He sobbed uncontrollably, remembering his family, his younger brother, the warmth of his home. Grief twisted into anger. He screamed, grabbing the pillows from the bed, tearing them apart in frustration.
"No! No! No!"
Exhaustion eventually pulled him into sleep again, his face wet with tears.
When he woke the next day, hunger clawed at his stomach.
"I want pizza!"
He turned toward the window — and froze once more.
"So it's real… not a dream!"
His legs shook as he stumbled back, pulling the curtain shut.
"At least, there must be pizza here…"
He remembered something from Toriyama's old interviews. In Dragon Ball's world, refrigerators weren't quite the same. Instead, there were small box–like machines made of special glass, cooled by artificial ice.
Curious, Rudra searched the room until he found one. But when he opened it, disappointment struck.
"Huh! There's nothing to eat here!"
Frustrated, he sighed deeply, sitting at the desk. His eyes caught the smartphone lying there.
"At least there's a smartphone!"
But another thought pierced his mind — who exactly was he in this world? Was he still Rudra, or someone else entirely?
"Let's see…"
Opening the phone, he found what looked like an ID card stored inside. His heartbeat quickened.
"Am I in someone else's body?"
He hurried to the mirror — only to gasp in shock.
"What? That's… me?"
The reflection staring back wasn't someone else. It was him — Rudra, exactly as he had always been.
His mind spun with confusion.
"So… I haven't transmigrated?"
As these thoughts tangled in his head, a new sound cut through the silence. Sirens.
The unmistakable wail of a police car.
"Police?"
The sound grew louder until flashing lights appeared outside his new home.
A voice boomed through a megaphone:
"Hey, thief! If you're inside, throw out your guns and come out quietly! Otherwise, we'll fill you with bullets!"
Rudra froze.
"Wait… did I arrive at the worst possible time?"
Then the words sank in deeper.
"Hold on… they said I have a gun?"
Heart pounding, Rudra frantically searched the room. If he could just hand them the weapon, maybe they'd let him go.
"If I give them the gun… they'll let me go, right?"
He ducked under the bed — and there it was. A sleek, futuristic weapon. An advanced laser gun, resembling an AK–47 in shape but glowing faintly with energy.
"Wow… this looks just like an AK–47…"
The police shouted again.
"This is your last warning! Hand over your weapon and surrender!"
Hands shaking, Rudra opened the front door. The bright light outside blinded him as officers aimed their weapons at him. Carefully, he tossed the gun toward them.
Inside, he thought:
"Well, at least I'll get free food in jail…"
But—
"Open fire!"
The command thundered in the air.
"What?"
Rudra's face drained of color as the police opened fire. Bullets ripped through the air, striking him. One pierced his stomach, another his head.
Pain, blinding and unbearable, consumed him. His voice cracked as he cried out:
"Oh God… save me…"
His body collapsed onto the ground, lifeless. Blood pooled beneath him as the world around him blurred into darkness.
And thus, Rudra — the otaku who dreamed of living in Dragon Ball — died in Dragon Ball's world the very moment he arrived.