Leon opened his eyes.
At first, he thought he hadn't.
For his entire life, sight had been secondhand—borrowed from pages, painted by words. Darkness had always come first, followed by imagined shapes built from memory and description. So when light flooded in now—raw, blinding, real—his mind rejected it.
I'm dead, he thought distantly.This must be what dying feels like.
White filled his vision. Not empty white, but layered—soft shadows, sharp edges, movement. Something hummed nearby. A steady rhythm. A beep.
Leon blinked.
The world didn't disappear.
It sharpened.
Ceiling tiles came into focus—square, slightly stained, cracked at one corner. A fluorescent lamp buzzed faintly above him. He could see it. Not imagine it. See it.
His breath hitched.
Air rushed into his lungs, deep and effortless, and the sensation alone nearly broke him. There was no burning in his skull. No pressure behind his eyes. No dull, constant agony that had been his shadow for years.
He could breathe.
"Oh—!"
A startled gasp cut through the quiet.
Leon turned his head—slowly, instinctively, without pain—and saw her. A nurse stood beside his bed, frozen mid-motion, one gloved hand hovering over the IV line she had been checking. Her eyes were wide, fixed on his face like she'd just seen a ghost sit up and smile.
Their gazes locked.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then her clipboard clattered to the floor.
"He—he's—" Her voice shook as she stumbled back, hand flying to the call button on the wall. "Doctor! Doctor, he's awake! Room 317—he just opened his eyes!"
Leon tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
Panic flared, sharp and sudden—but then he realized his throat wasn't tight from tumors or damage. It was dry. Unused. Like a muscle waking from a long sleep.
He swallowed.
Sound escaped him this time, weak but unmistakably human.
"W-where…?"
The nurse rushed back to his side, eyes darting between his face and the monitor, which had begun to spike in frantic green lines.
"Easy," she said, though she looked anything but calm. "You're in the hospital. Don't try to sit up. You've been—" She hesitated, staring at him again. "You've been in a coma."
A coma?
Leon's thoughts spun.
The last thing he remembered was pain. White walls. A doctor speaking softly while avoiding his eyes. The word terminal hovering in the air like a death sentence. Brain cancer. Weeks, maybe days.
He remembered closing his eyes.
The wish.
Please… let me live. Let me see. Let me walk. I don't care where—just let me be human.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He lifted his hand—slow, trembling—and stared at it.
At his hand.
Long fingers. Clean skin. No needle marks. No wasting. When he flexed, the movement was smooth, powerful, effortless.
Tears blurred his vision.
"I… I died," Leon whispered. "Didn't I?"
Before the nurse could answer, the door burst open.
Voices filled the room—quick, urgent, overlapping. A doctor pushed past the curtain, eyes already scanning the monitors, then snapping to Leon's face. He froze.
"…That's not possible," the doctor muttered.
Leon looked at him, really looked—and something strange settled in his chest.
He understood the words on the charts without trying. The machines, the readings, the quiet panic beneath their professionalism—it all made sense, as if his mind were clearer, sharper than it had ever been.
But beneath that clarity, something else stirred.
A warmth, deep and distant, like a star buried beneath flesh.
Leon closed his eyes for a moment—only a moment—and when he opened them again, he knew one thing with absolute certainty:
He wasn't dying anymore.
Whatever had answered his wish hadn't just saved him.
It had rebuilt him.
"It's almost a miracle, kid. You were in a coma for over ten years," the doctor said.
Leon blinked, still stunned, but kept his mouth shut. He had read enough books to know how these stories went—transmigration, isekai, reincarnation. Until he understood where he was, he knew better than to say a single unnecessary word.
If he spoke too much, if he said the wrong thing, he might wake up restrained again—or worse, pushed back into a bed, examined, dissected, and "fixed."
So Leon stayed silent, listening and watching.
"Relax for now, kid. I called your Guardian—she left about an hour ago, so she's probably nearby," the doctor said.
Leon nodded faintly.
A guardian? But there's no memory…Shouldn't a reincarnated person get the original owner's memories? Where are mine?
He decided quickly.
I'll just say I don't remember anything.
Leon lay back against the bed, keeping his expression blank.
It seems the body I'm in belongs to someone rich, he thought, as his eyes slowly took in the spacious surroundings.
This wasn't a normal hospital room.
It was a VIP suite.
Seems like my reincarnation is quite good, Leon nodded to himself, then slowly looked around again—finally letting that sink in.
The room was quiet now. Empty.
His gaze settled on the glowing screen in front of him. It was pure white, blinking nonstop, as if waiting.
Leon hesitated, then reached out and tapped it.
[ Initializing… ]
"So… is this the event where I get a system?" Leon murmured, a small smile forming as he watched.
[ Complete ]
[ Ultimate Template System at your service, Host ]
Leon's eyes looked curious.
[ System Function: The system operates through templates. ]
[ The Host will be granted a template. ]
[ Only after the Host achieves 100% integration with the current template will the next template be unlocked. ]
[ The Host can only use one template at a time. ]
[ Switching templates has a 24-hour cooldown. ]
[ Is the Host ready to receive the first template? ]
Leon stared at the final line, his thoughts racing.
Hmm. I can only use one template at a time, huh?
Not like most of the template-system fanfics I've read.
"Whatever. Okay, System—give me my first template," he said.
[ Warning: All templates are random. ]
[ Outcomes depend on the Host's luck. ]
[ Do not blame the System if the granted template is weak, unstable, or not overpowered. ]
"I won't. Just give it to me," Leon said, shaking his head.
The screen flickered.
The white background abruptly turned red.
[ Rolling Template… ]
[ Processing… ]