The sun, a great, weary god of ochre and gold, slumped against the bruised purple canvas of the late afternoon Kolkata sky. Its light, thick and heavy with unshed rain, filtered through the grimy windowpane of Rohan Sarkar's room, laying a single, dusty rectangle of warmth upon the cool stone floor. This room, nestled in the heart of their modest Roypara flat in Sinthee, was more than just a space; it was a kingdom of one, a self-imposed exile, a sanctuary built of silence and solitude. The lock on the door, a simple brass slide-bolt, was his steadfast guardian, a silent pact of non-interference respected, if not entirely understood, by the family that orbited his quiet world.
Thirty-four years. The number felt both impossibly vast and meaninglessly small. Thirty-four revolutions around a star, lived within the confines of a body and a life that felt… borrowed. Unemployed. The word hung in the air of the house, an unspoken accusation, a quiet disappointment that clung to the curtains and settled in the corners like dust. His father, Bipul Chandra Sarkar, a man shaped by the rigid certainties of his career as a West Bengal Government Land Officer, saw it as a failure of ambition. His mother, Kakali, a woman whose universe was defined by the loving orbits of her husband and children, saw it as a source of unending worry, a problem to be solved with prayers and carefully prepared meals. His sister, Barnali, a star in her own right, ascendant in the Central Government's Communication Department, saw it with a practical, slightly exasperated pity. She loved her brother, but she could not comprehend his inertia.
Yet, within the fortress of his own mind, Rohan was anything but inert. He was an optimist, a believer in the unseen currents of fate. His mental fortitude, honed by years of diving into worlds far more complex and perilous than his own, was his secret armour. He was an Otaku, a title he wore not with shame, but with the quiet dignity of a devout priest. In the ink-and-paper universes of manga, in the vibrant celluloid dreams of anime, he found the echoes of a grander existence. He saw heroes grapple with destiny, ordinary boys and girls awaken to godhood, and in their stories, he found a resonant hope that his own life was merely a prologue.
He lay now on his narrow bed, the drone of a lone, fat fly a drowsy counterpoint to the distant, rhythmic clang of a tram on the main road. The manga on his chest, a tale of a reincarnated slime conquering a fantasy world, was forgotten. His mind, unmoored, drifted. He imagined what it would be like to possess a 'System', a gamer-like interface for reality. What if skills could be learned in an instant? What if potential wasn't a slow, arduous climb but an explosive revelation? It was a familiar daydream, a comforting fiction he used to paint over the grey canvas of his reality. He could almost hear his mother in the kitchen, the gentle clatter of steel utensils as she prepared for dinner, the faint, tinny sound of a news anchor's voice from the television in the living room where his father would be sitting. These sounds were the bars of his cage, familiar, comforting, and utterly confining.
It began then. Not as a thought born of his own imagination, but as an intrusion from a place beyond knowing. It was a hum, a resonance that started not in his ears, but in the marrow of his bones, in the very core of his being. It was the sound of a cosmic string being plucked, a vibration that expanded outward, saturating every cell, every atom of his existence with its profound, ancient thrum. The fly ceased its buzzing. The clatter from the kitchen faded into irrelevance. The world outside his skin dissolved.
And then, the voice. It was not a voice of air and vibration, but of pure, crystalline concept, a thought imprinted directly onto the canvas of his soul, as clear and undeniable as his own existence.
The Supreme Divine Lottery System Is Awakening In Your Soul For Eternity.
Rohan's breath caught, a sharp, painful hitch in his chest. His eyes, which had been closed, snapped open, staring at the web of fine cracks on the plaster ceiling as if seeing it for the first time. Was this it? The final, quiet snap of a mind pushed too far by ennui and fantasy? A grand, eloquent delusion to herald his descent into madness? But the feeling… the deep, soul-shaking hum intensified, a silent symphony playing just for him, and the voice, the concept, echoed with the weight of absolute truth.
The System Is Conceptually Hidden. The System Can't Be Separated From You By Anyone Or Any Means Possible As It Is A Part of You! The Items And Powers Gained From The System Will Be Visible. You Get One Lottery Per Day. For Living So Far You Have A Total Of 12,628 Lottery Tickets Saved!
Twelve thousand, six hundred and twenty-eight.
The number was so specific, so absurdly precise, that it broke through the dam of his disbelief. His mind, ever the calculator, the strategist, did the math in a flash. Thirty-four years. 365 days a year. That was 12,410. Add in the leap years… eight of them in his lifetime. That accounted for another eight tickets. Where did the rest come from? Was it from the moment of conception? Did the days in the womb count? The sheer, baffling internal logic of it was more convincing than any booming voice from the heavens could ever be. This was real.
A thrill, so sharp and potent it was almost painful, shot through him. It was a jolt of pure adrenaline, of life force, chasing away the lethargy that had been his constant companion for years. A lottery. A chance. Twelve thousand chances. All those nights spent dreaming of being special, of being chosen. It wasn't a dream. It was an inheritance he had been unknowingly accumulating with every breath he took.
His fingers clenched, the knuckles white. What could he get? The possibilities were a dizzying, terrifying kaleidoscope. He could wish for wealth beyond imagining, enough to silence the worried whispers of his family forever. He could wish for power, the kind he'd only read about, the kind that could reshape the world. He could wish for… a purpose.
He forced himself to take a deep, shuddering breath, then another. An Otaku, a gamer at heart, knows one cardinal rule: you don't waste your resources. You don't charge into the boss room at level one. This was the ultimate gacha game, and he had been given an impossible number of premium summons. To use them blindly would be a sin against the very nature of the gift. He needed to understand the prize pool. He needed a sample.
Just eight, he decided, his mind settling with a newfound, steely calm. Just eight draws. To test the waters.
He closed his eyes, focusing inward, addressing the silent, humming presence within him. A command, not spoken, but willed.
Draw Lottery.
The internal hum swelled into a crescendo, a feeling of cosmic wheels turning, of fate holding its breath. Then, a deluge. Not of information, but of change. A torrent of pure concept flooded his soul, rewriting his very existence from the ground up.
First Lottery Draw: [God's Blood - Merged With His Heart And Blood And Can't Be Distinguished. Gave Him True Eternal Life And Eternal Youth That Grants Him Immunity To All Conceptual Ontological Erasure Type Powers! He Can Also Bestow 1000 Yrs Of Life And Youth To Anyone Through Touch Repeatedly. His Bodily Fluids All Contain Potent Life Force. His Saliva is As Clear And As Sweet As Natural Honey. He Has Conceptual Healing, Restoration, Item Repair, Detoxification And Curse Erasure Ability That Consumes Vitality. He Has True Resurrection Ability. Even If A Body is Turned To Ashes, He Can Restructure The Body Using The Restoration Ability. If The Body Is Old And Can Not Naturally Live, Rohan Can Grant Him Rejuvenation And 1000 Yrs Of Life Span And Then Resurrect Him! Consumes Life Force! It Also Gives Him One Ox's Equal Strength, Stamina, Endurance, Durability, In Each Of Rohan's Cells! Finally God's Blood Gave His Body The True Form According To His Heart. It Has [Night Vision], [Thermal Vision], [Telescopic Vision], [Microscopic Vision], [See Through Vision] And Minimum 10,000° Celsius To 100 Million° Celsius Hot Auto Tracking Light Speed Laser Beams Of Any Breadth And Width!]
The description alone was enough to make his mind reel, but the reality of it was infinitely more profound. He felt it. A searing, golden fire ignited in his chest, radiating from his heart. It was the God's Blood, not flowing into his veins, but becoming his veins, becoming his blood, his heart, his very essence. It was a feeling of being unmade and remade simultaneously, of his mortal coil being reforged in a divine crucible. Every cell in his body screamed, not in pain, but in ecstatic transformation. He felt a strength he couldn't comprehend flooding his limbs, a vitality so potent it felt like liquid sunlight. It wasn't just the strength of one ox; it was the strength of an ox concentrated into every single one of his trillions of cells, an equation of power so absurd it defied physics.
And then came the final, most terrifying and wonderful part of the change. He felt his bones soften, shift, and reshape themselves with subtle, grinding clicks. His shoulders narrowed, his hips flared gently. A strange, delightful lightness spread through him as his body shed its masculine angles, embracing a new, fluid grace. He felt his skin, once prone to the blemishes of a Kolkata diet, become impossibly smooth, flawless, and luminous. His Adam's apple dissolved. He lifted a hand to his throat, feeling the elegant, swan-like column that remained, and a sound escaped his lips – not his old, unremarkable tenor, but a soft, melodic alto that seemed to hum with innate sweetness.
A cascade of silken weight tumbled over his shoulders, down his back, past his hips. It was his hair, once short and unruly, now a river of the purest jet-black, shimmering with an inner light, falling in the perfect, elegant lines of a Hime cut.
An overwhelming urge, a desperate need to see, propelled him off the bed. He stumbled, his new center of gravity still alien to him, and practically fell before the small, cracked mirror on his wall.
The person who stared back was a stranger. A celestial, beautiful stranger.
The face in the mirror belonged on a goddess, in a celestial court. It was a face that could launch fleets, end wars, or start them. The eyes were the most striking change. Once a simple brown, they were now enormous, long-lashed doe eyes, the pupils a breathtaking, impossible sky-blue that seemed to hold the depth of a summer heavens. A single, slow blink sent a shiver through him; he could feel the latent power in that simple gesture. His nose was a masterpiece of classical perfection, straight and elegant, a line so fine it would have made Cleopatra weep with envy. His chin, once soft, now held a delicate point, an angle of subtle dominance that invited both worship and desire. His lips were the colour of crushed petals, full and perfectly bowed, making the very idea of a lotus seem a pale imitation.
Hesitantly, he smiled. The reflection smiled back, and the effect was devastating. His teeth were like perfectly matched pearls against the soft pink of his lips, and the smile itself… it didn't just feel warm, it was warm. A genuine, divine radiance seemed to emanate from it, a joy so pure it felt like a tangible force.
This was the true form of his heart. A secret he hadn't even known he was keeping from himself. In the deepest, most unexamined corners of his soul, this was who he had always been. A profound sense of peace, of homecoming, washed over him, quelling the last of his shock. He didn't feel like a man in a woman's body. He simply felt like… himself. For the very first time.
A vow, silent and unbreakable, formed in the core of his newly forged being. He would never change this. Not for anyone, not for any reason. This was his truth. This was his freedom.
He tested his new abilities. Focusing his gaze, the world resolved into impossible detail. He could see the individual dust mites clinging to a sunbeam, their tiny legs churning—Microscopic Vision. He shifted his focus, and the wall became transparent, revealing the thermal signature of his mother moving in the kitchen, a warm, golden-orange shape—Thermal Vision. He looked out the window, and his vision telescoped, bringing the distant spire of a temple miles away into sharp, clear focus as if it were across the street—Telescopic Vision. A thrumming power coiled behind his eyes, a feeling of immense, contained heat, the promise of the laser beams. He instinctively quelled it.
Still breathing heavily, his heart a triumphant drum in his chest, he willed the System again.
Draw Lottery.
Second Lottery Draw: [Jack Sparrow's Compass - Merged With His Heart. Gives Him A 3D Conceptual GPS Map That Can Find Out Conceptually Anything Instantly With Zero Error Through Any Form Of Concealment And Obfuscation Even Beyond Dimension.]
A subtle thrum answered the first in his chest, a new layer of reality settling over his heart. It wasn't a physical object, but an intuitive sense of knowing. A conceptual map unfolded in his mind's eye, a shimmering, three-dimensional grid laid over reality itself. He thought of his sister, Barnali, at her office in the city center, and instantly, a glowing point of light appeared on the map, her exact location pinpointed with zero error. He could find anything. A lost key. A hidden treasure. A person across the world. The power was subtle, but its implications were infinite.
A feverish excitement gripped him. Draw Lottery.
Third Lottery Draw: [Space Ring Tattoo - A Space Ring Tattoo On The Ring Finger With 100 Cubic Meter Space Where Time Lay Static. Habitable And Can Be Physically Entered By Host And Anyone Host Allows.]
He watched, fascinated, as a faint, silvery light swirled around the ring finger of his left hand. The light coalesced, sinking into his skin like ink into paper, forming an intricate, elegant tattoo of swirling nebulae and distant stars. It was beautiful. He focused on the manga still lying on his bed, and with a thought, he felt a strange tug. The book vanished from the physical world. In his mind, he could perceive it, floating in a vast, silent, black void—the hundred cubic meters of his personal space, where time stood still. A perfect, untraceable vault.
He was barely catching his breath. Draw Lottery!
Fourth Lottery Draw: [One Piece World's Top Premium Cooked Food, Top Premium Healing Red Wine, Rum And Other Beverages Along With Everything Consumable Infinite Supply For Eternity!]
This time, the reward was sensory. The air in his stuffy room was suddenly filled with the most incredible aromas imaginable. The rich, hearty scent of Sanji's Sea King roast, the spicy kick of a Water 7 pizza, the sweet, comforting smell of warm island nectar. With a thought, a single, perfectly glazed piece of meat appeared in his hand, warm and steaming. He took a bite. The flavor exploded on his tongue, a symphony of taste so complex and divine it made every meal he'd ever eaten feel like ash and dust. More than that, he felt a wave of vitality from it, a nourishment that went beyond simple calories. His new body hummed with pleasure.
Draw!
Fifth Lottery Draw: [Rokushiki God Level Mastery That Scales With Physique. Includes Rokuougan And Life Return Absolute Mastery.]
This was not a sensation, but an integration. An entire martial arts doctrine, perfected to a divine degree, flooded his mind and body. His muscles twitched, his tendons tightened, his entire physiology remapping itself to accommodate the new knowledge. He knew, with absolute certainty, how to use Soru to move faster than the eye could see, how to use Geppo to walk on the air itself. He flexed a single, elegant finger and felt the coiled, piercing power of Shigan, capable of turning his fingertip into a bullet. He could feel the mastery of his own body, the ability to control his digestion, his hair growth, his very shape—Life Return. The power was intoxicating.
The momentum was unstoppable now. Draw!
Sixth Lottery Draw: [Plugin: Infinite Upgrade. Can Infinitely Upgrade Conceptually Anything Using Lottery Tickets.]
A new tab opened in the mental interface of the System. It was a simple, elegant concept, but it was the key that unlocked everything else. With his thousands of remaining tickets, he could upgrade anything. His Rokushiki. His Space Ring. Even, perhaps, the System itself. The potential was limitless.
Draw!
Seventh Lottery Draw: [Plugin: Multiverse Chat Group. You Are The Conceptually Secure Admin Of This Conceptually Secure Channel!]
Another tab appeared. This one was a blank chat window, silent and waiting. It felt… vast. A doorway not to a place, but to people. Beings from other realities, other universes. The sheer scale of it was hard to grasp. He was the admin, conceptually secure. Untouchable. Unfindable.
One final test. Draw Lottery.
Eighth Lottery Draw: [Dimension Hopping Ticket. One Way Travel.]
This felt different. It was a tangible concept in his mind, a shimmering, iridescent ticket pulsing with contained power. It felt like a tear in the fabric of reality, an exit he could activate with a single command. A one-way trip. An escape.
Eight draws. Eight gifts that had shattered his reality and rebuilt him as a goddess. Rohan stood in the center of his small room, his breathtaking new form radiating a quiet power. He looked at his reflection again, at the sky-blue eyes and jet-black hair. This person could not stay here.
The thought was a sad, simple truth. How could he explain this to his father, a man who believed in ledgers and land deeds? How could he face his mother, whose love was intertwined with a deep, traditional faith? He imagined the scene: the shock, the confusion, the inevitable rejection. They would see an aberration, a demon, a stranger in their son's room. He understood them, he even loved them for their simplicity, but he could not live under the weight of their judgment. He had fought to give Barnali her independence, and now, it was his turn. The attachments, the cords that bound him to this life, had been cleanly, irrevocably severed.
With a grace that felt as natural as breathing, he moved to his small desk. He took a pen, his fingers wrapping around it with an unfamiliar elegance, and began to write on a clean sheet of paper. His script, once a messy scrawl, was now a flowing, beautiful cursive.
Ma, Baba, Barnali,
Something has happened. Something that has changed me in a way I could never explain, and you could never understand. I must leave. I know this letter is a cruel and sudden way to say goodbye, and for the pain this will cause, I am truly, deeply sorry. Please know that this is not a choice made in anger or sadness, but one of necessity and… joy. I have found myself, and that self does not belong here anymore.
You were good parents. You gave me all you could. Barnali, you are the strongest person I know. I am so proud of the woman you have become. Please, take care of them.
Do not try to find me. The Rohan you knew is gone.
He did not sign it. He folded the note and placed it in the center of the bed he would never sleep in again. With his new vision, he took one last look around the room, seeing the history of his life in the heat signatures on the walls, the microscopic dust motes dancing in the air. He gathered a few volumes of his favourite manga, a small, sentimental anchor to the person he once was, and willed them into his space ring.
Then, he focused on the ticket.
Activate.
The air before him tore open. It was not a gentle swirl of light, but a violent, screeching wound in reality. A vortex of impossible colours and shrieking physics opened in his room, the raw, untamed energy of the space between dimensions threatening to tear the very atoms of the building apart. It was terrifying. It was beautiful. It was his way out.
With one last, silent apology to the family on the other side of the door, Rohan stepped into the storm.
The transition was agony. It was not travel; it was dissolution. The forces within the dimensional corridor were a meat grinder for reality itself. His body, for all its God-Blood and ox-strength-per-cell, was shredded. He felt his limbs torn from his torso, his skin flayed, his consciousness fractured into a million screaming pieces. The raw power of the journey was too much. The last thing he knew before the universe dissolved into blackness was a searing, all-consuming pain.
…He awoke to the smell of antiseptic herbs and clean linen. A dull, full-body ache was a constant, throbbing reminder of his ordeal. His vision, blurry at first, swam into focus on a plain wooden ceiling. He was on a soft futon, covered by a clean, light blanket. He could feel the life force from the God's Blood sluggishly working, stitching his nearly destroyed body back together cell by cell.
A presence shifted beside him. He turned his head, the simple movement sending a wave of pain through his neck. A woman sat there, watching him. She had blonde hair tied back in two low ponytails, and her eyes… her eyes were the colour of warm, liquid honey, sharp and assessing. A diamond-shaped mark was visible on her forehead.
Tsunade Senju. The Godaime Hokage.
The knowledge bloomed in his mind, pulled from the depths of his otaku memories. He was in Konohagakure. The Village Hidden in the Leaves. He had made it. Barely.
"You're awake," Tsunade stated. Her voice was firm, but held an undercurrent of medical curiosity. "That's good. For a minute there, I thought we'd lose you. You made quite an entrance, you know. Fell right out of the sky into a training ground. Shizune thought you were some kind of celestial punishment." Her honey-gold eyes roamed over his form, taking in his impossible beauty, his feminine physique, the remnants of his tattered clothing. A flicker of surprise, of intrigue, crossed her features. "You're… not what I expected."
Rohan tried to speak, but only a dry rasp escaped his throat. He felt weak, vulnerable. This was one of the most powerful people in this world. A single misstep could mean his end.
Tsunade seemed to understand. She helped him sit up, propping pillows behind his back. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, her hands warm. "Easy now. Your body was almost completely destroyed. Your chakra coils are… nonexistent. And yet, you're healing at a rate that surpasses even my own abilities. What are you?"
The question hung in the air. Honesty was a death sentence. He knew that. In a world of shinobi, spies, and assassins, an unknown being with miraculous healing was a threat or a prize, and he had no desire to be either. Submission was the only path.
He lowered his gaze, letting his long, black eyelashes flutter against his cheek, a perfect picture of vulnerability. "I… I don't know," he whispered, his voice soft and melodic even in its weakness. "I don't remember anything. My name… who I am… it's all gone. There's just… pain, and then… waking up here."
Tsunade's gaze sharpened. "Amnesia?" She leaned closer, her honey-gold eyes searching his sky-blue ones, looking for any hint of deception. "Convenient."
Rohan simply met her gaze, his own wide and guileless. He channeled every ounce of fear and confusion he felt into his expression, offering her nothing but a blank, beautiful slate. He let a single, perfect tear trace a path down his cheek.
Something in Tsunade's expression softened. A deep sigh escaped her lips. She had seen so much death, so much lies and betrayal. This creature before her, this impossible beauty who radiated an aura of profound innocence despite his miraculous nature, struck a chord deep within her jaded heart.
"In this world, honesty is a weapon used against you," she said, more to herself than to him. "And a memory can be a heavier burden than any stone." She looked at him, a complex storm of emotions in her eyes—suspicion, compassion, and something else, something possessive and new. "But I need to be sure."
Her hands moved, a blur of motion as she wove a series of intricate hand signs. A soft, green chakra enveloped her palm. She pressed it gently against his chest, directly over his heart. Rohan felt a warmth spread through him as a faint, glowing seal settled onto his skin.
"This is a truth seal," Tsunade explained, her voice low and serious. "It is linked to your heartbeat, to the flow of your life force. It cannot be removed. It won't force you to speak, but if you choose to lie to me, I will know."
Rohan felt a chill despite the warmth of the seal. A lie detector, permanently bonded to him. His path had just become infinitely more complicated. He could only nod, his expression one of weary acceptance.
Tsunade watched him, and a slow, dangerous smile touched her lips. It was a smile that spoke of a decision made, of a gamble she was finally willing to take again. "I have lost everyone I ever loved," she murmured, her voice taking on a raw, personal edge. "My brother, the man I loved… I pushed them all away. Maybe… maybe it's time to own something again. To protect it."
Her gaze on him was intense, proprietary. "You will stay here, in my care. We will find out who you are. Or we will build you a new identity." She leaned in close, her warm breath ghosting across his lips. "I think… I will fall in love one more time. And this time, I will not let it go."
Before Rohan could even begin to process the sheer audacity and possessiveness of her declaration, her lips captured his. It was not a gentle kiss. It was hungry, desperate, a kiss that spoke of years of loneliness and a fierce, sudden desire to claim. Her tongue slipped past his lips, and he felt a jolt of chakra, another, smaller seal forming on his tongue. A seal to protect his secrets, she was lovingly branding him as hers.
The combination of his injuries, the emotional whiplash of the day, and the potent shock of her kiss was too much. The world swam, his new, extraordinary senses overloading. As Tsunade pulled back, his eyes fluttered closed. A wave of profound exhaustion dragged him under, and Rohan Sarkar, the boy from Kolkata, fell asleep, now the treasured, secret property of the Fifth Hokage. A new life, in a new world, had just begun.