The world was quiet around him. Too quiet.
Takemaru Shōten lay in his bed, his chest rising and falling with great effort. His body had long since withered. Eighty-one years. Eighty-one years of memories, some sharp, some fading. His apartment was silent except for the occasional hum of the refrigerator and the faint ticking of the wall clock.
He chuckled weakly.
"Alone again, huh…? Guess no one makes it to the end with company."
The truth was bitter. He had outlived his friends, never married, and never had children. He had always thought he had more time. Time to build something. Time to leave something behind. But time was cruel, slipping away with every heartbeat.
As his eyes grew heavy, he whispered to the ceiling.
"If I could live again… I'd build something that lasts. A family… no, a legacy. A clan strong enough to never be forgotten."
And then, like the final click of that old wall clock, everything stopped. Darkness swallowed him whole.
When he opened his eyes, he expected either nothingness or perhaps some afterlife. Instead, he was greeted by blinding light.
Not hospital lights. Not fire. The sky.
A vast expanse of blue stretched overhead, broken only by drifting white clouds. The air was thick, richer than he remembered, each breath filling his chest with a vitality he hadn't felt in decades. His body… it felt light. No pain in his knees, no wheezing lungs.
Takemaru pushed himself upright, startled at the ease of movement. He looked down at his begun smooth, strong, the hands of a young man. His reflection shimmered faintly in the surface of a nearby pond. Jet-black hair. A lean, athletic build. Eyes sharp and alive.
"This… isn't Earth."
He staggered to his feet, surveying the landscape. Rolling hills, dense forests, and a horizon unbroken by steel towers or asphalt roads. The world felt untouched, ancient.
He spent hours wandering before the truth began to sink in. This wasn't his world. This was somewhere else entirely.
The First Night
By sunset, hunger gnawed at him. He managed to find wild berries and drink from a stream. Primitive survival. But when night fell, he realized something strange.
The stars were brighter than he had ever seen. Constellations unrecognizable. But beneath their light, his body pulsed with energy. It wasn't chakra he had no words for it yet but something inside him was stirring.
A beast howled in the distance. Instinct told him to run, but another part of him, deeper, older, urged him to fight.
He fashioned a crude spear from a broken branch and sharp stone. When the beast came a massive wolf-like creature with glowing eyes he braced himself.
The wolf lunged. Takemaru thrust the spear. It snapped against the beast's hide.
But instead of claws rending him apart, he felt… nothing. The wolf's weight slammed into him, but it was as though his body had turned to iron. The claws scratched but barely cut. His grip tightened, and with one desperate motion, he flung the beast aside. It crashed into a tree with a sickening crack and didn't rise again.
Takemaru's chest heaved.
"I… I killed it. Barehanded…"
His hands trembled. Not from fear, but exhilaration. Something was changing within him. His body was no longer human not entirely.
Dreams of Power
That night, he dreamt.
He stood beneath a burning yellow sun, its rays pouring into him like liquid fire. His body drank it, cells thrumming with unimaginable strength. He could feel the earth beneath his feet, every grain of sand, every tremor. He could see beyond the horizon, hear whispers miles away.
And then he awoke, gasping. The power still lingered faintly. His vision was sharper. His hearing keener. His body, stronger.
Memories stirred of comics he once read. Superman. Kryptonian blood. Impossible. And yet… it made sense.
Had he reincarnated into this strange world carrying Kryptonian blood? Was that why his body felt different?
He clenched his fists, a smile creeping across his face.
"If that's true… then immortality isn't a dream. It's reality."
But his joy was tempered with caution. This wasn't Earth. This was a world untouched by history. A dangerous world.
If he wanted to survive and thrive he needed to be careful.
The Encounter
Days passed. Takemaru grew accustomed to his new body. He hunted more beasts, slowly mastering his raw strength. He still bled when cut, still felt exhaustion, but wounds healed faster than they should. His stamina was unnatural.
On the seventh day, he encountered people.
A group of nomads, dressed in primitive hides, carrying stone-tipped spears. They eyed him warily, muttering in a language he miraculously understood.
"Another wanderer?" one of them sneered. "You'll starve out here."
Takemaru raised his hands. "I mean no harm. I only seek a place to rest."
Their leader, a scarred man with sharp eyes, studied him. Then, without warning, he thrust his spear forward, grazing Takemaru's cheek.
Takemaru didn't flinch. He only locked eyes with the man.
Something passed between them. The leader's expression shifted, curiosity overtaking hostility.
"You're not ordinary," he muttered. "Join us, then. If you can keep up."
And just like that, Takemaru was welcomed into his first tribe.
Planting the Seed of Legacy
Life with the tribe was brutal. Food scarce, beasts plentiful, rival tribes attacking often. But Takemaru adapted quickly, his powers subtly growing. He carried twice the weight of others, ran tirelessly, healed faster. He kept most of his strength hidden, using it only when survival demanded it.
But what fascinated him more was the people. Their struggles. Their yearning for safety. For community. For something greater.
At night, around the fire, he would tell them stories parables of order, of justice, of building a home that could withstand the cruelty of the world. Some laughed. Some listened.
The scarred leader, eventually, listened most of all.
One night, after a raid from another tribe, Takemaru stood before the survivors. Blood still stained the earth.
"This can't be how we live forever," he said. "Running. Fighting. Losing. What if… we build something greater? Not just a tribe, but a clan. Strong enough to protect its own. A family that lasts generations."
The people murmured. Some scoffed. But in their eyes, Takemaru saw it the spark of hope.
The First Step Toward Immortality
Weeks turned into months. Takemaru worked tirelessly, helping the tribe build sturdier shelters, teaching them to farm rather than only hunt. He remembered bits of Earth's ancient knowledge crop cycles, irrigation, simple engineering and taught them in ways they could grasp.
Slowly, the tribe changed. Stronger. Smarter. Safer.
And as they grew, so did he. His body absorbed the sun's energy daily, his senses sharpening further. At times, he swore he could hear the whispers of distant rivers or see the movement of clouds beyond the mountains.
He began to realize the truth:
He would not age like the others. His body would only grow stronger.
Immortality wasn't a gift of gods. It was the destiny of his blood.
And with it, he would create a clan that would last until the end of history.
Takemaru stood at the edge of the camp one night, staring at the stars. His hand clenched over his chest.
"Eighty-one years wasted in my last life," he murmured. "But this time… I'll build something eternal. No god, no beast, no war will erase us."
A cold wind swept across the plains, carrying the cries of distant tribes. Takemaru smiled faintly.
His new life had begun.