The Tragedy
I didn't like the feeling of waking up, knowing that nothing's gonna change. Every day felt the same.
"Rudra, you'll be late for school! " my mom shouted from the kitchen. I sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." I got ready and took my bag , to my high school .
High school isn't that different, boring and not interesting at all . One of the reason was the long, tiring journey to school. The trip from home took nearly an hour, weaving through crowded streets and noisy traffic.
The only thing that is interesting in my life is anime, manhwa, etc . I read all of them , it basically makes me feel like I am living the life of the main character or the side characters . l don't mind , it makes me feel alive . My favourite genre was Isekai, we're a boy dies and gets recarnated in to another world as an OP character.
About a half way through, the bus broke down and I had walk. While I was crossing the road and unknown number called my cell , and in that movement, everything became noise. Involuntarily I stop and took the call , on the other side l head a child whisper " Help me... , please help me ... somebody...".
In the middle of this distraction , I heard people yelling at someone to get off the road, and then something big and strong hit me so hard , it was a lorry . I looked at the sky, bleeding out as people gathered around me . I laughed in my thoughts as I , a person who was so bored with his life that he thought death would be entertaining, is begging for another chance in life.
As all this thought filled my mind , my vision blured and everything around me turned black.
It was like I am drowning in an endless sea of void . As my eyes closed, I felt the peace and calmness around me, and then I head a voice...
The Board God
The voice was deep — tired, bored, and echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once.
As I opened my eyes, I found myself floating in an endless black void. No ground, no sky — just emptiness stretching beyond sight. And then I saw him.
A man… or rather, a figure. His form shimmered like a sphere of golden light, the glow soft yet overwhelming. He stood — or floated — before me, radiating an aura that felt both divine and unsettling.
"Always the same, huh?" he said, his voice heavy with disinterest. "Wake up, go to school, hope for a miracle, and the only thing that entertains you is those so-called anime and manhwa. How tedious."
I stared at him, frozen, as his tone shifted — not angry, but almost amused.
"Now," he said, "let's make your dream come true, shall we?"
"D-Dreams? What do you mean?" I asked, my voice trembling in the void.
He chuckled lightly, stepping closer. "Well, you see… the only thing that ever sparked your interest was isekai — stories where ordinary people die and are reborn or transported to another world by some God or Goddess."
His presence grew brighter, his voice echoing like thunder in a cavern.
"I will be that God for you."
I instinctively took a step back, though there was nowhere to go. "W-What God?"
He tilted his head, almost mockingly. "For someone who's spent his whole life reading about this, you're quite slow." He sighed. "Well then, allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Gulista — the God of the world you are about to live in."
My breath caught. "Wait… live in another world?" I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips.
The void pulsed faintly, as though responding to his power. My heart pounded — half in fear, half in disbelief. This couldn't be real. And yet, it felt too real. The silence, the glow, the cold weightless air — it all pressed down on me.
Still, somewhere inside, a small, reckless part of me stirred. The part that always wanted something more than the grey world I'd left behind.
He smirked, as if reading my thoughts. "Thrilling, isn't it?"
Before I could answer, he continued, "I'll grant you a special ability — the power to learn anything you wish. You'll also possess a mana level of 130."
"Mana…?" I muttered.
"Yes. Think of it as your magical potential," he said, smiling faintly. "You should feel honored — the average human in my world barely reaches a mana level of 10, and even the strongest rarely surpass 100."
I frowned. "You said 'rare right now'… What do you mean?"
His smile twitched. "Ah, yes. For some odd reason, human mana levels have been declining lately. But you don't have to worry. You'll fit right in."
Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist. That smile — it didn't look divine anymore. It looked hungry.
He drifted closer, placing a warm, glowing hand on my head. "Your soul will be transferred into the body of a five-year-old boy who died at this exact moment."
My eyes widened. "A child? How did he die? And what about his soul—?"
For the first time, Gulista's expression changed. His lips curled into a manic grin — sharp, cruel, and delighted.
"Oh, you don't need to worry about that," he said softly. "As for the world you're going to… here's a little advice."
He leaned closer, his voice whispering directly into my mind.
"Make sure to hold back — you'll need that."
Before I could respond, his light flared blindingly bright. The void shattered around me like broken glass, and everything went black once more.
The New life
I floated in darkness, the silence gnawing at me from within. It was a stillness so deep that I could almost hear my own thoughts echo.
Then, faintly, a voice.
A woman's voice — broken, grieving.
At first, I couldn't make out the words, only the raw pain behind them. But slowly, as the sound grew louder, clearer, I began to understand.
"Isaac... Isaac, please... wake up! Please!"
The desperation in her voice pierced through the void. I tried to move toward it, reaching out to that faint, flickering sound. And then—
A light engulfed me.
Warm. Blinding. Overwhelming.
My senses returned all at once — the weight of my body, the smell of wood and smoke, the feeling of something soft beneath me. With trembling eyes, I opened them.
A woman sat beside me, her face pale and streaked with tears. The moment our eyes met, she gasped and threw herself onto me, hugging me so tightly I could barely breathe.
Her voice cracked as she cried even harder, whispering again and again, "You're alive... you're really alive... I thought I'd lost you…"
Her warmth felt real. Too real.
As my eyes adjusted, I took in the room around me. It was small — the walls made of rough wooden planks, cracked in places but still standing strong. The faint scent of damp wood and herbs filled the air. A single window let in soft sunlight, scattering dust in the air like tiny stars.
And then, I saw it — a mirror, half-cracked and resting against the wall. I turned my head toward it and froze.
The reflection staring back wasn't mine. It was a child's face — pale, fragile, eyes wide with confusion.
That's when it hit me.
What Gulista said… it was all true.
Before I could process it further, the door creaked open. A man and a boy rushed in.
"Isaac!" the boy shouted, his voice trembling with worry and relief.
They hurried to the bedside. The man — tall, with a tired but kind face — pressed his hand against my forehead, as if to check my temperature. Then both of them, without hesitation, hugged me.
I froze.
I didn't know these people… and yet, for some reason, my chest tightened. Their warmth felt familiar.
Still, I had to think. If this was really an isekai — if I was inside someone else's body — then the safest thing to do was obvious.
In every story I'd read, the protagonist always claimed amnesia.
I took a deep breath, steadied my expression, and spoke softly, "Who am I? What's going on here? Do I... know you?"
For a moment, silence filled the room. Then, the woman broke down again, covering her mouth as she sobbed. The man looked away, his expression pained. Even the boy's eyes began to water.
It was a heartbreaking sight — enough to make even me hesitate.
Finally, the man sighed. "Given that you drowned and were unconscious for three days... it's normal to lose your memory. Or at least some of it."
I exhaled quietly in relief.
Settling down in life
It's been five days since I took over Isaac's body.
Ever since I was found half-dead in the river — or, for me, dead — my new parents haven't let me wander outside. The world still feels strange. The sounds are different, the air tastes earthy, and even the language, though understandable, carries a rhythm unlike my old world's.
Every morning, I wake to the smell of burning wood from the old stove, and to my mother's soft humming as she cooks. The walls creak, birds chirp outside, and sunlight spills through cracks in the roof. Slowly, I've begun to get used to this — this family, this warmth, this life that isn't mine.
But every time I catch my reflection, I still expect to see Rudra staring back. Instead, I see Isaac — small, frail, innocent.
If I want to survive here, I need to learn about this world, its people, and its ways.
That chance came sooner than I expected.
Mother mentioned she was going to the market for groceries. I practically jumped up, begging her to take me with her. After a bit of pleading — and probably Isaac's natural cuteness — she gave in.
When I stepped outside for the first time, the world took my breath away.
The houses were built of rich brown wood, with carved beams and stone foundations. The dirt road beneath my feet was smooth and lined with patches of bright green grass. The air smelled faintly of flowers and dust. Everywhere I looked, people moved about cheerfully — smiling, laughing, living.
For a world that wasn't mine, it felt alive.
But the market was another story.
It was chaos — a loud, colorful storm of life. People shouted prices, bargained fiercely, and laughed between deals. Some sat cross-legged on mats with baskets of fruits and spices; others stood behind wooden stalls stacked with fabric, tools, or jewelry.
My mother tied a strip of her dress to my hand — a makeshift leash — before diving into the crowd. We spent nearly an hour walking from stall to stall, buying vegetables, salt, and some dried meat.
Eventually, we entered a small shop filled with neatly folded clothes. The smell of new fabric hung in the air. Mother picked out a white shirt embroidered with a floral pattern and a pair of black pants.
I tilted my head. "Mom, why did you buy clothes for Brother but not for me?"
She smiled softly. "Because tomorrow is your brother's coming-of-age ceremony — his Confirmation."
I froze for a second. The word felt heavy. Religious. Complicated.
And I didn't want anything to do with it.
When we returned home, Jack was sitting on the floor, pale and trembling. The moment he saw Mother, he ran up to her, tears welling in his eyes.
"I don't want to die!" he cried, clutching her tightly.
Mother glanced at Father, her face tightening. "You gave him the talk?"
Father sighed. "Of course I did."
I stood there quietly, my mind spinning. The talk? What kind of "coming of age" ceremony made a child cry like that?
Something about this world — this religion — wasn't right.
And deep down, I already knew this peaceful life wouldn't last.
The Confirmation 1
The day had arrived for my brother — the day everyone called his "Confirmation."
But after seeing the fear in his eyes yesterday, that word didn't sound holy anymore. It sounded like a sentence.
We were supposed to gather at the town square with the other families. I tugged on my father's sleeve and asked quietly,
"Why is the confirmation so special?"
He hesitated for a moment before answering, his voice heavy with something that almost felt like sorrow.
"The Confirmation is a sacred festival," he said. "Children who turn ten are baptized and have their mana analyzed. It determines their future — their place in society."
He paused. "Mana is what allows one to use magic."
It all sounded simple enough… yet his tone told a different story. And the memory of my brother crying last night made my stomach twist. Still, I was only five years old — at least, this body was — so I had to play my part and stay quiet.
Soon, the entire square was filled with families. Every child looked both proud and terrified, clutching their parents' hands as the church bells rang. A majestic hymn began to play, and the crowd slowly marched toward the Grand Church of Gulista.
The church towered over the town like a monument of judgment — a vast white structure crowned with a massive golden emblem shaped like a sun. Its walls gleamed in the daylight, as though the gods themselves demanded admiration.
Inside, the air was thick with incense and reverence. Rows of white pillars lined the hall, each guarded by a knight clad in silver armor. The stained-glass windows painted the room with colors that danced like fragile flames.
Families stood to the sides, whispering prayers, while their children sat in neat rows at the center — the chosen ones for today. At the far end stood a raised altar, adorned with candles and a crystal spear that pulsed faintly with light.
The High Priest entered, followed by his assistant. Together, they raised their hands and chanted words that made the air hum with energy. "O, God Gulista, guide your children in purity and light…"
After that, the ceremony began.
One by one, the children were called forward to place their hands upon the crystal. At first, it seemed harmless. Each time a number appeared — a measure of "mana" — the crowd sighed with relief or murmured quietly. The average was only one mana point.
But then… a child's crystal glowed bright red and displayed the number 9.
I expected cheers. Instead, the air turned to ice.
The child's parents began to cry — not from pride, but despair.
The assistant priest nodded to a knight.
And before I could even process what was happening, the knight drew his sword and struck.
A clean, merciless swing.
Blood splattered across the marble floor. Some of it landed on nearby children. Their screams filled the hall.
My breath caught in my throat. My hands trembled. The priest raised his voice, calm and cold:
"This child was tainted by the Devil's power. May his soul find purity through death."
The next child had 4 mana — not killed, but taken away by armored men.
"An offering to the kingdom's magical research," said the priest.
So that was it. The poor weren't being blessed — they were being judged, measured, and used.
The ceremony continued like a nightmare that refused to end.
And then, it was Jack's turn.
My brother's legs shook as he stepped forward. My mother wept silently beside me, clutching her chest. Father's jaw was tight, his eyes hollow but determined.
The priest began the chant. The crystal lit up once more — a faint blue glow.
1 mana point.
We exhaled together, tears of relief running down my mother's cheeks. Jack was safe. For now.
When the last child from Pauperis Town was tested, the focus shifted to Negotium Town, the place of merchants and opportunity. Their average mana was 5, but anyone above that was captured or killed — just like here.
Then came Dives Town, home of the nobles. Their children had 10 mana on average, and anyone above that was celebrated, blessed as "chosen by the gods."
The difference was clear now.
The poor died for power.
The rich were rewarded for it.
I should have felt relieved that my brother survived — but I wasn't.
The scene before me twisted my stomach.
This wasn't faith.
This was control — a system built to keep the weak weak, and the strong untouchable.
And then, a cold realization crept up my spine.
Gulista.
He told me I had over 130 mana points.
Now I understood.
He hadn't given me a gift.
He'd thrown me into a trap — a game for his amusement.