Somewhere on a world called Earth, inside a painfully boring high school classroom…
Chris Walker sat slouched at his desk, legs stretched out, blazer hanging loose like he couldn't be bothered to respect gravity—let alone school rules.
His hair was a deep, dark brown, almost black where the classroom shadows touched it, but warming into soft brown highlights whenever sunlight slipped through the windows. Medium-length and messy-layered, it had that wild, anime-style cut that looked accidental but absolutely wasn't. Uneven bangs fell across his forehead, half-framing sharp, bright amber eyes that gleamed with warm golden undertones—eyes that never quite looked as harmless as his grin suggested.
White dress shirt, collar undone.Black blazer, worn wrong on purpose.Tie half-knotted.Wrinkled school pants.Sneakers instead of loafers—because rules were more like suggestions.
Chris Walker, age seventeen.
Otaku. Gamer. Menace to academic society.
Right now, he was holding a handheld gaming console beneath his desk, thumbs flying like they were born for war.
Okay… enemy spawn in three… two… there.
"HAHA—YOU WALKED RIGHT INTO IT!" Chris yelled, slamming the fire button.
A digital explosion flashed across the screen.
"LET'S GOOOOOO!"
Several students flinched.
One girl turned around and hissed, "Dude, shut up."
Chris didn't even hear her.
On-screen, enemies poured in from both sides.
Crowded map. Tight corridor. Bad AI. Easy.
"Reload, slide—NO, NO—YES!" Chris laughed wildly. "GET FARMED!"
The teacher continued writing equations on the board, jaw clenched.
Chris leaned forward, elbows on the desk now, fully committed.
Okay, boss wave incoming. Save ult. Save ult. Don't get greedy.
"Chris," someone whispered from two seats over. "You're actually gonna get killed."
Chris grinned. "Worth it."
The boss appeared.
Chris's eyes lit up.
"Ohhh, big guy," he muttered. "You look expensive."
"BOOM!" he shouted, laughing. "CRIT DAMAGE! DID YOU SEE THAT?"
The chalk snapped.
The room went silent.
Slowly, the teacher turned around.
"Christopher. Walker."
Chris kept playing.
"YOU ARE PLAYING VIDEO GAMES IN MY CLASS."
"Correction," Chris said casually, still shooting, "I am winning."
The class exploded into laughter.
The teacher's face flushed red. "PUT. IT. DOWN."
Chris leaned back, dodging attacks without looking.
"Can't. Boss fight."
"You are here to LEARN."
"Learning enemy patterns is learning," Chris replied. "Just… transferable skills."
Someone snorted.
Another student whispered, "This guy's unreal."
The teacher slammed his hand on a desk. "THIS ISN'T FUNNY!"
Chris laughed anyway. "Kinda is."
Okay, phase two. Shield's up. Weak spot behind—got it.
"Chris!" the teacher shouted. "You are failing this class!"
Chris shrugged. "Stats don't lie."
More laughter. Someone clapped.
The teacher was shaking now. "YOU WILL HAND THAT OVER RIGHT NOW."
Chris frowned at his screen. "Hold on—almost done."
"No."
"Five minutes."
"No."
"Three?"
"No."
"One?"
The teacher inhaled deeply, ready to unleash something nuclear—
Brrrrrrrring!
The bell rang.
For half a second, no one moved.
Then—
"Yes!""Freedom!""Finally!"
Chairs scraped. Bags zipped.
The teacher sagged. "…Fine. Class dismissed. Go home. I'll deal with this tomorrow."
Students poured out, laughing.
"Chris is dead tomorrow.""He's actually insane.""Dude doesn't care at all."
Chris didn't move.
He was still sitting there, eyes glued to the screen.
"YES!" he yelled. "BOSS DOWN!"
He pumped his fist. "DROP RATE CONFIRMED! LET'S GOOOO!"
The classroom emptied.
Chris finally stood, stretching with a satisfied sigh.
"Another dungeon cleared," he muttered. "Easy."
He strolled out alone.
Chris Walker walked out of the school gates like a man freshly released from prison.
Freedom.
He didn't even look up.
The handheld console was already back in his hands, screen glowing, fingers moving on instinct as his character sprinted through a ruined city map littered with enemy markers.
"All right, squad wipe incoming," Chris muttered.Then louder—much louder—"COME ON, COME ON—YES! DOUBLE KILL!"
A passerby flinched.
"What the hell?" a woman muttered as she walked past him. "Is he yelling at a toy?"
Chris pumped his fist. "LET'S GO! THAT'S HOW YOU HOLD THE ANGLE!"
He laughed—full, unfiltered, zero shame.
His avatar slid behind cover, bullets tearing through the digital air. Explosions bloomed on the screen.
Chris leaned left in real life, like it helped.
"Peek again. I dare you. I dare you," he said, grinning. "That's right—do it—DO IT—"
BANG.
"HAHA! HEADSHOT! YOU'RE TRASH!"
People on the sidewalk stared.
A group of students whispered as they passed him.
"Is that guy okay?""He's been yelling since the school block.""So annoying…"
Chris didn't hear them.
Or maybe he did and didn't care.
His world existed entirely inside the screen.
Okay, boss fight soon. Ammo check. Cooldowns good. Positioning perfect.
He crossed the first intersection without slowing.
A car horn blared.
Chris flinched—barely—and kept walking.
"Whoa, that was close," he muttered, not even looking up. "NPC traffic's wild in this patch."
A man stopped and turned to look at him. "Kid! Watch where you're going!"
Chris raised a finger without looking. "Yeah yeah, one sec—ULT CHARGE READY—"
He fired.
His avatar unleashed hell.
"LET'S GOOOOOO!"
He threw his head back laughing.
Someone across the street groaned. "Oh my god, shut up already."
Another voice: "Is he drunk?"
Chris walked on.
The street curved slightly ahead, traffic thickening. Engines roared. Tires hissed against asphalt.
None of it registered.
"Reload, reload—don't choke now," Chris muttered. "I swear if I lose this streak—"
Suddenly—
SCREEECH.
A truck came drifting down the road, way too fast, tires screaming as it swerved between cars.
"HONK! HONK! HONK!"
Drivers shouted.
"Watch it!""Are you insane?!"
Chris didn't look up.
"Come on, flank left—FLANK LEFT!" he yelled, stepping closer to the road. "You're predictable, bro!"
The truck fishtailed, straightening—coming directly toward the crosswalk.
"HOOOOONK!"
Nothing.
Chris took another step forward.
Still playing.
"YES! TEAM WIPE! EASY CLAP!" he shouted, bouncing on his heels.
The light changed.
Cars slowed.
The truck didn't.
A bus thundered through the intersection from the side, massive and fast.
"HEY!" someone screamed. "HEY, KID—WATCH OUT!"
Chris blinked.
"Huh?"
He finally looked up.
The truck was right there.
Too close.
Too big.
The world snapped back into focus all at once—sound, motion, fear crashing into him like lag finally clearing.
"Oh—"
His body froze.
His legs refused to move.
That's… a truck.
His hands went slack.
That's a really big truck.
Time stretched thin.
The handheld console slipped from his fingers, clattering toward the ground.
So this is how it ends?
The truck filled his vision.
Wow…
A strange calm washed over him.
I didn't even beat the boss…
His thoughts scattered.
Man… Mom's gonna be mad.
Then, quieter—
…If this is it…
A half-smile tugged at his lips.
Please let this be an isekai.
Impact never came.
Everything went black.
The world ended without sound.
No pain.No impact.No screaming metal.
Just—
Black.
Absolute, suffocating black.
Chris felt himself falling, but there was no wind. No weight. No direction. His thoughts scattered like fragments of a game crashing mid-save.
…Did I die?
The question drifted without urgency.
Memories flickered—school desks, glowing screens, laughter, gunfire made of pixels. His hands twitched as if still holding the controller.
Man… that timing sucked.
Darkness pressed in deeper.
Guess I won't finish that run…
Then even thought faded.
Something stirred.
A sensation—soft, distant, gentle.
Warmth spread through him slowly, like waking from the deepest sleep he'd ever known.
"…Mm…"
Chris groaned quietly.
His fingers twitched.
His chest rose and fell.
I'm… breathing?
He shifted, expecting cold asphalt, hard ground—
Instead, there was softness.
No—support.
Like resting on woven light.
"…Huh…?"
His eyelids fluttered.
Light bled through.
Chris opened his eyes.
He wasn't on a road.
He wasn't on Earth.
Above him stretched a vast, endless sky—neither blue nor gold, but a luminous fusion of both, like dawn frozen in time. Soft motes of green and silver drifted lazily through the air, floating like pollen made of stars.
He slowly pushed himself upright.
The ground beneath him—or whatever passed for it—was formed from translucent roots and glowing petals, intertwining and overlapping like a living cathedral grown from light itself.
A breeze brushed against his face.
It carried the scent of fresh rain… and spring flowers.
Clean. Gentle. Alive.
Chris stared.
"…Okay," he said quietly. "Definitely not Earth."
His heart started racing.
He turned his head slowly, eyes darting around, taking in the impossible scenery. Everywhere he looked, life shimmered—vines pulsing faintly with energy, petals unfolding as if responding to his presence.
It felt…
Safe.
Too safe.
Like the calm after a storm that never reached him.
"…I really did die, didn't I?" he muttered.
Then—
Light gathered ahead of him.
Not suddenly. Not violently.
It coalesced.
Threads of silver and green wove together, forming a radiant presence that gently parted the glowing air. The world itself seemed to hush, as if holding its breath.
Soft footsteps echoed.
Not loud.Not commanding.Just… there.
Chris swallowed.
Someone was coming.
Then he saw her.
His breath caught.
She was a vision of divine elegance—ethereal, radiant, unreal. A woman standing in her eternal prime, ageless and luminous, as though the concept of time itself had decided not to touch her.
Her face was delicate and high-cheekboned, porcelain skin glowing softly with an inner light. Her eyes—luminous silver touched with flecks of lavender—swirled gently like galaxies caught mid-spin, half-lidded with serene wisdom and quiet, mischievous compassion.
Her lips were full, tinted naturally in a rose-pearl hue, curved into a faint, knowing smile.
Chris couldn't look away.
…She's… beautiful.
No—more than that.
Overwhelming.
Her silver hair flowed freely, cascading to her hips like liquid moonlight, weightless, floating as if moved by a cosmic rhythm only it could hear. Braids of faintly glowing starlight wove through it, shimmering softly as she moved.
She was tall and willowy—nearly six feet—though she barely seemed to touch the ground at all, drifting instead, trailing petals and motes of mana in her wake.
Wherever she stepped, grass bloomed.
Leaves unwithered.
Life followed her.
Her attire was divine—white and silver silk wrapped around her in a way that felt both regal and impossibly gentle. A silken breastwrap embroidered with the glowing patterns of a rebirth tree rested against her chest, held by silver vine clasps. Semi-sheer veils draped from her shoulders like wings, shifting softly with every movement.
Below, a layered skirt of mooncloth and woven starlight flowed around her legs, parting just enough to reveal flawless thighs as she moved—never revealing too much, yet impossible to ignore.
A silver circlet rested on her brow, set with a softly pulsing moonstone. Lily-shaped armlets adorned her arms, and anklets left glowing green footprints where she passed.
Her presence smelled faintly of rain-kissed petals.
Promise.
Chris stared, frozen.
Who… is she?
His mind scrambled uselessly.
Why is she this beautiful?
Why does looking at her feel like breathing for the first time?
She tilted her head slightly, eyes softening when she noticed him staring.
Then she smiled.
"Oh, thank goodness," she said warmly. "You're awake."
Chris blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"…Wow."
He sat up slowly, still staring like his brain had blue-screened.
"…Either I died," he muttered, rubbing his face, "or this is the most illegal dream my brain has ever made."
She laughed—light, genuine, a little embarrassed.
"Ah—right. Sorry," she said gently. "I always forget how sudden it feels."
She stepped closer.
And somehow—impossibly—the entire realm felt warmer just because she did.
Her smile softened, eyes shining with something tender and relieved.
"Chris Walker," she said, voice rich with affection and promise."Welcome… to your second life."
The world breathed.
And for the first time since everything went black—
Chris stayed completely still.
His mind was blank.
And racing a million miles an hour.
"H-huh…?"
Chris's mind was in absolute shambles.
Second life.
The words echoed over and over, bouncing around his skull like bullets in a ricochet chamber.
Second. Life.
"What do you mean second life?" he thought wildly. That's not—people don't just get a second life. That's not a thing. That's an anime thing. A light novel thing. A clickbait title thing.
His breathing sped up.
Oh my god.
This is actually happening.
His heart pounded harder.
This is a real-life isekai.
"Nope," Chris blurted out suddenly, waving his hands. "Nope, nope, nope. I will say it again—this is the most illegal dream my brain has ever made."
A soft giggle drifted through the luminous air.
Chris whipped his head around.
She was still there.
Still smiling.
Still impossibly beautiful.
Still glowing like the concept of life itself had decided to take human form and mess with him personally.
He looked away quickly, then back again.
"…Yeah," he said, nodding to himself. "I'm asleep. This is definitely a dream."
He glanced around the radiant realm again—glowing roots, drifting motes, endless sky—then back to her.
"Yep. Dream."
He raised both hands and pinched his cheeks hard.
"Ow—!"
He slapped himself.
"OW—!"
Again.
"WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!"
The woman laughed again, brighter this time, shoulders shaking slightly as she tried—and failed—to contain it.
Chris dropped his hands, cheeks already starting to bruise.
"…Why," he demanded weakly, "aren't I waking up?"
Still smiling, she tilted her head.
"Because this is real, Chris Walker," she said gently. "You died. And I brought you here."
Chris stared at her.
The words hit.
Harder than the truck ever could have.
"…I guess," he said quietly, "I really did die."
She nodded.
The finality of it settled in.
Chris closed his eyes.
Inhaled.
Exhaled.
Once.Twice.
"…Okay," he said, calmer now. "Okay. Sorry. Uh—who are you, by the way?"
Her smile brightened instantly.
"Oh! Right—sorry," she said cheerfully. "I forgot to introduce myself."
Chris looked at her, tilting his head slightly.
She placed a hand over her chest, silver hair shimmering.
"I am Auriessa Elunara," she said warmly."Goddess of Rebirth."
Chris's mind shut off.
"…A w—what?"
She giggled.
"Goddess of Rebirth," she repeated.
Second life.
Goddess of rebirth.
Chris's thoughts short-circuited.
"Oh," he muttered. "Oh. Ohhh."
Auriessa watched him with open amusement as he visibly struggled to process reality.
"…Yeah," Chris sighed at last. "Okay. I guess this really is an isekai thing."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"…I've got questions."
She smiled. "What is it, Chris?"
"Did I mess something up?" he asked. "Break some cosmic rule? Was I supposed to dodge left instead of right?"
She stepped closer, the light of the world subtly shifting with her movement.
"No," she said softly. "You didn't do anything wrong."
Her voice gentled.
"You were brought here because your life ended unfairly," she continued. "Abruptly. Meaninglessly. Without closure."
Chris listened.
Quiet.
"You weren't chosen as a hero," she said. "You weren't summoned as a weapon. You weren't rewarded… or punished."
She hesitated, then looked almost apologetic.
"I chose you because," she said, "you deserved another chance to live."
She clasped her hands together.
"I reincarnate countless souls. Most follow rules—cycles, destinies, balances."
Her silver eyes met his.
"But sometimes," she said softly, "there's a soul that simply shouldn't have ended yet."
Chris swallowed.
"…That's it?"
She nodded. "That's enough."
Then she paused.
"…But there was something else."
Chris blinked. "…Something else?"
She nodded slowly.
"There's an anomaly around you," she said. "Not in power. Not in destiny. In shape."
"…Shape?"
"Your soul doesn't sit neatly inside fate," she explained. "It doesn't resist it. It doesn't obey it."
She smiled faintly.
"It slips."
Chris frowned. "…Is that bad?"
"No," she said warmly. "It's rare."
Her gaze sharpened with quiet admiration.
"You don't move with destiny, Chris Walker," she said. "You move through it."
The air hummed faintly.
"Worlds bend to accommodate you," she continued, "instead of the other way around. You make choices without asking permission—from gods, systems, or prophecy."
She laughed softly.
"It's… inconvenient for higher beings."
Chris scratched his cheek.
"…Huh."
He thought for a moment.
"So," he said slowly, "you brought me here because I died unfairly… and because I don't play well with cosmic rules."
Auriessa smiled brightly. "Yes."
Chris exhaled.
"…Yeah. That tracks."
He looked up at her again.
"…So," he added, a grin creeping back, "what happens now?"
For a moment, she didn't answer.
Then she clasped her hands behind her back, rocking slightly on her heels, silver hair catching the light.
"Well," she said brightly, "now I send you to another world."
"…Ah."
Of course.
She continued cheerfully. "Different rules. Magic. Monsters. Probably kingdoms with way too much drama."
"A world that needs people who move," she said, "not people who wait to be told what to do."
Chris nodded. "Okay. Makes sense."
She tilted her head. "Before that, though—you need a class."
Chris straightened instantly.
"Oh. Oh—okay, yeah, this is the part where I choose, right?"He started thinking out loud. "Swordsman, mage, assassin—maybe some broken hybrid if I min-max hard enough—"
She raised a finger.
"I already chose one for you."
"…You did?"
She smiled.
Not gentle.
Mischievous.
"What class?" Chris asked cautiously.
She leaned forward slightly, silver eyes sparkling.
"Magic Gunslinger."
The words hit him like a critical strike.
"…What."
"A Magic Gunslinger," she repeated, delighted. "A combat class that synchronizes ranged weapon mastery, arcane manipulation, spatial awareness, and instinctive combat processing."
Chris's jaw dropped.
"You're joking."
"I am not."
"…Like—guns? Actual guns?"
"Guns," she said cheerfully. "Revolvers, to be precise."
"REALLY?!"
His shout echoed across the divine realm.
"That's actually a thing?!"
"It shouldn't exist," she admitted. "Which makes it perfect."
Chris grinned hard. "That's the good stuff."
She stepped closer, voice warm but thoughtful.
"I chose it because it fits you," she said. "You already process combat as trajectories, timing windows, reload cycles, cooldowns, positioning."
"You don't cast spells," she said softly. "You execute."
"…Like a build that rewards perfect play," Chris murmured.
"Exactly."
He looked at her, impressed. "…You really watched me, huh."
"More than you realize."
"Oh," she added suddenly. "One more thing."
"Uh-oh."
She raises her hand.
Snap.
The sound is light.
Casual.
Almost lazy.
Reality answers anyway.
The air in front of Chris splits.
Not violently—no explosion, no tearing scream—but cleanly, like space itself politely stepping aside. Two points of light bloom into existence, hovering a few feet in front of him.
One silver-white.One deep violet.
They flare suddenly, brilliance flooding the divine realm.
Chris reacts on instinct, throwing an arm up in front of his face, eyes squinting hard as the radiance intensifies.
"—The hell?!"
Wind surges outward in a silent wave, pushing at his clothes, his hair, his very breath. The hum in the air deepens—no longer background ambience, but something alive. Something awake.
The lights pulse.
Once.
Twice.
Then—slowly—they begin to dim.
Chris lowers his arm inch by inch, blinking away afterimages.
And his breath catches.
Floating before him—perfectly balanced, spinning lazily in the air—are two revolvers.
Not crude.
Not mundane.
Elegant.
Otherworldly.
They rotate slowly, as if being examined by the universe itself.
One gleams like moonlight forged into steel, its surface smooth and flawless. Pale runes flow softly along its barrel, shifting and rearranging like liquid script. The metal reflects the surrounding light with quiet dignity, as though it knows it doesn't need to prove anything.
The other hums with darker energy.
Its frame is etched with deep violet sigils that pulse faintly, like a heartbeat. Shadows cling to it—not ominous, but focused. Controlled. Power held in perfect restraint.
The two guns orbit each other once.
A slow, deliberate circle.
Then they stop.
Suspended.
Waiting.
Chris's mouth opens.
No sound comes out at first.
"…What the hell."
Auriessa watches him, hands folded gently, smiling with unmistakable pride.
"Meet Amara and Ravixa."
Chris doesn't blink.
"…You're telling me," he says slowly, eyes locked on the guns, "that my starting equipment is—"
"Divine-grade twin revolvers bonded to your soul."
He lets out a short, sharp laugh. Disbelieving. Almost hysterical.
"…I don't even have words."
As if responding to his presence, the revolvers drift closer.
The hum deepens.
Their rhythm shifts—synchronizing.
Chris feels it in his chest.
Thump.Thump.
Heartbeat.
The guns hum in time with it.
"…Nope," he mutters faintly. "Nope. That's new."
Auriessa tilts her head slightly.
"Welcome to your second life, Chris Walker."
The revolvers hover inches from his hands.
The world seems to hold its breath.
Chris hesitates for half a second—
Then reaches out.
The moment his fingers close around the grips—
Everything clicks.
Not with sound.
With rightness.
Power surges—not explosively, not painfully—but correctly. Like slipping into armor that was always his size. The revolvers feel warm in his hands. Familiar. Balanced. Heavy in a way that promises reliability, not burden.
His grip adjusts instinctively.
Perfect.
"…Whoa," he exhales shakily.
Information floods his awareness—not words, not images, but knowing.
Balance.Weight distribution.Trigger tension.Cylinder timing.Mana flow pathways.Recoil compensation.Spatial alignment.
He knows how to move.
How to aim.
How to fire.
How not to miss.
The guns don't just sit in his hands.
They answer him.
Auriessa speaks again, voice soft but clear.
"They are not just weapons," she says. "Within them are sealed twin divine spirits—ancient entities born from forgotten wars between gods."
Chris nods absently at first, still staring, smiling faintly as he turns the revolvers, marveling at how naturally they align with his wrists.
"…Yeah, okay… divine-grade… twin… spirits…"
He freezes.
The smile drains from his face.
"…Wait."
He looks up sharply.
"…Did you say divine twin spirits?"
"Yes," Auriessa says cheerfully.
"…Sealed?"
"Yes."
"…Inside the revolvers?"
"Yes."
"…Twin?"
"Yes."
Chris's brain audibly crashes.
"…Oh."
Beat.
"…OH."
He jerks his gaze back to the guns. Then to her. Then back to the guns.
"What the hell?!!"
Auriessa laughs openly now, bright and delighted.
"You heard me just fine," she says. "They're sentient. They'll grow with you. Argue with you. Guide you. Challenge you."
Chris grips the revolvers tighter.
A faint pulse answers his touch.
Approval.
"…I died," he says slowly, "and woke up holding god guns with roommates."
The revolvers hum.
Almost approvingly.
Auriessa smiles, silver eyes warm and fond.
"And this," she says gently, "is only the beginning."
The divine realm glows brighter.
And somewhere deep inside Chris Walker—
Something grins back.
To be continued.