The Mangaka God

Nice - France, 2024, August.

In the narrow streets of Nice, where the golden rays of the Mediterranean sun dance on the aging facades, a young man lost himself among the shadows of his dreams. in his thirties, this man with a slender figure and lively eyes had found refuge in the gentleness of Nice, while keeping the embrace of passions newly found. He was an immigrant, at least considered as it. His father was of European descent and mother was west African.

His father died before he was born and his mother died shortly after giving birth to him. As he was born in Africa, he only had his maternal side family who could take care of him.

They were full of bad intentions. Not content with having stolen the inheritance left by his father, his uncles and aunts had mistreated him throughout his childhood. Every day was an ordeal, and his rare moments of respite were offered to him by the animes that were shown on television, when his jailers were not there to deny him access.

Despite a childhood marked by suffering and lack, he had grown up with an innate resourcefulness and a sharp intelligence. Enough to leave this house of pain as soon as he was old enough. But the world was no more lenient than his family. With no one to help him, he had to give up his university studies due to lack of money. A scholarship had been awarded to him, but it was not enough to cover all his needs. His dreams were fading in the darkness of a merciless reality.

Determined to change his destiny, he tried by all means to obtain French papers, hoping to escape the misery of his native country. But his attempts came up against a wall of indifference and refusal. Each administrative procedure was a labyrinth with no way out, and any hope of regularization vanished before the arbitrariness of laws and borders.

With no other choice, he resolved to take the path of shadows, the one that thousands of others had already trod before him, in the hope of finding a better life. With courage mixed with despair, he began a perilous journey to clandestinely reach the shores of France, a land that he imagined as a haven of peace, far from the pain of his past.

The journey was tough, much tougher than he could have imagined. He crossed burning deserts and rough seas, crammed into precarious boats, at the mercy of unscrupulous smugglers. Each day brought its share of suffering: hunger, thirst, the constant fear of being arrested or perishing along the way. But he moved forward, driven by fierce determination and the tenacious dream of a better life.

After weeks of wandering and peril, he finally reached the shores of France. With a little luck and a lot of cunning, he managed to cross the border. The checks were numerous, but his survival instinct was even stronger. In the streets of Nice, he finally found a semblance of respite, a breath of freedom he had never known.

Life in France was tough for an undocumented immigrant. Every day was a struggle to blend in, to avoid suspicious glances and evade checks. But he had been forged by much tougher trials. His sharp mind and ability to adapt allowed him to navigate the shadows with remarkable skill.

Little by little, he built relationships of trust, learning the ropes of this new world, sniffing out good opportunities. With implacable determination, he managed to obtain papers, a sesame to a new life. It was a silent but immense victory.

With the few savings he had amassed from various odd jobs, he opened a small bakery in a busy alley in Nice. This place became his refuge, a space where he could transform flour into bread and bread into hope. Every morning, the smell of freshly kneaded dough filled the neighborhood, attracting passersby and regulars. There he found a new meaning to his life, far from the turmoil of his past.After that, his life became everything he could have dreamed of: calm, peaceful, filled with a sweetness he had never known before. In his small bakery, he found balance, a reassuring routine, each day punctuated by batches of bread and the smiles of loyal customers. The neighborhood ended up adopting him, and he gradually integrated, finally finding his place in this corner of France that had seen him arrive clandestinely.

Freed from the anxieties of his past life, he immersed himself fully in his passion for manga, a universe that had always fascinated him. He devoured the stories with an insatiable appetite, spending hours exploring the shelves of local bookstores and the aisles of specialty stores. He lost himself in the tales of samurai, warriors, sorcerers and adventurers, characters who, like him, fought against adversity with bravery and tenacity.

Manga was much more than simple entertainment; for him, it was a form of escape, a way to revisit his own pain through that of fictional characters. He saw in their struggles a reflection of his own, in their victories an echo of his own dreams of justice and freedom. His favorites were the stories where marginal heroes, rejected by society, found their inner strength and achieved the impossible.

He began to decorate the walls with drawings, posters and illustrations of his favorite series, transforming his room into a small sanctuary. Customers came for the pastries, but often stayed to discuss the latest volumes released, the intriguing characters or the unexpected twists.

He even dreamed of creating his own manga series, inspired by his own journey, a tale of resilience, survival and dreams. Every night, after closing up shop, he would sit at his small table, scribbling sketches, imagining dialogues, slowly building his story. 

his life continued with ups and downs, like any person. He was now thirty five years old.

That night, he was really exhausted. The day had been long at the bakery, and his legs felt heavy. He knew he had to stop by the convenience store before going home, just to get something to eat for the next day. His little apartment, not far away, still seemed a long way away.

As he entered the convenience store, he sighed as he looked at the shelves. "Come on, just milk, bread… and that's it," he muttered to himself, his eyes half-closed, looking for what he needed. "A few more minutes and I'll be home…"

He quickly took what he needed, paid, then went out. The night was cool, and he quickened his pace, impatient to go home. He crossed the street, his gaze lowered, his thoughts already in his bed, in the quiet of his room. He didn't hear the sound of the truck arriving at high speed.

It was a second of inattention, just one. The horn made him jump, but it was too late. The shock was brutal. Everything went black.

'Fuck this, Toriyama's last piece is gonna be unknown to me...' I thought. I have no regrets apart from not being able to watch animes and mangas.

-

"You who death met prematurely, will be compensated." A Low pitched voice was heard in this nothingness."I see, it shall be easy matter."

'What ? What the fuck ?'

.....................................................................................

-

Kyoto, Japan – March 2015.

It has been 15 years since I was reincarnated, and in Japan, of all places. I know—it sounds like the dream of every otaku. Life here has been surprisingly kind to me; my parents are alive, and I have been raised with love and care. But, no, it's not a fantasy world with magic or adventure. It's the same old Earth. My father is of mixed heritage, part American, while my mother is Japanese.

They love me deeply, and I love them just as much. As you might guess, I was considered a prodigy from an early age. I'm 15 now. There were a few minor differences in history compared to my original world, but none of that really mattered to me. What truly bothered me was the state of manga in this world.

Here, manga was… mediocre. People seemed to enjoy it, but there wasn't a single truly great manga from my old world that had made it over. Sure, there were a handful of good manga and anime that were still known globally, but that was about it. I found no real joy in any of it.

"Haaaa...." sighed a young man.

He still thought it was rather bland, yes he was in Japan but it was still the same old earth, no fantasy.

"Noah !!!"

She stood by the kitchen counter, a woman in her thirties with an elegance that seemed effortless. Her long, silky black hair cascaded down her back, catching the light with each of her movements. Her eyes, dark and almond-shaped, were striking, reminiscent of a feline's gaze—sharp, observant, yet with a warmth that softened their intensity. Her face, framed by delicate cheekbones and a gentle curve to her jaw, exuded a quiet strength paired with a nurturing kindness.

She called out to her son, her voice carrying both a playful reprimand and a motherly affection, "Come and eat, or else your dish will get cold!"

From another room, a boy's voice replied, "I'm coming, mom!" She smiled, a soft curve of her lips that added a touch of lightness to her otherwise composed demeanor.

Noah walked into the kitchen, his expression relaxed as he settled into a chair. His mother was placing a bowl of miso soup on the table, her smile welcoming.

"There you are," she said with a playful tone. "I thought you might need a map to find your way here."

Noah grinned. "It's hard to get lost when the smell of your cooking is this good."

She chuckled, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "Good answer. You've got a few days left of freedom—any plans before school starts?"

He shrugged, reaching for his chopsticks. "Not really. Just taking it easy, I guess."

She nodded approvingly. "Sounds like a good idea. Enjoy it while you can, before the high school chaos begins."

He laughed. "I'm sure it won't be that bad. Besides, I've survived worse." 

'waaaaayy worse.' Noah thought in amusement.

She smiled, a mix of pride and affection in her eyes. "Now, eat up before it gets cold."

Noah nodded, taking a bite and savoring the flavor. "Thanks, Mom. This is great, as always."

She leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. "I aim to please."

After a while, Noah retreated to his room, feeling the familiar comfort of his personal space. He grabbed his laptop and began surfing the internet, searching for a webtoon to pass the time. He scrolled through the endless list of titles, his eyes scanning the covers and descriptions, but nothing seemed to catch his interest. Even here, in the vast expanse of online content, there was nothing that stood out—most of the webtoons were mediocre, at best.

He leaned back in his chair, sighing in frustration. "Haa… Maybe I should become a mangaka?" he mused aloud, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "There's so little out there that's worth scratching the surface of. Maybe it would be better if I just created something myself." He paused, considering the idea, then shook his head. "But I can't. My drawing is pretty mediocre, and I can barely recall the details of the works I've read before. How would I even begin?"

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, as if hoping the answer would appear there. "What should I do?" he muttered, feeling the weight of his own creative frustration.

It was then that a strange notification sound echoed through the room, startling me out of my thoughts. "Hmm, what's that?" I muttered, looking up from the screen. At first, I thought it was just another pop-up, but something felt different. A status window had suddenly materialized in front of me, hovering in the air like some kind of glitch in reality.

I blinked, rubbing my eyes, but it was still there. "Huh?! Is that what I think it is?!" My heart started pounding, a mix of shock and excitement coursing through me. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, but I held back, needing to make sure I wasn't just imagining things.

The text on the status window glowed softly: Loading… 100% complete. Initializing… I held my breath, watching as the words slowly changed. Welcome. Your gift is ready.

My mind raced. Was this some kind of joke? A hallucination? Or… could it actually be real? I leaned in closer, almost afraid to blink, my thoughts spiraling in a hundred different directions at once. I could feel the adrenaline surging through my veins, my hands trembling slightly as I reached out, unsure of what to do next.

The status window flickered, and more text appeared, deepening my astonishment. It read: You have received the Gift of the One.

This gift allows you to review and recreate the manga and other media from your previous world. My heart raced as I absorbed the significance. It continued: However, every reward requires effort. The more popular your manga becomes, the more coins you will earn. These coins can be used to purchase advantages in various shops.

The window updated with additional information: As your manga gains popularity, you will be able to access higher levels of drawing talent and better storytelling abilities. My eyes widened even further as I read the final line: At the highest level, you will be able to create your own stories instantly.

I could hardly believe what I was seeing. This was more than just a chance to recreate beloved stories—it was an opportunity to elevate my skills and create something truly extraordinary. But the path to reaching that level promised to be challenging. I'd need to pour my effort into crafting stories that resonated and captivated audiences if I wanted to unlock these incredible abilities.