Reincarnated

King stood before the radiant figure of God, his knees shaking, his heart racing, and sweat pouring down his face. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts—he, King, the so-called "strongest man on Earth," was powerless before the one being who could truly erase everything in existence. And yet, he had tried. He had tried to stop Saitama, the bald, invincible hero, from doing the impossible—destroying a god.

It had all happened so fast. One moment, Saitama had stood face to face with the divine entity, an unshakable determination in his eyes. God, towering and radiant, had laughed at the hero's audacity. But Saitama, in his usual nonchalant way, had clenched his fist, prepared to deliver a punch that would shatter reality itself. King, standing by, had known he had to intervene, even though every fiber of his being screamed that it was futile.

He had stepped forward, stammering, "S-Saitama, wait! Maybe we can talk this out!"

Talk no Jutsu—his last-ditch effort. It had worked countless times before in fiction, but this wasn't fiction. And even as the words left his mouth, he had known they would fail.

A flash of light. A blinding burst of power. King had felt nothing but an overwhelming surge of energy before his vision went black. Saitama's punch had connected, and in doing so, had ripped apart the very fabric of the universe. God, the ultimate being, had been erased along with everything else—every planet, every star, every life form, every memory. All gone.

Or so King had thought.

Now, standing in this void before the divine being—somehow still conscious despite the annihilation of existence—he was at a loss for words.

"I suppose I should commend you, human," the God-like figure said, its voice echoing in the emptiness. "Even though you were powerless, you still stood against a force you knew you could not defeat. You tried to reason with something beyond reasoning."

King swallowed hard, his hands trembling. "I… I just didn't want everything to be destroyed."

God's glowing eyes fixed on him, the intensity of their gaze unnerving. "And yet, everything was destroyed. But not by me. Saitama, the one you call a 'mistake,' was the catalyst. A mistake I created, a being too powerful even for me to control. And now, the universe is no more."

King lowered his head. He had failed. The weight of that failure pressed down on him like a mountain. Even with all the fear and anxiety that had defined his life, he had at least believed in trying to do something good when it mattered most. Now, it all seemed pointless.

"But," God continued, surprising King, "you did something no one else would have. You stood in the face of oblivion, and for that, I am not without mercy. Tell me, mortal—what is it you desire? You may have a second chance at life."

King's head snapped up. A second chance? After everything? He opened his mouth to respond but found himself hesitating. What could he possibly ask for? What would he do with another chance at life, especially in a world as chaotic as the one he had come from? His thoughts drifted, not to the grandiose or the heroic, but to the one thing that had given him solace amidst all the madness of his existence.

"I… I just want to play games," King said, his voice small and unsure at first. "In my next life, I want to play a lot of games."

God raised a metaphorical eyebrow. "Games? You faced annihilation, and your wish is to play games?"

King nodded, the words tumbling out faster now. "Yeah. I want unlimited endurance so I can stay up late playing. Super regeneration, so I don't hurt myself or get tired easily. And… super luck. So I always win my gachas. You know, when I roll for characters or loot."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, much to King's shock, God smiled.

"So be it. Your wish is granted. Enjoy your new life, King."

In the next instant, King felt the world shift around him. The void vanished, replaced by a dizzying array of colors and sensations. It was as though he were being stretched and pulled through time and space, a sensation both exhilarating and terrifying.

When the whirlwind of motion stopped, King found himself lying on the ground, staring up at a clear blue sky. Slowly, he sat up, his head spinning. Everything felt… real again. The world around him was vibrant, alive with sounds and smells. Birds chirped in the distance, and the scent of the earth filled his nose. He was alive.

But where was he?

As he stood, dusting himself off, King realized that his body felt different. Stronger. More resilient. The frailness he had always felt, the anxiety that had constantly weighed him down, was gone. He looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers. Was this real? Could it be?

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Wherever he was, it wasn't the same world he had known before. This was somewhere new. Somewhere… different.

His ears perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. He turned to see a group of men walking toward him. Their expressions were hard, their postures aggressive. And then he noticed the distinctive tattoos and scars marking their bodies—gang members. Dangerous ones.

"Oi, who's this guy?" one of them sneered, eyeing King with disdain. "Looks like we found a new punching bag."

King's heart began to race again, the familiar panic rising in his chest. He had no idea who these people were or what kind of world he had landed in, but one thing was clear—they weren't friendly.

"Hey, man," King stammered, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I don't want any trouble. I'm just… uh… lost."

The gang members chuckled darkly. "You're about to be more than just lost. You're about to be dead."

Without warning, one of the men lunged at King, throwing a punch aimed directly at his face. Time seemed to slow down as King's instincts kicked in. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable impact.

But the punch never landed.

Instead, King heard a sickening *crack*, followed by the sound of the man's body hitting the ground. Opening his eyes, King saw the attacker lying unconscious at his feet, blood trickling from his nose. The others stared in shock, not at King's strength or any perceived skill, but at the ridiculous scene that had just unfolded.

The man who had charged at King hadn't been hit. In fact, King hadn't even moved. The guy had somehow slipped on a loose stone, stumbled awkwardly, and smashed his face into the pavement, knocking himself out cold.

King blinked, bewildered. *Did… did that just happen?*

"W-What the hell?" one of the gang members muttered. "He didn't even touch him, and he went down like a sack of bricks!"

King stood there, his legs trembling, his face pale as a ghost. He hadn't done anything. His mind was racing, the fear gripping him so tightly that he couldn't even will himself to move. He was terrified, his usual luck having saved him in the most ridiculous way possible. But the gang members didn't know that. To them, the scene had looked like something straight out of a horror movie.

One of the remaining gang members hesitated before shouting, "You bastard! You think you're funny? You're dead!"

Another thug charged at King, full of rage and swinging wildly. King's mind went blank, every muscle in his body freezing in fear. *Oh god, I'm gonna die,* he thought, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for the impact.

But then… nothing.

Opening one eye cautiously, King saw that the man had tripped, his foot catching on a nearby bottle, sending him sprawling to the ground. His face smacked into the curb with a loud *thud*, knocking him out cold. Blood dribbled from his mouth as he lay motionless.

The others watched in horror, mouths agape.

"What the hell is going on?" one of them whispered, taking a step back. "He… he didn't even move, and they're both out cold! It's like some kind of… monster aura…"

Another thug nodded furiously, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Look at his face… he's barely blinking. It's like he doesn't even care. Is he… is he even human?"

The reality, of course, was far from what they imagined. King wasn't exuding some monstrous aura—he was just standing there, paralyzed by fear. His heart pounded in his chest so loudly that he thought it might explode. His legs felt like jelly, his palms were clammy, and he was shaking like a leaf. Yet to these gang members, King's trembling hands and wide-eyed expression were something far more sinister. To them, he looked like a predator who didn't even need to lift a finger to destroy them.

One of the gang members, his voice trembling, whispered, "L-Let's get out of here. This guy… he's not normal."

"But we can't just leave—"

"Are you crazy?!" another interrupted, his voice cracking. "Look at him! He just took down two guys without even moving! What do you think he'll do if we actually piss him off? We're done for if we don't leave now!"

King, still paralyzed, watched as the gang members looked at him, their faces contorted with fear. They were terrified. *Of me?* he thought, his mind struggling to comprehend the situation. *Why?*

Without another word, the remaining thugs backed away, their eyes darting between each other and King, as if expecting him to strike at any moment. When King still didn't move—because he *couldn't* move—the gang members turned and ran, disappearing into the shadows of the alley as fast as their legs could carry them.

King stood there, dumbfounded, for several moments before the tension in his body finally eased. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. His entire body was trembling uncontrollably, and his mind was a whirlwind of emotions—relief, confusion, terror, and… something else.

He looked down at his hands, still shaking. "I didn't… I didn't do anything," he whispered to himself. "They knocked themselves out, and they… ran?"

Slowly, realization dawned on him. *It's the luck.* The luck that God had given him. The stupid, ridiculous luck that had saved him from what should have been a horrible beating. He hadn't done anything; his body hadn't reacted with skill or power—his attackers had simply hurt themselves in the most absurd ways possible.

King wiped the sweat from his brow, still unable to believe what had just happened. His heart was still racing, his stomach doing flips from the adrenaline. He had been terrified—frozen in place, unable to even defend himself—and yet here he was, unscathed. No, more than that. He had somehow won.

His mind raced back to what God had said. *Super luck, huh?*

King let out a shaky breath, still sitting on the ground. Wherever he was, this wasn't the world he had known, that much was clear. This was a place where people fought and killed each other over territory and power. And now, thanks to some divine luck, he had narrowly escaped a beating or worse.