Perfect Day

Well, let's start with introductions, shall we?

My name is Kuren Soul. I'm a 17-year-old American, and by most standards, a pretty average guy. I've only got maybe two—okay, three—things that make me stand out:

First, my name.

It came from the old matron at the orphanage. She was apparently a huge history buff and claimed "Kuren" was the name of some ancient king. I never fact-checked her on it, but I liked the sound of it. It's different.

Second, I'm tall.

Tall enough to make doorframes nervous. 6'7".

People either ask if I play basketball or look at me like I just ducked in from a different ecosystem.

Third, I'm decent-looking.

Not movie-star-tier, but enough for the occasional double-take. Could be my face. Could be the altitude. Who knows?

My hobbies? Watching movies, anime, TV shows. Reading light novels, fanfics—sometimes a manga. But I especially like those AI-narrated stories on YouTube. Great for background noise while I'm working or zoning out.

Anyway... that's me.

Now let me tell you how I died.

Wait, what?

Yeah. I'm dead.

I woke up to blinding sunlight stabbing through my window like it had a personal vendetta against my eyeballs. The blinds—bless their recycled alleyway origin—were lying face down on the floor like they'd given up on life.

"Damn sun and its life-giving light," I muttered.

Leaning closer, I saw the screws had been ripped clean out of the wood. Not drywall. Wood. Two-inch screws, yanked like the Hulk had been doing some redecorating.

I live alone.

"…Why didn't I hear that fall last night?"

I stared at the damage a second longer.

"Ghosts. Definitely ghosts. Strong-ass ghosts."

I waved it off. "Whatever. I'll fix it later."

I turned to check the alarm clock.

88:88.

Perfect. Power's out.

I flung off my blanket and stepped out of bed—and directly into water.

Not damp. Not moist. Soaked.

"The upstairs pipes must've burst again," I muttered, praying to every plumbing god I could think of that it was just water.

Each step made a wet, squishy slap that echoed through the apartment like a tiny shame symphony. I grabbed my phone—20 minutes to reach the bus stop.

No time for a shower. I brushed my teeth like I was trying to set a world record and ran to the closet.

And of course, the leak was right above it. My clothes were soaked too.

Managed to find a mostly dry T-shirt and a passable pair of jeans. Mission: Not Naked accomplished.

I threw my phone and laptop into my bag, double-locked the door—can't have anyone stealing my waterlogged wardrobe and vintage dust bunny collection—and rushed to the building manager.

Told him the ceiling was leaking. Again.

He shrugged. Said he'd look into it "sometime next week."

It was Monday.

I could literally see the glow of the TV behind him. I've seen traffic cones do more maintenance.

I didn't have time to argue. I bolted through the streets of New York, dodging tourists, carts, angry businessmen—getting cursed at in at least three languages.

New York: where the nicest people in the world definitely exist… just never when you need them.

I reached the bus stop just in time to see the bus pulling away.

Figures.

No money for a cab. Unless emotional damage and pocket lint are accepted forms of currency, I was out of luck.

So I did what any broke, desperate student would do.

I ran.

Six miles. Through the glorious summer air of 99 degrees.

I looked like someone had hosed me down mid-sprint. I wished someone had. Kids were frying eggs on the pavement. Childhood nostalgia hit me like a heatstroke.

But somehow, by the grace of Grayskull, I made it to school.

3:30 PM.

School let out. Time to book it to my part-time job. A 50-minute trip I now had 30 minutes for.

I bobbed and weaved through the crowds like a man on a mission. Still managed to get flipped off twice. Classic.

I reached a crosswalk. Stopped. Waited for the little green man to give me the go-ahead.

That's when I heard it—tires screeching.

I turned. A truck was barreling toward the sidewalk.

Fast. Wild. Out of control.

People screamed. Scattered. I backed into the building behind me, heart pounding like a war drum.

And then I saw them—a mother and her daughter. On the ground.

The mother clutched her leg, yelling for her daughter to run. The girl wouldn't leave her. She was crying, trying to pull her mom up.

They weren't going to make it.

I ran.

I didn't think. I didn't hesitate.

I grabbed them both, threw them over my shoulder, and sprinted.

The roar of the truck was deafening behind me.

With one final burst, I hurled them toward the crowd.

They made it.

I didn't.

The impact was everything. Pain. Heat. Pressure. My body slammed between the truck and a brick wall.

I had officially become the meat in a very unfortunate truck-and-wall sandwich.

Screams echoed around me. My vision blurred. Blood—a lot of it—everywhere.

Then… silence.

And a chair.

I sat in the most luxurious chair I'd ever seen. Cream base. Gold embroidery. Solid wood. The kind of chair you imagine a supervillain lounging in, stroking a cat and laughing maniacally in front of a fireplace.

It hugged me. I liked it. I wanted to keep it.

Next to me was a small table with a glass of electric blue liquid. I took a sip.

It tasted like strawberries. And happiness.

Then I heard the voice.

"Finished appraising the chair?"

I looked up.

Across from me sat an old man—majestic white beard, golden-trimmed robes, kind smile.

The only other thing in sight was a massive fireplace, crackling gently beside us.

Everything else? Just… endless white nothingness.

"You're remarkably calm for someone who just died," he said, amused.

"Guess it hasn't sunk in yet," I replied. "You're… God, right?"

"My name is unpronounceable to mortal tongues. But yes, you can call me God."

"Huh. Neat. I always figured something was out there. Just hoped dying wouldn't be so... bureaucratic."

He chuckled. "You died a hero, Kuren Soul. That earns you five wishes—three for your reincarnation, and two for your selfless act."

In the distance, fireworks exploded quietly. Tastefully.

"Cool," I said. "Can I ask some questions first?"

"Of course."

"First... what do you mean by new life?" I asked. "Do I get to keep my memories?"

God smiled, leaning back in his throne-like chair. "You may choose any world, any time, even any universe—real or fictional. And yes, you'll retain your memories. It wouldn't be nearly as fun otherwise."

I leaned forward, eyes wide. "Nice. So is this reincarnation or transmigration? I've read a lot of novels and fanfics about both, and I honestly love that stuff."

"You can choose," he said, smile deepening.

Internally, I was screaming.

Joy. Giddy, fanboying, seat-kicking joy.

I felt like I might vibrate out of this absurdly comfortable chair from sheer excitement.

Hundreds of worlds shot through my brain like a slot machine gone haywire:

Naruto. DXD. Long Live Summons. Marvel. DC. Bleach. One Piece.

Power. Adventure. Waifus. Danger.

...Wait.

Suddenly, all that excitement dropped out of my chest like someone dumped ice water down my back.

All of those worlds are terrifying.

They're filled with people who sneeze harder than I punch. I'm just a high school student—no secret bloodline, no cursed eye, no plot armor.

If I go to any of those worlds, I'll either die in the first week... or worse, live a painfully boring life as Background Extra #42. No thanks.

What I need is a starter world. A noob-friendly zone with manageable threats, some magic, and enough weirdness to keep it interesting without throwing me into a world-ending apocalypse by chapter two.

Then it hit me.

Harry Potter.

Magic. Teleportation. Invisibility cloaks. Flying brooms. The Room of Requirement. Healing potions. House-elves. Actual dragon eggs.

Yeah, Voldybald and his little cosplay cult are a threat... but compared to anime villains who can delete mountains by blinking, he's basically a moody fascist with a nose problem and a snake fetish.

Perfect.

First world: chosen.

"My third question," I said, shifting in the chair, "will I have a body that lets me use all kinds of energy and power systems? Magic, chakra, qi, spiritual power—that sort of thing?"

God nodded. "Smart question. Yes."

"Nice." I grinned.

Inside, I was practically bouncing. I had the basics locked in. My brain was already drafting the fine print of my wish list.

God folded his hands and gave a knowing smile. "If you're done with your questions... shall we begin?"

He leaned forward slightly, eyes twinkling.

"Let's hear your five wishes."