Chapter 1: The Coin That Started It All

Riku Takahashi had learned two truths about the city.

One: it never slept.

Two: it never cared.

The neon signs could blink all night like they had eyelids, trains could scream across steel rails like dying beasts, and crowds could pour around a man like water around a rock—yet none of it meant anything if you were hungry enough that your stomach became your clock.

Riku sat on the curb beneath an overpass where the concrete sweated grime and old rainwater. His coat was too thin for the season and too torn to pretend it was fashion. He wore shoes that had long since surrendered their dignity, and a beanie that used to be black but had been washed into a permanent shade of “defeated.”

He stared into a paper cup.

Inside were four coins.

Not even the “cool” coins. No shiny currency from some tourist’s pocket. Just honest, ugly metal—cold little reminders that if he wanted dinner, he’d have to earn it the hard way.

Riku sighed, then tapped the side of the cup like the coins might multiply out of guilt.

They didn’t.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself. “New plan.”

There was no new plan. There was only the daily ritual: walk, scan, stoop, collect. Like an urban forager, except the forest was asphalt and the prey was loose change.

He stood up, rolled his shoulders, and began his patrol.

The city’s sidewalks were an ecosystem. People dropped things constantly—receipts, wrappers, flyers, dignity. The trick was noticing what mattered. A coin near a vending machine. A bill trapped at the base of a streetlamp. A wallet, if you were lucky.

Riku wasn’t lucky.

Luck had filed a restraining order against him years ago.

Still, he walked with purpose, eyes sweeping the ground with the focus of a man hunting treasure. He passed a ramen shop where steam fogged the windows and laughter spilled into the street. Passed a business district where suits moved like synchronized machines, their shoes expensive enough to buy him a month of meals if he sold them.

One man bumped him with a shoulder and didn’t even glance back.

Riku didn’t get angry anymore. Anger took energy. Energy took food. And food took coins.

He saved his emotions for emergencies.

Like spotting money.

There—near the curb—something glinted.

Riku’s heart did a small, pathetic cartwheel.

He approached like it might vanish if he moved too fast. Bent down. Picked it up.

A ten-yen coin.

He stared at it in his palm.

Then, because the universe hated him on principle, a gust of wind slid across the street like a thief’s hand and knocked another coin free from the edge of the sidewalk—rolling, spinning, wobbling toward the road.

Riku’s eyes widened.

That wasn’t just any coin.

That was silver.

That was bigger.

That was… five hundred yen.

To a man with four coins in a cup, five hundred yen was a miracle. A warm meal. A drink. Maybe even something with meat if the gods felt generous.

Riku didn’t think.

He moved.

“WAIT—!”

The coin spun into the street, flashing under the headlights like it was laughing.

Riku sprinted after it.

His feet slapped the pavement. His arms windmilled for balance. In another life, it might’ve been comedic. A homeless man chasing money like it was a runaway pet.

In this life, it was just Tuesday.

The coin skittered near the painted white line.

Riku lunged, fingers outstretched—

—and for a split second, his hand hovered above it.

Close enough to feel its chill.

Close enough to taste victory.

Then the world made a sound.

A deep, looming horn.

A roar of an engine too heavy, too fast, too certain of its right to exist.

Riku turned.

The truck filled his vision like a wall that had decided to become a vehicle.

His brain tried to process it.

It didn’t have time.

His body froze, not from fear, but from the pure absurdity of it—like reality itself had decided to play a joke too stupid to be real.

You’re kidding.

And in that half-breath, his thoughts came in fragments.

I finally see money and now I die?

Is this what my life is?

Do I at least get points for effort?

I can't believe this how i die.....

I thought i'd live a luxurious and happy life, but i guess luxury isn't for everyone.

Fuck, this is bullshit! Bullshit!!

The truck’s headlights turned the street into a stage.

Riku’s shadow stretched behind him, long and thin, like it was already trying to leave.

The coin sat at his feet, perfectly still now—as if satisfied.

Riku’s mouth opened.

Something between a laugh and a curse tried to come out.

It never did.

The impact was not a dramatic explosion. Not fireworks. Not some slow-motion scene where time politely pauses to let you feel profound.

It was sudden.

It was unfair.

It was… final.

And then—

Silence.

No cold pavement. No noise. No hunger. No city.

Only darkness.

Riku floated in it, not falling, not flying, just existing like a thought without a body.

He expected pain.

He expected nothingness.

What he got was… irritation.

So that’s it?

The bitterness in his chest burned hotter than any wound.

I didn’t even get a last meal.

A faint glow appeared.

Riku squinted.

It shimmered like gold under water. Not a lightbulb. Not sunlight. Something richer. Warmer.

The glow gathered itself into a shape—round and flat.

A coin.

Not yen. Not any currency he recognized.

It was gold, etched with strange patterns, and as it rotated slowly, symbols flared across its surface like gears turning inside fate itself.

Riku reached for it.

The moment his fingers touched the coin, the darkness split open like cloth.

A sound like a thousand coins raining onto stone exploded around him—

—and the world restarted.

Riku gasped.

Air slammed into his lungs. Real air. Clean air. It tasted like grass and morning and a life that hadn’t been pissed on by the universe yet.

His eyes snapped open.

Sky.

A huge, open sky the color of hope—bright and endless, with drifting clouds that looked painted by a generous artist.

He sat up so fast his head spun.

He wasn’t on asphalt.

He was on a grassy hill, blades of green swaying in the breeze like they were waving hello.

Riku blinked hard, expecting the city to snap back into place.

It didn’t.

He looked down.

His hands were different.

Not older, cracked, and bruised like his.

These were younger. Stronger. Clean, with faint calluses like someone who used a sword more than a cup.

He patted his chest.

Leather straps crossed a fitted tunic. A cloak hung off his shoulders like it belonged there. A belt cinched his waist, packed with pouches—too many pouches, honestly, like whoever designed this outfit had trust issues and needed pockets for pockets.

He ran his fingers through his hair—

—and felt thick, messy strands.

Red.

Bright, wild red like a flame that refused to be tamed.

Riku froze.

“...No way. No fucking way....”

His voice came out clearer. Stronger. Like it belonged to a man who could shout commands instead of apologies.

He stumbled to his feet and nearly tripped because his boots were new and his balance was unfamiliar. He turned in a slow circle, scanning the landscape.

Ahead: a vast forest, towering trees dense enough to swallow whole armies. The canopy rolled like a green ocean, dark shadows moving beneath it.

To the left: a stone road winding down toward a city in the distance—spires, towers, rooftops layered in warm colors, like something from a storybook.

And above that city—

airships.

Riku’s jaw fell open.

Actual airships drifted through the sky like lazy whales, sails catching the wind. One of them glinted with sunlight, and he could swear he saw people moving on its deck.

His mind tried to scream this isn’t real.

But the breeze touched his skin. The grass bent under his boots. Somewhere in the forest, something howled—a sound too deep to belong to any animal he knew.

This was real.

Riku grabbed at his belt, fingers shaking. He found a small book in one pouch—thick, leather-bound, with a clasp. Another pouch held a handful of glittering stones. Another had a map, drawn with ink and ambition.

And in the front pouch, nestled like a secret—

a coin.

That same golden coin.

It pulsed faintly in his palm. Warm. Alive.

Riku stared at it, heart pounding.

He wasn’t dumb. He knew stories. Everybody knew stories. Manga, games, anime—whatever you called them, the idea was always the same.

A guy dies.

A guy wakes up in a fantasy world.

A guy becomes important.

Riku swallowed.

To him, it almost felt he was Kazuma from KonoSuba .

His eyes drifted toward the city again.

Toward the markets he could barely make out, like colorful specks.

Toward the glitter of towers.

Toward opportunity.

A laugh bubbled out of him—small at first, then bigger, until it became a full, disbelieving cackle that made a nearby bird startle and fly away.

“Ah… hah… HAHA!”

He pressed a hand to his face, fingers digging into his cheeks like he needed proof his skin existed.

Then he dropped his hand and stared into the sky like it owed him an explanation.

“So that’s how it is.”

His grin slowly crept across his face—not the polite smile he used to get ignored a little less, but something sharper. Hungrier. More alive.

His stomach wasn’t empty.

His body wasn’t broken.

And for the first time in a long time, the world in front of him didn’t look like a wall.

It looked like a ladder.

Riku Takahashi looked down at the golden coin again, then closed his fist around it.

“I don’t know why I got a second chance,” he said, voice low, like he was making a pact with the air itself. “I don’t know what idiot god looked at my life and decided to spin the wheel again.”

He took a step forward, boots crunching grass.

Then another.

“But I’m not wasting it.”

He raised his head toward the forest, toward the city, toward the wide-open future that stretched like a map begging to be conquered.

Riku’s eyes gleamed like he could already see piles of treasure.

“New world,” he muttered, then smiled wider. “This new world… I claim it. Desire isn’t a sin—it’s a virtue. And greed, when wielded right, is justice.”

He pointed toward the distant city like he was claiming it.

“I'm gonna be that justice. I’m gonna be the richest guy here.”

A gust of wind rolled over the hill, tugging at his cloak dramatically—like the world itself agreed with the theatrics.

Riku paused, blinked, and muttered, “Okay, yeah, that was kinda cool.”

Then he squared his shoulders.

Adventure waited in the forest.

Gold waited in the ruins.

And somewhere out there, fate was sitting on a throne made of treasure, assuming it still had the upper hand.

Riku cracked his knuckles.

“Alright,” he said, stepping forward with a grin that belonged to a man who had finally decided to win.

““Alright… time to make destiny my bitch .”