Chapter 1: Rebirth from Death

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“He’s dead. Does he have any family?”
“No one we can contact.”
“Drip.”
The intermittent sound of water dripping echoed in Gao Mo’s ears.
His body was paralyzed, as if pinned down by a ghost, unable to move; even breathing was unbearably difficult.
Cold, darkness, the stench of rot and decay...
Saltwater kept flooding down his throat, the faint light from the water’s surface drifting ever farther away.
It was as if some force was dragging him down, pulling him relentlessly into the blackest abyss of the sea.
What was happening?
Who had died?
Gao Mo jolted awake, struggling, wanting to scream but unable to make a sound. All he could hear was the distant noise of a television.
Broken fragments.
“Shinichi Kudo, the Holmes of the Heisei era, reveals the secrets of crime! The Roller Coaster Decapitation Case...”
“The Chairman’s daughter kidnapping case, Mouri Detective Agency...”
“Ah—!”
Clutching at hope like a drowning man grasping straw, Gao Mo shot upright from the floor, eyes wide, gasping for air.
Alive!
He was still alive!
Wiping sweat from his face, he looked around, still shaken, his complexion pale, bewilderment gradually overtaking his features.
This wasn’t his room.
The small bedroom was plastered with posters and newspaper clippings, and medals lay scattered on the desk.
It seemed like the room of some idol or entertainer, yet the person in the posters was unmistakably himself.
Long, tousled hair, a melancholy, intellectual air...
Another version of himself?
Touching his cheek in confusion, Gao Mo stood up.
The TV still played in the living room; he could hear the exaggerated, smug laughter of someone being interviewed.
A live-action “Detective Conan”?
Standing in the hallway, Gao Mo stared blankly at the spacious living room, the wall murals, and the TV, feeling as though he were still dreaming.
Yet every sense—sight, hearing, smell, touch—felt so real.
It was as if he had died and been reborn...
Just moments ago, he’d been making waves in an online forum, only to be yanked into another world as if by some cosmic joke.
Was this a hidden camera prank?
He rifled hurriedly through magazines and newspapers, unlocked a phone of some unfamiliar brand, and finally had to accept the unbelievable truth.
He had transmigrated—not just to a strange place, but into a different body. Though he’d once known only a smattering of Japanese, now he could read it as easily as his native tongue, with only a hint of dissonance.
And this was no ordinary world—he seemed to have entered the universe of “Detective Conan.”
...
Fifteen minutes later.
Gao Mo downed a bottle of ice-cold cola in one gulp, raked his fingers through his messy, medium-length hair, and sank into the plush sofa.
It truly was the world of “Conan.”
As blurred fragments of memory surfaced, he pieced together his circumstances.
In this world, he was a washed-up idol named Takato Gao Mo, twenty-five years old. He’d recently terminated his contract with his agency and now scraped by as a part-time cashier at a supermarket. His only remaining asset was this upscale apartment.
At least he wasn’t in debt, but daily life was a struggle. Old habits died hard; he still lived extravagantly, always spending more than he earned.
Just a few days ago, he’d suffered indignities at work.
Proud, unable to accept his fall from grace, the idol had apparently chosen to end his life by overdosing...
All things considered, it wasn’t so bad for Gao Mo—no messy affairs left behind, and he still owned a luxury, three-bedroom apartment.
There was nothing he could do but accept this new identity and make the most of it...
“Snap!”
Suddenly, the lights went out; the TV fell silent.
A power outage.
Feeling his way by moonlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows, Gao Mo found the switch and flicked it repeatedly to no avail.
Had he failed to pay the electric bill?
In his previous life, he’d been a librarian without even a place of his own—yet he’d lived quietly and contentedly, wanting for nothing...
He still had no idea how he’d died.
Gao Mo returned in silence to the bedroom, searching for a flashlight.
There should still be some power left.
“Hm?”
Back in the bedroom, perhaps owing to the blackout, the spot where he had attempted suicide now pulsed with a faint glow—a notebook, its cover script twisted and warped.
It looked like a novel, yet...
The suffocating, drowning sensation returned, as if he were sinking to his death once more.
A chill wind caressed his neck, and strange, dreadful whispers flickered at the edge of his hearing.
Wasn’t the world of Conan supposed to be grounded in logic and reason, absent any supernatural forces?
But then again... who could say?
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He, after all, had just experienced reincarnation.
“Whew!”
The notebook’s pages rustled without wind, the flyleaf’s glowing words nearly leaping from the paper.
“Congratulations on your resurrection. You have now been marked by Death. Will you accept that fate—or fight against it?”
“Death? Marked?”
Muttering to himself, Gao Mo suddenly sensed a deep, malefic presence in the room.
The curtains billowed in the wind, a pen rolled from the desk to the floor...
It was as if something unseen lingered nearby.
A shiver ran down his spine as Gao Mo snapped back to himself, quickly shutting the window. Yet the notebook lay quietly where it was, utterly mundane, as if nothing had happened—a trick of his imagination.
Calm down!
Perhaps the aftereffects of his near-death experience hadn’t faded.
This wasn’t the world of “Final Destination.” There was nothing to fear.
Even the laws of “Conan” had their limits, didn’t they?
Taking a deep breath, Gao Mo tried to steady himself and stepped forward to pick up the notebook.
Nothing happened—just an ordinary career guidebook.
He wiped his brow and examined the book in his hands.
Its edges were battered, as if it had been leafed through many times.
His counterpart in this world—a washed-up idol crushed by life—had probably tried to claw his way back.
And yet...
Gao Mo’s thoughts drifted, but he quickly shook his head and set the book aside with a wry smile.
The other him was still himself.
Perhaps the brush with true death had taught him the value of life at last.
Even if the strange events weren’t mere hallucinations, he would live on, cherish his second chance, never again following the same path.
Now, what next—
“Ding-dong!”
The doorbell yanked Gao Mo from his thoughts.
What now?
“Hello, is anyone home?”
A soft, syrupy female voice sounded at the door.
Gao Mo approached cautiously, peered through the peephole, and saw a girl dressed in a cream-colored sweater, hands cupping a small pot—likely oden.
He searched his memories for any recognition of her, but found nothing, yet still opened the door.
“And you are?”
“I’m your new neighbor next door. Nice to meet you.”
Her hair was tied in a bun, her skin was fair and delicate, and her sweet smile made her eyes curve like crescent moons, as if they could speak.
“I made some late-night snacks. If you don’t mind...”
“Bang!”
Without thinking, Gao Mo slammed the door shut.
He couldn’t help recalling the words in the notebook; his heart thudded wildly as if he’d brushed death again.
What was going on?
He peered through the peephole again, just in time to see the girl’s smile fade as she grumbled and retreated to her apartment.
Now he was the neighborhood weirdo.
Making friends with neighbors after moving in was perfectly normal—had he overreacted?
But something was wrong. Everything since he’d awakened felt off.
Marked by Death?
Gao Mo gulped, then hurried back to the bedroom.
The “Career Guide” on the desk had, at some point, reverted to the form of a notebook.
New glowing words appeared.
“Congratulations, you are now a Fatebreaker. Live well, enjoy immortality, reverse your fate of death. Also... be careful to hide your true nature.”
“Hide?”
His vision flickered. When he came to, the notebook had vanished, along with the career guidebook—gone without a trace.
So perhaps nothing had been there at all—not the notebook, not the career guide...
He stared at the empty desk for a long moment, his expression grave.
The window he’d closed just moments before now stood open again, and cold air drifted in.
Was there really a god of death in this world?
Was the world broken, or was he?
Surely he hadn’t lost his mind after his brush with death...
More than the supernatural, he feared for his own sanity.
Gao Mo took another deep breath and surveyed the apartment once more.
Perhaps the disappearance of the notebook had lessened the strange sensation.
Stop overthinking.
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Rest first; he had work at the supermarket in the morning.
“Yes, I still have to work.”
“Gurgle...”
His stomach rumbled in protest.
That pot of oden the neighbor brought had actually smelled pretty good.
Shaking off his wild imaginings, Gao Mo forced himself to the kitchen.
He didn’t expect his other self to have been much of a cook. The fridge was nearly empty—only a few bottles of cold cola and the rest, beer. He’d already finished one cola.
Every cupboard was barren of food.
At last, he found a single pitiful cup noodle in the corner, barely enough to fill his stomach.
“Damn, the water’s off too? Can’t even pay for utilities?”
The faucet yielded only a few drops. Gao Mo clutched his head in despair and found a crumpled overdue bill for water and electricity in the trash.
No power, no water, clearly no gas either.
He could only eat the cup noodles dry, washed down with cold cola.
The only consolation was the window view.
Under the neon lights, the city looked dreamlike and beautiful.
At least he was alive. At least he had a high-rise apartment.
For a fresh start in Tokyo, Japan, that was already a blessing.
...
On his first day of rebirth, Gao Mo fell asleep on the sofa, gazing at the city lights through the window.
He didn’t wake until the next morning, roused by the din outside and the shrill ring of his phone.
Shivering, he answered instinctively, nearly deafened by the piercing shout.
“Gao Mo! Are you planning to quit or what?”
The supermarket manager.
Pulling the phone away, Gao Mo saw a slew of missed calls.
His shift had started at nine; it was already half past.
“Sorry, I’ll be there right away!”
He scrambled up, meaning to explain, but his phone died with a final beep—out of battery.
When it rains, it pours.
Nothing else mattered now; he had to get to work.
If he was any later, he’d be in for a serious scolding.
He glanced at the spot in his bedroom where the notebook had appeared last night.
He paused for a heartbeat, then hurried to get dressed and put on his shoes.
His job was at an international supermarket catering to the local foreign community—not far away; if he ran, it wouldn’t take long.
For the sake of food and daily expenses, he couldn’t afford to lose this job.
He’d have to endure for now and think of solutions later.
“Sorry to bother you—are you Mr. Takato, the resident here?”
Two policemen—one fat, one thin—blocked his way at the door.
“I’m Inspector Meguro from the Metropolitan Police. This is Chief Officer Takagi. We have a few questions regarding Ms. Yamada of apartment 1603 next door.”
“Uh?”
Gao Mo only now noticed the police coming and going from the neighboring apartment.
A murder?
He couldn’t see inside, but the murmurs from the onlookers mentioned the girl from last night.
The middle-aged woman who discovered the body was ashen, badly shaken, her voice breaking as she trembled uncontrollably.
Investigators carried the stretcher past; a corner of the sheet lifted in the breeze, revealing the girl’s pale, water-streaked face, her eyes wide open, hair wet, skin faintly swollen...
For someone’s first glimpse of a corpse, it was a shock.
It really was the girl from last night.
How could she be dead?
Gao Mo’s Adam’s apple bobbed—he was frightened, but his face remained unexpectedly calm.
“How tragic. They say she slit her wrists in the bathtub,” the neighbors murmured, making way.
“No, it sounds like murder.”
“Please, everyone, quiet down,” Meguro said helplessly, then turned back to Gao Mo, “Did you see Ms. Yamada last night? She was killed around 11 p.m. At that time...”
“I only exchanged a few words with her. Sorry, I’m in a hurry for work—can we speak later? I promise to cooperate!”
As Gao Mo glanced at Meguro and Takagi, his gaze swept over the crowd.
He wondered if it was his imagination, but above everyone’s heads glimmered faint lights, especially those of the two police officers. Focusing, he could make out the glowing words he’d seen last night.
Above their heads: “Catch the killer” and “Let me date Officer Sato”...
It couldn’t be a mental breakdown; surely not!
A cheat ability?
Last night hadn’t been a dream—there really was a god of death!