Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Short End of the Stick

​The impact hit me before I even heard the screech of the tires. One moment, a speeding delivery truck slammed violently into my unaware back, sending me flying through the air, and the next, I was swallowed whole by an absolute, suffocating emptiness.

​It lasted only a fraction of a second—a heartbeat suspended in a void—before the heavy shroud of darkness tore apart. My eyes snapped open, blinking against a sudden, unfamiliar light.

​Immediately, I could feel that something was fundamentally wrong with my physical geometry. My center of gravity was completely off. The air felt closer, the floor felt nearer, and a high-pitched, childish voice was chattering excitedly right beside my ear.

​"Daddy! Daddy, you're awake!"

​I froze, my breath catching in my throat as I turned my head. Standing right next to me was a young girl with familiar blonde hair and bright blue eyes. My gaze flicked past her, taking in the distinct interior of a cozy, sunlit living room that I had only ever seen through a television screen.

​Wait... isn't this... Marron?

​The realization hit me like a second physical blow. That's Krillin and Android 18's daughter. I'm looking right at Marron.

​Panic surged through my chest as I scrambled to my feet, but the moment I stood up straight, my stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. I wasn't looking down at her; I was looking eye-to-eye with her. I was just as short as the little girl who had been making noise right next to me.

​No. No way.

​Of all the people in the vast, infinite multiverse, how did I wind up here? Dread twisted my insides into knots. I couldn't accept this, wouldn't accept this—I needed proof, any shred of evidence to shatter this bizarre hallucination. Without wasting another second, I bolted across the room, frantically searching for a mirror, desperately praying that I was just having a terrifying, hyper-realistic nightmare.

​My bare feet slapped frantically against the polished wooden floorboards until I skidded to a halt in front of the hallway bathroom mirror. I braced my small, stubby hands against the sink, stared up into the glass, and felt all the air leave my lungs.

​Staring back at me was the unmistakable face of the bald, short human known as Krillin. The six distinct dots etched onto his forehead gleamed under the bathroom light. The lack of a nose, the sharp, familiar brows—it was all entirely, undeniably real.

​Just great.

​A hollow, humorless laugh bubbled up in my throat. I live in a world where reality-erasing deities, planet-busting tyrants, and immortal pink demons exist. The entire universe is a playground for literal monsters who can sneeze and blow up a continent, and what does whatever cosmic force is running the show decide to do? Turn me into Krillin. Wow. I genuinely cannot wait to die in a fiery explosion for the third time in my life.

​I stood there in the quiet bathroom for a long, agonizing stretch of time, the cold porcelain pressing against my palms as the initial wave of panic slowly gave way to a numb, heavy resignation. I stared at my new reflection, watching the way the pupils shifted, feeling the strange, unfamiliar weight of a body that had died more times than most people change their socks.

​Slowly, deliberately, I let out a long breath.

​Fine. Accept it.

​There was no magical reset button. No waking up in a hospital bed with a bruised spine and a couple of broken ribs. I was dead in my old life, and here, in this absurdly dangerous reality, I was Krillin. If I wanted to survive the coming arcs—if I wanted to live past the next major threat that dropped out of the sky—I was going to have to stop staring at myself and start figuring out the rules of this new existence.

​Before I could even begin to process what my next move should be, a sharp, rhythmic knock echoed from the front door of the house.

​My heart hammered against my ribs, a spike of adrenaline instantly clearing away any lingering haze of shock. The heavy front door clicked open, and the unmistakable, cool aura of Android 18 drifted into the hallway.

​A heavy silence stretched between the rooms. My throat felt painfully dry, but I forced the words past my lips, trying to keep my voice steady.

​"You can come in," I called out, wincing slightly at how high and youthful my voice sounded compared to the memories lingering in the back of my mind.

​Footsteps padded softly across the floor as she walked down the hall and stepped into view. My breath hitched in my throat. Seeing her on a screen was one thing, but standing mere feet away from her was entirely different. Is this breathtaking, intimidating beauty really Android 18? Or am I still trapped in some kind of fever dream? The sharp cut of her icy blue eyes, the effortless grace in her posture—it was overwhelming.

​She paused, tilting her head slightly as she looked down at me, her expression a mix of casual indifference and quiet observation.

​"I'm home, darling," she said, her voice smooth and entirely nonchalant.

​A sudden, traitorous heat rushed to my cheeks, and I felt myself blush a deep, unmistakable crimson. Panic flared—stay cool, she'll notice something is off—and I instantly jerked my head down, busying myself with straightening my shirt to hide the flush creeping up my neck.

​She watched me fumble for a second longer, a faint, fleeting shadow of curiosity crossing her features before she simply blinked, dismissed my weird behavior as typical husband nonsense, and walked right past me to go about her daily business.

​I let out a slow, trembling breath as the front door clicked shut behind her, the heavy tension in the air slowly dissipating. I was alive—sort of—and the clock was already ticking.