The scent of iron clung to the air — thick, sharp, undeniable. Blood. Old, dried, smeared across the floor in dark streaks… and fresh, still warm where it seeped into torn fabric and open wounds.
Lupin groaned, his throat raw, each breath scraping like sandpaper. His chest felt tight, like a boulder pinned him to the ground. Slowly, his eyes cracked open. Blurry shapes, swimming in flickering light, then sharper — too sharp.
A room. Small, dark. Wooden walls pockmarked with bullet holes. The floor a mess of bloody footprints and broken glass. In the corner, a weak oil lamp fought against the shadows, its flame twitching in the draft.
Where…?
He tried to move. Pain flared instantly, white-hot and merciless. His whole body screamed — nerves frayed, muscles torn, bones cracked like dry twigs. Gritting his teeth, Lupin forced his head to turn.
And that's when he saw it.
A broken mirror, hanging crookedly on the wall. The reflection staring back wasn't his.
Blond hair, matted with blood. Pale, gaunt skin. A dark red hood with two dangling, heart-shaped ornaments. A tattered feathered mantle clung to his shoulders, the dark purple feathers clumped and sticky. Beige jeans, filthy and stained dark. A torn white shirt patterned with pink hearts, plastered to a battered frame.
His heart lurched.
No… no way…
But there it was. Clear as day.
Donquixote Rosinante.
The words left his lips in a hoarse, trembling whisper.
"No… this… can't be…"
It wasn't a dream. The pain was too real. The warm, sticky blood. The metallic taste in his mouth. The steady thrum of agony with every heartbeat.
His fingers twitched, stiff but moving.
A storm of half-formed memories surged in, flooding his head.
Doflamingo. The gunshots. Law's escape. Cora-san's final smile.
And now — Lupin was here. In this broken, dying body. Moments after its fall.
"Reincarnation…?" The word barely made it past his lips.
Before the thought could settle, a sharp, unnatural chime cut through the room. Clear. Crisp. Digital.
[DING.]
A translucent blue window appeared in front of him, floating in the air like something out of a sci-fi manga.
---
[Welcome, New User.]
Activating System: Wanted Poster Editing System.]
---
Lupin stared at it, his thoughts scattering like loose papers in a storm.
A system. No way…
He'd read stories like this a hundred times — late-night binge reads, webnovels with game-like mechanics. But this wasn't fiction. Not anymore.
Another prompt appeared.
---
[System Binding Complete.]
Host: Lupin (Merged with Donquixote Rosinante's Body)
Status: Critical Injury (68% Blood Loss, Multiple Gunshot Wounds, Fractured Ribs)
System Functions: Active
Daily Quest: 1 Available]
---
His stomach twisted. Critical Injury. He didn't need a system to tell him that — every breath hurt like knives. Blood pooled beneath him.
And yet, the system stayed cold, silent. No tutorial. No guide. No hand-holding.
I have to move.
He gritted his teeth and forced his arms to shift. Pain screamed through him, but he didn't stop. Every inch forward left a smear of blood in his wake. His eyes scanned the wreckage of the room.
A half-open medical kit. There. In the corner.
Please…
He dragged himself toward it, each movement a small battle against the darkness clawing at the edges of his vision. The room tilted, nausea rising in his throat.
Almost… there…
Fingers trembling, he grabbed the kit and wrenched it open. Inside: a roll of bandages, a needle and thread, a bottle of something sharp-smelling. No miracle cure. No Devil Fruit panacea. But it would have to do.
He didn't know what he was doing. Not really. But years of movies, war stories, and manga panels gave him a rough idea.
Wrap the bleeding. Stitch the worst. Stay conscious.
He bit open a bandage roll and pressed it against the wound in his side, wrapping it as tight as he could. Pain shot through him in bright bursts, but the blood slowed.
Next, he grabbed the suture kit. His hands shook so badly he almost dropped the needle.
"This is gonna suck," he muttered.
He drove the needle into his skin.
White-hot pain exploded through him. His vision blurred, sweat pouring down his face, mixing with blood and grime. He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached.
One stitch.
Then another.
And another.
He didn't stop. Couldn't.
By the time he tied off the last knot, his breath was ragged, his limbs numb. He grabbed the disinfectant and poured it over the bandages and wounds. It felt like someone was lighting his flesh on fire, but the bleeding finally slowed.
He slumped back against the wall, head swimming.
Then — another chime.
[DING.]
---
[Daily Quest Complete.]
+10 Edit Points (EP) awarded.
Status Update: Critical Injury removed. New Status: Severe Injury.]
---
A shaky, broken laugh slipped from his lips.
"I did it…"
Not healed. Not even close. But not dying. Not yet.
His gaze flicked back to the system window, the number beside Edit Points ticking up to ten.
It's a start.
He sat there, bloodied and bruised, and despite the pain, a small, defiant grin tugged at his mouth.
The world thought Donquixote Rosinante was dead. The Marines had mourned him. Doflamingo thought he'd buried him. The underworld had already moved on.
But now, Lupin was here.
With a system.
With knowledge of what was coming.
And a power to change it.
Not with brute strength. Not yet.
But with names.
With bounties.
With the legends etched into paper and ink.
One name at a time.
His head tipped back against the wall, the flicker of the oil lamp catching in his eyes.
"My turn now."
And in that blood-soaked room, the world shifted — just a little.
Enough.