The words echoed in his mind long after he'd spoken them aloud.
"My form is justice… My form is the world… Worship me… Give praise unto me… All hail… Zamasu…"
The forest didn't mock him. It listened.
The leaves rustled gently overhead, and the stream's murmur softened to a whisper. Even the birds seemed to hush, as if the name held some weight in this world. A stood still, breathing deeply, his reflection rippling across the water like a vision from a half-remembered dream.
Zamasu.
The name lingered in the air like a prayer. The reflection in the stream stared back, unblinking, as if daring him to deny the truth.
He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the steady, unfamiliar rhythm of his heartbeat. This body—this face—was not his own.
Yet it felt 'right', in a way that defied logic. As though his soul had been carved to fit this new vessel.
—
Growing up, A hadn't been the type to binge anime like his classmates. He didn't keep up with the latest releases or debate over favorite arcs.
While others obsessed over Bleach's Bankai reveals or Naruto's emotional backstories, he kept to himself.
But Dragon Ball? That was the exception.
Just thinking about it filled him with nostalgia.
He remembered sitting alone in his room after school, lights off, homework forgotten, as the screen lit up with clashing auras and godlike combatants.
The energy blasts, the cool transformations, the dramatic standoffs—they weren't just entertainment. They were straight-up badasses.
Every punch thrown in that universe meant something. Every transformation wasn't just about power, it was about belief, growth, and pushing past your limits.
And then came Zamasu.
He hadn't expected to like him. Zamasu wasn't a hero. He wasn't even an anti-hero. He was divine justice twisted into a warped ideology. And yet, from the moment he appeared on screen—regal, elegant, coldly articulate—A had been captivated.
But it wasn't the hatred for mortals that drew him in.
It was the Zamasu presented. The calm in his voice, the unwavering belief in his purpose. His fusion with Goku Black had created a villain that was, in every sense of the word, beautiful.
The way he moved, the speeches he dropped, even his character design—it all exuded control and grace.
Zamasu was unforgettable.
---
And now… A looked just like him.
Well, almost. He wasn't quite the same. He was young—maybe eleven or twelve by appearance. His body was smaller, leaner, more delicate. But the features were unmistakable: pale green skin, flowing white hair, pointed ears, those earrings, and those eyes—grey laced with glowing amber, unnatural and hypnotic.
"So what does this mean…?"
He dipped a hand into the stream again, watching the water swirl between his fingers. It was impossible to tell if this was some kind of reincarnation or a twisted fluke.
Maybe the world had decided to hand him a new life—only with the form of a being that once tried to 'erase' mortals from existence.
And that brought a terrifying thought.
"Am I… in the Dragon Ball universe?"
He looked up sharply, eyes scanning the treetops for signs—capsule technology, sky traffic, scouters, anything that might give away the nature of the world.
Nothing.
Just birdsong and the whisper of trees.
Still, the possibility lingered. And if he 'was' in the world of Dragon Ball… what would that mean?
Zamasu, the original, was obliterated. Not just defeated—'erased from existence'. Not even the afterlife held his essence anymore.
If someone saw A now, with this face, would they think he was Zamasu reborn? Would Goku or Trunks or even the gods themselves try to finish the job?
"No one would trust me. Not looking like this."
That thought dug deep, colder than the stream.
Even if he wasn't evil, even if he didn't share Zamasu's ideology, his face alone might provoke fear. Suspicion. Rage.
It was ironic. He had admired Zamasu from afar for being 'cool', for the aesthetic perfection he carried like a badge of godhood. But to 'become' him—at least in appearance—was a burden he never asked for.
Still…
He flexed his fingers again, watching sunlight dance across his green knuckles.
In Dragon Ball, appearance often mirrored power. Saiyans transformed, their hair spiking gold; gods like Beerus and Whis moved with lazy grace that hid universe-shattering strength.
If this body was modeled after Zamasu's… did that mean he had that power or perhaps a fraction seeing as he is a younger version?
Zamasu had been immortal, capable of trading blows with Super Saiyan Blues and kept up with vegito blue… Could 'he' do that?
He stood, clenching his hands into fists, focusing with every ounce of concentration he could muster.
he felt something rising… 'Yes!' Then…
Nothing.
No ki. No divine aura. No halo of light. Not even a spark.
But… his body 'did' feel different. Light. Balanced. Tireless.
He remembered how far he had walked. How he hadn't once felt hunger or exhaustion. His senses were sharper, his breath steady. His mind is clearer.
But that is probably due to zamasu being a supreme Kai and having near limitless stamina along with their immortality.
"Ah… I guess I'm immortal now" he muttered out loud.
"Maybe… this is the start."
Maybe the power needed to be trained, awakened like Gohan's potential, or tempered through emotion like a Saiyan's transformation.
The thought gave him hope.
---
He spent a while longer beside the stream, drinking again, washing his face, running his fingers through his hair in disbelief.
The sun dipped lower, staining the sky amber. He'd lingered too long. Civilization—or some semblance of it—lay somewhere beyond these trees.
A breeze blew across the water, and he paused, lifting his face to it. It carried the scent of pine and something else—something faint. Smoke? Food?
He stood quickly, eyes narrowing.
"Civilization?"
It was faint, but it was there. Hope sparked inside him again. Not just for answers—but for people. Roads. Direction. Maybe even a clue as to where he was.
But danger, too. If anyone saw him as Zamasu…He'd learn to control this flicker of power inside him. And if this world knew Zamasu's face… well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.
"I'll cross that bridge when I get to it." After all, I'm immortal now.
He glanced back at the stream one final time. His reflection stared back—calmer now. Wiser, maybe. Still unnerving. Still not him. But growing on him.
He stepped into the stream, letting the cold wash over his feet and ankles as he crossed.
The opposite bank welcomed him with firmer ground and denser trees. The forest began to thin ahead, giving way to more light. He moved with purpose now, each step more confident than the last.
He didn't know what world he had been born into. Whether this was Dragon Ball, something else entirely, or a twisted combination of fiction and reality. But he wasn't helpless.
He wasn't afraid.
Zamasu's form might bring suspicion, but it could also be a gift.
A symbol of strength. A new identity.
And perhaps, a second chance—not just at life, but at becoming something greater.
He walked eastward, guided by scent, light, and determination, the last echo of the stream fading behind him.
The forest thinned as he walked, the trees shrinking into shrubs. A dirt path emerged, narrow but unmistakably worn by footprints. His pulse quickened. Footprints meant people. People meant answers.
Wherever this road led, he would follow it. Toward civilization. He needs to know where he is.
And he'd go from there.
---
End of Chapter 2