NOVEL NEXT Chapter 1: Crossover System
Darkness.
It was everywhere, pressing in from all sides, an endless and deep void with no sense of time or space.
Then, a light appeared. Small at first, it flickered like a distant star in a night sky. Slowly, it grew larger, pulsing with warmth, radiating a quiet pull.
"Peace?" The thought floated through his mind like a whisper. His senses felt distant, like he was submerged in water. He let himself drift toward it. Enjoying the peace and comfort it brought.
With each moment, the light expanded, swallowing the darkness whole. It filled his vision, blinding him. There was a brief rush — like being yanked forward by an invisible hand — and suddenly…
"Gah!" He gasped, choking on air like a drowning man pulled ashore. His body hit the ground hard, damp earth pressing into his palms. His lungs burned as he hacked out dry, rasping breaths. Every muscle in his body tensed as nerves reconnected like frayed wires sparking to life.
He lay still for a moment, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness. Blurry green shapes loomed above him, swaying gently. Leaves? Tree branches? His breathing slowed. His senses sharpened. He could clearly hear the chirping of birds. The rustle of leaves. The distant buzz of insects.
A cool breeze swept over his skin, carrying the rich scent of soil and wild grass. He blinked, his vision sharpening with each blink. Blue sky peeked between the cracks in the leafy canopy overhead. Shadows danced on the ground, creating shifting patterns of light.
"...Where?" His voice was hoarse, barely a croak. He pushed himself to his knees, his arms trembling. His fingers dug into the dirt for balance. Everything felt real. Too real.
A chill ran down his spine. He rubbed his arms, feeling his skin, his fingers pressing against flesh and bone. It was all there. His heart pounded in his chest, loud and steady.
"Where... am I?" he muttered again, his eyes darting around; trees, grass, dirt, forest and the smell of shit. "The fuck?"
Ignoring the presence of the shit distancing himself from it his gaze lingered on his hands. His eyes widened. These weren't his hands. The fingers were... longer? Smoother? His skin looked more youthful, unmarred by scars or old burns. His nails were oddly perfect.
"Wait, wait, wait... what the hell is this?" He flipped his hands over, looking at his palms, then his arms. No scars. No calluses. His heart pounded harder. This wasn't his body.
His breathing grew shallow. "What is going on?! Did I—?" His eyes snapped open wide, and a flood of memories surged in all at once.
War.
Explosions ripping apart the concrete streets. The screech of jets tearing the sky. His squad — his friends — cut down one by one in an ambush. He remembered the sounds of people screaming, the world trembling under the weight of falling buildings. The air smelled like metal and smoke.
His heart twisted. They were all dead.
Then he saw it again, as clear as the day it happened — the stray bullet. A distant crack, a sting in his side. He'd thought it was nothing, just a graze. But then his knees gave out. His hands pressed against the wound, hot blood spilling between his fingers. So much blood. Too much.
"No, no, no—" he had gasped, trying to hold it in, trying to stay awake. His body got colder, his vision dimmer. He felt the world slipping away, inch by inch, and with it, every hope of survival.
His last thoughts were of regret. "My browser history."
And then... darkness.
His breathing slowed as the weight of it all sank in. He ran a hand through his hair, which was thicker and silkier than it had any right to be. He tugged at it, grimacing.
"Am I... dead?" he whispered, his eyes darting around like a cornered animal.
"Am I... dreaming?"
No, it was too real. Too vivid. He could feel the coolness of the breeze, the bite of a small pebble pressing into his knee, the damp warmth of the soil. This wasn't a dream. He was alive. Somehow. Somewhere.
Suddenly, something clicked in the air.
A chime echoed, sharp but subtle, like the sound of a bell in a distant temple.
A translucent blue screen blinked into existence directly in front of him. It hovered a few feet away, glowing faintly, its edges lined with smooth, clean borders like a high-tech HUD from a sci-fi movie.
He froze, his eyes locking onto it, breath caught in his throat.
[System Alert]
>Body reconstruction successful.
Host has been selected.
Welcome to the [Crossover System].
"…What." His voice was flat.
The screen remained, pulsing slightly like it was waiting for him to process it.
Body reconstruction? What did that mean? He glanced down at himself again, taking a longer look. His arms, his hands, his legs. His clothes — a simple black tunic and pants. He ran his hands over his chest, his face. Everything felt... stronger. Cleaner. His heart wasn't racing anymore.
"Body... reconstruction?" he repeated slowly, like testing the words on his tongue. "Is this why I look different?"
The screen shifted. New text appeared.
>Affirmative.
Body reconstruction was carried out to match the host's specified desire characteristics.>
He blinked rapidly. "Specified... what?"
Then it hit him. It hit him like a truck at full speed.
The end. The light. The feeling of being pulled.
He'd wished for it. It was faint now, like a half-forgotten dream, but he remembered thinking about it just before the darkness claimed him. "If reincarnation is real... if I could just have another chance in life..."
His breath hitched. "No way."
Shiro Ainsworth's eyes darted around the unfamiliar forest, heart still pounding in his chest. The [Crossover System]. It hovered in front of him like something straight out of a video game, its translucent blue glow flickering softly.
His gaze locked onto the words. "Crossover System, huh?" he muttered under his breath. His eyes narrowed. It felt unreal, too convenient, too perfect. Yet, the chill of the forest air biting at his skin, the dirt under his nails, and the dull ache of his muscles told him otherwise. This wasn't a dream.
The screen flickered, and new text replaced the welcome message.
>[System Functions]
-Crossover: (?)
-Shop: (?)
-Quests: (?)
Daily Quests: (?)
Unique Quests: (?)
Major Quests (?)
-Statistics: (?)
Name: Shiro Ainsworth
Species: Human
Age: 16 Years Old (Physically)
Gender: Male
…
Attack Potency: 9 – C
Strength: 9 – C
Speed: 10 – 15 m/s
Durability: 9 – C
Intelligence: Genius
…
Note:
-Crossover Gift: It allows the user to receive random items, skills, techniques, traits, character templates, etc. from the reality you are currently in.
Shiro's eyes scanned over the information, his mind still catching up. His brows furrowed deeper with each new line.
"Crossover? Crossover Gifts? Quests?" He rubbed the side of his temple. "This is way too much." It sounded like something out of a light novel or a manga.
His lips twitched into a half-smile. "If this is some kind of joke, a god treating me as a plaything, it's a pretty elaborate one," he muttered, dragging himself upright. His muscles felt strong. Powerful, even. Unlike the wiry, half-starved body he remembered having before.
He clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling the raw strength surging just under his skin. This body… it was different. No, it was beyond different.
He could still remember dying, could still feel the sticky warmth of blood pooling beneath him. It gave him the chills. Dying isn't pleasant.
His fingers curled into a fist.
"Alright," he muttered, exhaling deeply, his breath misting in the air. "If this is real, I'm not wasting it. New life it is."
The sharp sound of rushing water echoed from somewhere nearby, like the gentle roar of a distant waterfall. Shiro turned his head, his ears tracking the sound. He hesitated, then took a step forward. If there was water, there might be a place to drink, to reflect, to see himself.
His steps quickened into a brisk walk. Thick roots and underbrush tangled at his feet, but his movements felt unnaturally precise, his balance near perfect. Before, he would have tripped at least twice, but now every motion felt calculated, efficient.
Minutes later...
He stepped through a break in the trees and froze. A shallow stream stretched out before him, its surface glittering under the sun like shards of glass. The clear water flowed lazily over smooth stones, reflecting the blue sky and green canopy overhead.
But it wasn't the water that caught his attention.
It was his reflection.
He approached the stream slowly, eyes locked on the image. He crouched near the edge of the water, heart thudding in his chest as he leaned forward. His reflection gazed back at him.
"...Is that me?" he whispered, eyes widening.
It was surreal. Almost unreal. His face was inhumanly beautiful — a perfect blend of sharp masculinity and soft androgyny. His golden-amber eyes shimmered like molten metal, bright and piercing, framed by long, elegant lashes. His hair was pitch black, like the void of space, slightly tousled but somehow stylishly so.
He blinked, and so did the reflection.
Shiro reached out a hand and traced his jawline, feeling the smooth, flawless skin. His gaze shifted lower, taking in his bare arms and torso. Refined muscles rippled under his skin, lean but perfectly sculpted like marble. It wasn't overdone like a bodybuilder, but every inch of him seemed designed for peak efficiency. His physique could put Olympic athletes to shame.
He flexed a hand, and the tendons shifted with precision.
Although, not to sound braggy, he was quite handsome in his past life. A lot of girls had their eyes on him, but none were really his type. They couldn't compare to 2D waifus. Back to the topic — his current appearance is leagues above his past life, although he could still see some resemblance to his former self. It was as if he were his own son with a Russian beauty with max-level charm.
"This... this is insane," he muttered, tilting his head for a better view. His heart pounded faster as realization set in.
"Damn it, I might actually fall for myself. How is it even possible to be this irresistibly cute and devastatingly handsome at the same time?"
It was like staring at a character from a fantasy game. It wasn't just 'handsome' — it was like a designer sat down and tried to create the ultimate protagonist.
Before he could dwell on it, a familiar chime echoed in his ears.
> [System Alert]
Beginner Gift Pack Received: x3 Crossover Gifts.
Shiro's eyes widened. "Crossover Gifts? Three of them?"
Another message followed.
> Would you like to use [1x Crossover Gift]?
His eyes narrowed, his lips curling in thought. If he understood the System's earlier explanation, Crossover Gifts could give him something from the current reality. It could be anything — techniques, skills, equipment, traits, or even character templates.
"...Screw it." His eyes flashed with resolve.
"Yes. Use one."
The system chimed in response, and the message vanished.
> [Crossover Gift Activated]
Randomizing...
He felt it before he saw it.
An unbearable pressure hit his brain like a tidal wave. "AGH—!!" He staggered back, gripping his head with both hands as searing heat shot through his skull. It wasn't pain. No, it was worse than pain. It was information.
Countless fragments of data, knowledge, and instinct flowed into him like a torrent. It was as if his mind had been crammed with a thousand textbooks all at once, and every page was burned directly into his brain.
Images. Names. Equations. Perception. Clearness. Clarity. Calculation. He could feel everything. See everything. Every shift of light, every ripple in the water, every flicker of motion in the corner of his vision was crystal clear. Every tiny detail. Every subtle movement.
The unbearable strain slowly ebbed, the flood of knowledge stabilizing. Shiro's chest heaved, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Sweat dripped from his brow as he slowly lifted his head.
His eyes glowed with an ethereal, pale blue light. No longer amber. No longer pure golden. It was a mix of both.
They were the Six Eyes.
> [Crossover Gift Complete]
Received: Gojo Satoru's Six Eyes.
Shiro slowly opened his eyes, his pupils glowing faintly with azure radiance. His vision had changed. Everything was sharper, clearer, as if he could see down to the individual threads of reality itself. Distance meant nothing. Everything was in perfect focus.
He let out a breath and slowly stood, wiping sweat from his brow. His heart was still pounding, but the rush was gone. His eyes shifted to the treetops, scanning them with precise clarity. Every leaf, every vein on the leaves, every shift of light — he could see it all. Far more than he should have been able to see.
His fingers twitched. He knew what this was. He knew whose eyes these were.
"Six Eyes…" he muttered, his voice low with disbelief. "There's no way." He clenched his fists, his gaze hard. "Does that mean I'm in—?"
He froze.
The thought crashed into him like thunder.
The Crossover Gift only pulled things from the reality he was currently in. That meant…
He glanced at his reflection in the stream. His glowing blue eyes stared back at him. His heart pounded like a drum.
"Jujutsu Kaisen..." he said quietly, feeling the weight of it sink in. "I'm in the Jujutsu Kaisen world."
His mind ran wild, piecing together the implications. Sorcerers. Curses. Special Grades. Sukuna.
Shiro's lips curled into a smile, equal parts fear and excitement. His heart drummed in his chest, but he didn't feel weak anymore. No, he felt strong. He felt unstoppable.
"Alright," he muttered, his gaze burning with resolve. "If this world wants to play rough... I'll play rough."
He glanced at the System screen, eyes sharp with clarity.
"Let's see just how far I can take this."