"Anything you want for your eighteenth birthday, son?"
The words came out soft, almost fragile — like glass afraid of breaking under its own weight.
Nathan Nightshade watched his mother through half-lidded eyes. The fluorescent hospital lights painted her face a tired gray, emphasizing several days of sleepless nights carved beneath her eyes. Her smile tried to exist, but grief clung stubbornly to it — the kind of expression only a mother could wear while watching her own child suffer, hope fighting a losing battle against reality.
Machines hummed around him in steady rhythms.
*Beep… beep… beep…*
The sound had naturally become the background music of Nathan's existence.
The middle-aged man standing beside his mother cleared his throat.
"Ask for anything, Nathan," his father said in a rough voice that felt controlled way too carefully. "We will do our best to fulfill it."
He wore the same complicated expression as his wife — love tangled with helplessness, strength cracking quietly at the edges.
Nathan lay motionless, bound helplessly to the hospital bed.
Bound wasn't technically the right word, but it felt accurate. Tubes ran into his arms. Sensors clung to his chest. A breathing aid rested near his face, whispering air into lungs that increasingly forgot how to work on their own.
Five years.
Five years of staring at the ceilings, Nathan thought grimly.
His blue eyes drifted between his parents — even that small gesture took every bit of his strength. They looked older than they should have. Much older.
I did that to them.
His throat felt dry, each breath scraping faintly.
"Then…" he said.
The word lingered in the air, prompting his parents to leaned forward slightly, hope rising despite themselves.
Nathan swallowed.
"…Let death claim me."
Silence followed his dreadful wish.
His mother's hand rose instantly, covering her face as if shielding herself from the sentence itself. A broken sound escaped her, halfway between a sob and disbelief.
"Why… why'd you say that, Nathan?" she cried. "Please… don't give up on life."
His father bit his lip so hard a thin line of blood appeared, but he said nothing.
Because he understood.
He remembered everything.
It hadn't even been a year after Nathan entered middle school when the call came: "Your son collapsed."
At first, it seemed minor. Nathan looked healthy, and the doctors reassured them.
"Just fatigue," they said.
Nathan himself had laughed about it.
"My legs feel heavy," he'd told them back then. "I'll probably be okay soon enough."
"He just need a few days of rest," the doctors said.
He'd be fine.
But a week later, Nathan couldn't even walk.
A month later, pain began visiting without warning — sharp and agonizing, like merciless waves tearing through muscle and nerve alike.
Then came the hospital stays.
Then the machines.
Then the words doctors used when they thought parents weren't listening.
"...Degenerative." "...Unknown origin." "...No treatment response."
From that day onward, Nathan never left the hospital.
Tears slipped silently down his father's face now. But he didn't wipe them away.
He understood why his son had asked.
Years of watching his own child live only in pain could change someone's perspective.
Nathan spoke again, his voice trembling but carried steady intent.
"Let me go… Please. Just end my suffering."
The monitor beside him beeped faster.
"The doctors even said I have near to no chance of recovering," he continued weakly. "and by ending my suffering… it'll end yours too."
His mother collapsed to her knees beside the bed, sobbing openly now. Her shoulders shook violently.
His father stood frozen, tears falling soundlessly.
Nathan forced a small smile despite the constant ache crawling beneath his skin.
A weak, reassuring smile.
One he practiced too often.
"Mom… Dad… I've suffered long enough," he said slowly. "And so have you."
Each word cost effort.
"Both of you already know that — by keeping me alive, we're just delaying the inevitable. I don't want you to suffer by seeing me suffer any further. Please… just let me go… and move on with your lives."
His breathing hitched.
"But please, if you could… never forget me. At least then… I'll still be living inside your memories."
The machines hissed softly.
"So please… tell the hospital staff to remove all these life-support items… and let me die in peace."
His voice softened further.
"…I love you both. I really do. I really do…"
"So thank you for everything," he added weakly. "I'm really glad to be born as your son."
His father finally spoke, voice hoarse and broken.
"We love you too, Nathan… we really do…"
His mother stood unsteadily and moved closer to the bed. She tried to smile through tears and failed spectacularly, producing an uneven expression mixed with sniffles and trembling lips.
She reached for his hand carefully, afraid even touch might hurt him.
"…I love you too, my son."
Nathan smiled back.
For a moment, the room felt warm.
Then — Pain suddenly exploded through his body.
Not the familiar ache.
Something worse — like a violent scrapping crawled under his skin.
His muscles locked alongside agonizing tightness in his chest, with every nerve screamed at once.
The heart monitor shrieked as his pulse skyrocketed.
Nathan wanted to scream.
His mouth opened — But no sound came out.
His vision blurred, shapes stretched and twisted.
His mother's expression changed instantly from grief to terror.
"NATHAN?!"
Her voice broke into panic as alarms blared.
"Doctor! Somebody call the doctor!"
Footsteps thundered outside the room.
Nathan's eyelids grew heavy.
Ah… so this is it.
The pain dulled suddenly, replaced by an eerie numbness.
His mother's voice sounded distant now.
Like hearing someone underwater.
You love me way too much, Mom…
His thoughts slowed.
At least, I died on my own. So no need for them to feel guilty.
Mom, Dad, please be happy… even without me…
Darkness crept inward from the edges of his vision.
Then—
Something flickered.
A light-blue glow appeared in his peripheral vision.
Floating and transparent, it felt… unreal.
A window.
Like something straight out of a video game.
Text formed across it.
[The goddess — definitely a legit one — has taken pity of your misfortune.]
[She will give you a second chance of life.]
[You can freely choose what kind of life you want to live in your next one.]
Nathan stared at it.
Or at least he thought he did. His body no longer felt connected to him.
A faint chuckle echoed inside his mind.
Haha…
I've finally lost it all.
Guess dying makes you hallucinate a game menu screen now.
He had read enough web novels during endless hospital days to recognize the trope instantly.
Isekai, huh?
Figures.
Sarcasm came naturally to him even while dying.
Well… if I'm already crazy… might as well go in balls deep.
He answered inwardly, playing along with his dying delusion.
Then—
O 'totally legit' goddess… please reincarnate me into a post-apocalyptic world where I can shoot and blow zombies' heads apart for fun…
A pause.
— and give me a girlfriend…
Another pause.
— No, girlfriends.
He almost laughed at himself.
Man has to dream big, right?
Another window appeared immediately.
[The goddess — still definitely a legit one — has heard your request.]
[Initializing Deranged-Hunter System… 1% → 10% → 27% → 54% → 83% → 99% → 100%]
[Initialization complete!]
[Begin transferring the host's soul after leaving his current body.]
Nathan blinked — or felt like he blinked.
…Wait.
That was fast.
…Deranged Hunter?
The hospital room faded further away. Sounds disappeared and weight vanished.
His final awareness felt like drifting backward into endless water.
Sou…nds fun…
And then —
Nothing — — —