Pain was the first thing Jerry Reacher became aware of.
Not sharp pain. Not the kind that made one scream or thrash. It was a deep, pervasive heaviness, as if his bones had been filled with wet sand and his muscles had forgotten how to answer commands. Each breath scraped through his chest like it had to fight for permission to exist.
There was a steady beep… beep… beep somewhere close, rhythmical and cold, slicing through the fog of his mind.
Hospital.
The realization came before the memory.
His eyelids fluttered open, light stabbing into his vision with merciless clarity. White ceiling tiles swam above him, blurring at the edges before snapping into focus. The faint smell of antiseptic filled his nose—clean, sharp, and unmistakable.
He tried to move.
His fingers twitched.
That small success sent a wave of exhaustion crashing over him, forcing a shallow groan from his throat.
"You're awake."
The voice was calm, masculine, controlled. Not a doctor's voice—too composed, too measured. Jerry turned his head slowly, each inch an effort, until he saw him.
A man stood beside the bed, dressed not in medical scrubs but in a perfectly tailored black suit. He couldn't have been more than his early twenties, yet he stood with the posture of someone who had been serving others for far longer than his age suggested.
Silver-rimmed glasses. Neatly combed dark hair. Eyes sharp and observant.
A butler.
Not the theatrical kind. The real kind.
"Easy, Master Jerry," the man said gently, stepping closer and adjusting the angle of the bed with practiced ease. "You've been unconscious for three days. Acute exhaustion, compounded by malnutrition and severe mental strain."
Jerry frowned.
Master?
The word felt strange. Heavy. Wrong.
But before he could question it, something inside his head broke open.
Memories exploded into his consciousness.
Not images—lives.
Eighteen years of them.
They didn't arrive as a neat timeline. They slammed into him all at once, overlapping, colliding, layering over each other until he felt like his skull might crack under the weight.
A crying infant in a massive bedroom.
A woman laughing softly, her hand warm against his forehead.
A man kneeling to meet his eyes, voice firm but kind: "Strength without purpose is meaningless, Jerry."
A funeral.
Rain soaking into black fabric.
Two coffins lowered into the ground.
A promise screamed into the void of a child's heart.
I won't waste what you gave me.
Jerry gasped, his back arching as every nerve lit up like a burning wire. The heart monitor spiked wildly.
The butler's hand moved instantly, steadying him, grounding him.
"Breathe," the man instructed, voice unshaken. "Slowly. You're safe."
Safe.
The word anchored him.
The memories didn't stop—but they sorted themselves.
Jerry Reacher.
Age: eighteen.
Orphaned at ten.
He had lived this life.
Every test aced beyond expectation.
Every night spent awake long after exhaustion should have claimed him.
Every company acquisition, every investment decision, every relentless hour poured into building an empire far too large for one person—especially a child.
Batman-level wealth wasn't an exaggeration.
It was an understatement.
Reacher Holdings. Biomedical research. Defense technology. Clean energy. Information networks. Shell companies layered so deeply even governments only saw fragments.
A mansion hidden behind private land and legal firewalls.
A trust that ensured no outside interference.
A guardian in all but name.
The butler.
Alfred.
Not that Alfred—but close enough that the comparison made Jerry almost laugh.
Almost.
Then came the other details that seems to be there from a third prespective that didn't belong to the Jack Reacher's memories.
The ones that didn't belong.
A different world.
A different life.
Hands forming seals.
Fire bending to will.
Eyes that could see through lies, through flesh, through fate itself.
A fox's laughter echoing behind his mind.
Shadow stretching unnaturally long.
Pain. War. Loss.
Power.
Jerry's breath hitched.
So that's it…
He wasn't just reborn.
He was transmigrated.
Two lives had merged—not overwritten. Every skill, every regret, every instinct stacked on top of each other until he was no longer just one person.
He was something new.
The hospital room blurred again—not from exhaustion this time, but from something else.
Fear.
Not of death.
Of potential.
"Sir," Alfred said quietly, studying him with keen eyes. "Would you like me to call the doctors?"
Jerry swallowed.
"No," he rasped.
His voice sounded unfamiliar. Deeper than he remembered. Steadier.
"I… just need a moment."
Alfred hesitated, then nodded. "As you wish. I'll be outside."
He left without another word, closing the door softly behind him.
The room fell silent, save for the machines.
Jerry stared at the ceiling.
Then he laughed.
A soft, broken sound that carried no humor.
"Of course," he murmured. "Of course this would happen."
As if answering that statement, something clicked.
The world went dark.
Not unconsciousness.
A deliberate transition.
He stood in a vast, endless space.
The ground beneath his feet was smooth stone, etched with symbols he recognized instantly—even though he had never seen them in this life.
Five massive doors stood before him.
Ancient.
Monumental.
Each one radiated a different presence.
The first three felt alive.
Powerful.
Familiar.
The fourth pulsed with knowledge so dense it made his scalp tingle.
The fifth…
The fifth was wrong.
It had no aura. No pressure. No presence.
And yet, every instinct he possessed screamed at him to stay away.
A translucent blue interface appeared before him.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE]
[WELCOME, JERRY REACHER]
[PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: SURVIVAL AND GROWTH]
[SYSTEM STATUS: SEALED – PRIVATE ACCESS ONLY]
[WARNING: DISCLOSURE TO ANY ENTITY IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED]
Jerry exhaled slowly.
"So you're real," he said.
The system did not respond.
He stepped forward.
The first door bore a symbol of immense strength and controlled destruction.
The second radiated medical precision, regeneration, and adaptability.
The third felt cunning, serpentine, endlessly curious.
He didn't need names.
He already knew.
The Sannin.
Teachers.
Future masters.
Not yet, he realized instinctively.
He turned to the fourth door.
Knowledge surged through him even without touching it—jutsu theory, chakra mechanics, sealing arts, combat principles refined over centuries.
A library without end.
The fifth door remained distant, unchanged, its surface reflecting nothing.
"What are you?" Jerry whispered.
No answer.
The system chimed once.
[CURRENT OBJECTIVE: STABILIZE BODY AND MIND]
[POWER ACCESS: LOCKED – GENIN THRESHOLD REQUIRED]
[NOTE: OVEREXERTION RESULTED IN NEAR-FAILURE STATE]
Jerry closed his eyes.
So even in this world, he had pushed too far.
Even with genius-level intellect.
Even with bloodlines that should never coexist in one body.
He had nearly broken himself.
The promise surfaced again.
Two smiling faces.
A grave soaked in rain.
I won't waste what you gave me.
He straightened.
"Fine," he said calmly. "Then we do this properly."
The system faded.
The doors vanished.
Darkness receded.
Jerry woke with a steady breath.
The hospital room felt smaller now.
Weaker.
As if it could no longer contain him.
He flexed his fingers slowly, carefully—and felt it.
Chakra.
Dormant.
Coiled.
Waiting.
He didn't panic.
Didn't test further.
Secrecy, he reminded himself.
Always.
The door opened quietly.
Alfred returned, carrying a tablet.
"The doctors insist you remain under observation for another twenty-four hours," he said. "However, the board has been informed that you are awake. Your absence has… created turbulence."
Jerry smiled faintly.
"Let them worry."
Alfred allowed himself a small, approving nod.
"Welcome back, Master Jerry."
Jerry leaned back against the pillows, eyes closing.
Outside this room was a world he hadn't yet identified.
A Marvel world.
But which one?
That question could wait.
For now, he would rest.
Train.
Prepare.
Because whatever killed his parents—
Whatever lay behind the fifth door—
And whatever kind of heroes ruled this world—
They would one day have to reckon with Jerry Reacher.
And when they did…
He would be ready.