Am I in Attack on Titan with a Death Note???

Zen had always been unlucky. It wasn't just bad days or occasional misfortune—his life was a series of failures strung together by cruel fate. Jobs rejected him, friendships crumbled, and even the simplest of tasks somehow turned into disasters.

At twenty-five, his life ended the same way it had always been—unfairly.

The girl hadn't seen the truck. She stood frozen in its path, wide-eyed, too shocked to move. Zen didn't think. He lunged forward, pushing her aside just in time.

Then—impact. A deafening crash. Pain.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

And yet… he woke up.

Zen's eyes fluttered open to a blinding blue sky. His body lay sprawled on soft grass, the scent of earth fresh in his lungs. Slowly, he sat up, wincing. He expected agony, broken bones, something—anything—but there was nothing. No wounds. No blood.

His heart pounded. This wasn't the city. No cars, no buildings. Just an endless field of green stretching as far as his eyes could see.

"What the hell…?" he muttered.

A sharp thud cut through the silence.

Something smacked him right on the head. Zen flinched, his hand flying up to rub the sore spot. Frowning, he looked down.

A black book lay in the grass beside him.

He blinked. His fingers hesitated before reaching for it, brushing over the smooth, worn leather. The cover was blank—with title written in white, no markings. Just an eerie, unnatural darkness to it.

"Death Note…?"

He swallowed hard, shaking his head. No, that was ridiculous. Fiction. But then… wasn't dying supposed to be permanent?

Where the hell was he?

Zen exhaled sharply, his fingers lingering on the book's surface. The title was unmistakable, written in crisp white letters—Death Note.

His pulse quickened.

This had to be some kind of joke. A hallucination. Maybe he had hit his head harder than he thought.

But everything felt too real. The texture of the leather, the weight of the book in his hands. His instincts screamed at him to drop it, but curiosity won over fear.

He flipped open the cover.

"The human whose name is written in this note shall die."

Zen's breath caught in his throat. The exact same rules. Page after page of them, just like in the anime. His grip tightened.

"This… this can't be real," he muttered.

The air shifted.

A chill ran down his spine, a creeping sensation of something watching him.

Then—laughter.

A deep, guttural chuckle echoed from above. Slow, deliberate, like someone amused by his confusion.

Zen's stomach twisted. His body moved before his brain caught up—he snapped his head up.

A figure loomed over him.

It wasn't human.

Its skin was an unnatural shade of gray, stretched over a skeletal frame. Jagged teeth curled into a grin, red eyes glowing with eerie amusement.

Black wings twitched against its back, the edges barely visible against the too-bright sky.

Zen froze, every muscle locking in place.

"…Well, well." The creature's voice was smooth, playful, dripping with something almost… predatory. "Looks like my new toy finally woke up."

Zen's breath hitched.

The Shinigami grinned wider, tilting its head. "You took your sweet time. Most people scream the second they see me."

Zen didn't scream. He couldn't. His mind barely processed what was happening.

Death Note. A real Shinigami. A book that shouldn't exist outside of fiction.

"What… the fuck…" Zen finally whispered.

The creature chuckled again, floating lower until its face was level with his.

"Oh, you're going to be fun," it purred. "Welcome to your second life, Zen."