Leonardo's last thought on Earth was profoundly stupid.
It was: "I wonder if Batman could beat Goku if he had enough prep time."
Then came the truck.
It wasn't loud. It didn't roar or screech or blast a horn like in the movies. No, it just was—a sudden presence, an unstoppable force meeting one very surprised pedestrian.
One moment Leonardo was alive, halfway across a crosswalk with noise-canceling earbuds in, and the next he was floating in a sea of white nothingness. No pain. No impact. Just instant, unceremonious deletion.
He blinked. Then blinked again.
Was this a lucid dream? A coma?
"Oops."
A voice drifted into his ear like a stage whisper in an empty theater.
Leonardo turned around. And stared.
Floating before him was a man—if one could call him that—dressed in a golden robe that shimmered like sunlight hitting a disco ball. His hair was silver, glowing faintly, and he had an iPad. Like, a literal Apple iPad. In heaven.
"…Am I dead?" Leonardo asked, looking around. No walls. No floor. No ceiling. Just... bright infinity.
The man scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Mmm. Technically. But it's a little more complicated than that."
"Define complicated."
"You weren't supposed to die. There was a mistake in the records. You were killed by a divine typo."
Leonardo stared at him. "A divine typo?"
"Yes. Your name is Leonardo DeMarco, yes?"
"Yes."
"There was a Leonardo DiMarco scheduled to die at 9:07 AM today. We clicked the wrong file. You were deleted by accident."
Leonardo blinked slowly, then said, "So Heaven runs on spreadsheets."
"And interns," the man said grimly. "Lots and lots of interns."
"This is ridiculous."
"I know. You have no idea how much paperwork this is going to be."
Leonardo sat down—or tried to. The lack of floor made it more of a confused squat in midair. "Okay. So, what happens now? You send me back?"
The man tapped a few things on his iPad. "No can do. Body's totaled. Soul already processed. But! We do have a generous Celestial Compensation Policy. You qualify for reincarnation."
Leonardo blinked. "Seriously?"
"We call it the CCP. Not the problematic one—the Heavenly one."
"Uh-huh. So, I get to be reborn and start over? As what? A dung beetle?"
"No no no," the man said quickly. "You're a Platinum-tier casualty. That means you qualify for a premium reincarnation—new world, new body, and a System. Very trendy these days."
Leonardo gave him a long look. "You're telling me I get isekai'd. Because you killed me by accident."
"Exactly!"
The man snapped his fingers. A golden screen popped up like a hologram in front of Leonardo.
[Celestial Reincarnation System Activated]
[Host: Leonardo DeMarco]
[Error Compensation Level: Platinum]
[World: Fast & Furious Universe – Divergent Timeline]
[Starting Point: 10 Years Before Canon Timeline (Age: 10)]
[Memory Retention: Enabled]
[System Activation: Delayed – Unlocking at Age 16]
Leonardo's eyes flicked through the screen. "Fast & Furious? Like, the movie series?"
"Well, more like the living multiversal adaptation. You'll be inserted into a version of the world before the major events take place. A little prequel era, if you will."
Leonardo rubbed his temple. "So, I'm going to be a kid… in a car-obsessed action universe… with a future System… and full memories of my previous life?"
"Bingo!" the godlike figure said cheerfully. "Also, for dramatic flavor, we've placed you in a prestigious family with a tragic backstory. Builds character."
Leonardo groaned. "Of course you did. Why not just give me loving parents and a puppy?"
"We ran out of those templates."
He sighed. "And your name is?"
"Greg. Department of Reincarnation and Entertainment. Greg The Ineffable."
Leonardo gave him a deadpan look. "You killed me, Greg."
"I did," Greg said. "But I'm also giving you another shot. So... you're welcome!"
The void began to glow. Leonardo's vision blurred, and he felt his consciousness being pulled away, as if he were being downloaded into a new server.
"Don't forget," Greg shouted as Leonardo's world dissolved, "System unlocks at sixteen! Play nice until then!"
The first thing Leonardo felt was warmth.
The second was softness—like silk sheets. He smelled disinfectant. And the scent of fresh flowers, not too strong, but enough to tickle the edge of memory.
He blinked open his eyes. The ceiling above him was high and white, decorated with a crystal chandelier that looked more expensive than the entire block he used to live on.
He sat up slowly.
His arms were small. His legs were short. He looked down and saw smooth, unblemished skin. His body had shrunk. His voice, when he gasped, sounded light and childlike.
"...Whoa."
Across the room, the large double doors creaked open.
A man in his late fifties entered, dressed in a black butler's uniform with polished shoes and perfect posture. His face was carved with time and discipline, but his blue eyes held a warmth that cut through the chill of the manor's silence.
He stopped at the doorway, staring at the boy sitting up in bed.
"Young Master Leonardo," the man said, voice deep but kind. "You're awake."
Leonardo blinked. "You're not Greg."
The man tilted his head slightly, amused. "No, sir. My name is Alfred Stuart. I've served the DeMarco family for thirty-seven years. I am... relieved beyond words that you are conscious."
Leonardo's mind spun, but he tried to piece things together.
"I… I'm ten?" he asked, voice small and foreign to his own ears.
"Yes, sir."
"And… where are my parents?"
Alfred's face shifted. A pause. A flicker of grief, expertly controlled. But not hidden.
"There was an accident," he said gently. "Two nights ago. Your father's car was struck by a drunk driver on the Pacific Highway. He… did not survive."
Leonardo swallowed hard, though the emotion wasn't fully his yet. The memories of this life—the new Leonardo—were trickling in like data syncing to a cloud.
"…My mother?"
Alfred's jaw tightened. "She was in the passenger seat. Critical condition. Currently in a coma. Stable, but… we don't yet know if she'll wake."
The room felt colder. Leonardo sat in silence; his small hands clenched around the velvet blanket.
"You've inherited everything," Alfred added softly. "The estate, the company shares, the vehicles, the technology labs. Your father's legacy now rests in your name. Until you come of age… I will do my utmost to assist you in any way I can."
Leonardo nodded slowly, fighting to match the emotional weight of the moment. The memories of his old life were crystal clear—coding, ramen, basement apartments—but this new identity was bleeding in now. Faces, names, the sound of his mother's laugh, the roar of his father's prized Aston Martin, the scent of engine oil and fine cigars.
It was all his, now.
The life of Leonardo DeMarco—the new one.
"I see," Leonardo said, his child's voice quiet and heavy. "Thank you… Alfred."
The butler bowed his head slightly. "Shall I prepare breakfast, young master?"
Leonardo looked out the tall windows. Beyond them, the sprawling estate spread over green hills, a fleet of cars tucked in their glass garage. The world waited. And so did his future.
He nodded.
"Yes. And Alfred?"
"Yes, sir?"
"…I like bacon. A lot of bacon."
A flicker of a smile crossed the butler's face. "As you wish."
As Alfred departed, Leonardo leaned back against the headboard.
Ten years. Ten years until canon begins.
Plenty of time to prepare.
Plenty of time to become someone the world would never forget.