Transmigrating into The Prince of Tennis

In my previous life, I died in front of my lover. Even though I knew I wouldn't survive and felt sad, I was a person who walked through hell. Death was a kind of release for me. Now all I can think is that it's good to be dead. I won't have to keep killing people just to stay alive. When I think about how the first person I killed was my own father, I can't help finding it ridiculous. At the time, Father and I were locked in a room together, while Grandpa watched us from outside and said, “Only one of you can come out alive.” I really thought it was absurd. I actually laughed. That was what family meant to me. I was only ten years old. Other ten-year-olds were growing up surrounded by their parents' love, while I... I wondered if Grandpa was lying to me, but quickly dismissed the thought. Father came at me with a knife. I dodged nimbly, but the blade still cut me. Looking at the person before me, who was usually so gentle and always smiled at me, now transformed into something ugly and savage, I realized that family ties disappeared as soon as your safety was threatened. Father kept attacking, and all I could do was dodge. I was covered in wounds, and nearly out of strength. If I didn't think of something, I might die here. Perhaps my will to survive was strong, because I grabbed the knife from the ground and drove it hard into Father's heart. Bright red blood splashed over me. I looked at the grotesque figure on the ground, eyes wide open in disbelief, then walked out of that room where people had been driven to their last gasp. Grandpa smiled with satisfaction and said, “Good.” I said nothing and went back to my room. After that, I kept killing people. Maybe I wasn't even human anymore. Now that I'm dead, I can finally be free.