Average height, average paycheck, average dreams—nothing remarkable, never anything remarkable—until the truck decided average didn't get to come home tonight.I was dead. That fucking driver smashed into me like I'd personally ruined his life. What the hell did I ever do to him? I had plans tonight—my favorite porn star was dropping a new video, and I was finally gonna jerk off in peace. Now I'm just roadkill with blue balls.Black. Endless black. Not the cozy kind of dark you get when you pass out drunk; this was the kind that eats sound, eats time, eats the idea that you ever existed. I floated (or whatever the fuck you call existing without a body) in absolute nothing. No up, no down, no horny thoughts, no Wi-Fi, not even the faint echo of that truck's horn.
Minutes? Years? Centuries? Time turned into pudding and then into nothing at all. I screamed until I ran out of scream, then kept screaming anyway because what else was there to do?
"HEY! GOD! SATAN! TRUCK-KUN! WHOEVER'S RUNNING THIS SHIT-SHOW, I'LL TAKE ANYTHING! GIVE ME SWORDS AND DRAGONS! GIVE ME LASER GUNS AND ALIEN WAIFUS! GIVE ME A MEDIEVAL VILLAGE THAT SMELLS LIKE HORSE SHIT AND A BUSTY HEALER PRIESTESS! I DON'T CARE, JUST GET ME OUT OF THIS FUCKING VOID!"
Silence. The kind of silence that laughs at you.
I started bargaining.
"Okay, no waifus. Just… a body. Any body. I'll even take a goblin body. I'll be the horniest goblin in the cave, I swear, just give me something with a pulse and a dick that works."
Nothing.
I lost track of how long I begged, threatened, cried, laughed, then begged again. Eventually even the begging felt pointless. I just… drifted. A horny, pissed-off speck of consciousness marinating in pure boredom.
Then, without warning, a single point of light blinked into existence—like someone finally turned on a shitty 2-watt bulb in the whole universe.
About fucking time.
The light pulsed once. Twice. Then it spoke, voice like gravel and cheap energy drinks:
"Choose, dead man.
1. Generic fantasy world—swords, slime, overpowered skills, demon lord, the works.
2. Sci-fi galaxy—spaceships, AI girlfriends, planet-hopping, probably some tentacle aliens.
3. Surprise me (warning: I have a sick sense of humor)."
I didn't even hesitate.
"ANYTHING! JUST NOT THIS VOID, YOU SADISTIC—"
The light flared white.
Next thing I know, I'm falling.
Wind in my face. Actual wind. Actual face.
Holy shit, I have a body again.
I hit the ground hard enough to rattle whatever teeth I now own.
Groaning, tasting dirt and freedom, I push myself up and look around.
So… which one did I get?
I blinked awake on a straw mattress in a small hut, rough linen shirt and pants clinging to my skin, straw sandals waiting by the bed. I slipped them on, stepped outside, and nearly dropped to my knees in relief.
Finally free of that fucking void.
A quaint beginner village greeted me: wooden houses, thatched roofs, dirt paths, the works. Passersby strolled past in the morning light: humans in simple tunics, elegant elves with long silver or golden hair, stocky dwarves with braided beards, cat-eared beastfolk swishing striped tails, a few scaled lizardfolk bartering at stalls, even a pair of nine-tailed kitsune traders laughing over tea.
Every civilized race under the sun, just living their best fantasy lives.
I stood there in my potato-sack clothes, grinning like an absolute moron.
I was here. Medieval fantasy package delivered.
I smirked to myself.
Wait… do I get a system panel like every other lucky bastard?
The second I thought it, a faint blue rectangle shimmered into existence in front of my eyes.
I almost yelled "HELL YEAH!" out loud, but the memory of that endless void slapped me calm.
Dude, you were stuck in literal nothing for who-knows-how-long. This is your compensation. Chill.
I scanned the panel. Bare-bones as hell:
Name: —
Occupation: Mage
Age: 20
Level: 0
EXP: 0/100
HP: —
MP: —
I swiped right.
Skills
Fireball Lv.1
MP Cost: —
Cooldown: —
Fireball? Okay, cool, but how the fuck do I—
Swipe again.
Skill Tree
[Fireball Lv.1] → [+]
I tapped the plus.
Instantly, a flood of knowledge poured straight into my brain: hand signs, mana flow, ignition timing, the whole damn casting manual. My fingers twitched like they'd done it a thousand times already.
The node updated:
Fireball Lv.1
EXP: 0/100
…A hundred casts to level up? You've got to be kidding me.
Then a little envelope icon blinked in the corner. I tapped it.
Message:
Here's your compensation, kid.
Every 10 levels you get to pick 3 new skill options.
Build whatever the hell you want—frontline blaster, crowd-control freak, glass cannon, doesn't matter.
Shape your own fighting style.
This is the only message you'll get from me.
Good luck. Try not to die again.
The text dissolved into sparkles and vanished.
I scratched my chin, muttering to my inner horny gremlin:
"Where the hell do we start?"
Inner me didn't even hesitate:
"Dude. Adventurer's Guild. Register, get quests, get money, get laid. Basic isekai 101. Let's move."
Fair point.
I flagged down a friendly-looking guy with a straw hat and a pitchfork, probably the local "kindly NPC" model.
"Excuse me, sir, where's the Adventurer's Guild?"
He looked me up and down, smirked, then said:
"Kid, you got a name yet, or did the Goddess drop you nameless like the last three?"
Name… right. The panel left that blank. Guess I get to choose.
I straightened up, flicked an imaginary strand of hair dramatically, and dropped the coolest shit I could think of on the spot:
"Call me Zephyr Blaze."
(Yeah, I went full chuuni. Sue me. It sounded badass in my head.)
The farmer's eyes lit up. He slammed the pitchfork butt into the ground like a mic drop and gave me a huge thumbs-up.
"Kai Ashford! Hell yeah, kid—that's got protagonist energy! Name's Gorrin Turnipfist, village turnip champion twelve years running!"
He flexed. An actual turnip popped out of his sleeve like a party trick.
Gorrin pointed down the road with the pitchfork.
"Straight past the bakery (smells like heaven), left at the fountain with the naked nymph statue (don't stare too long or she winks), big wooden building with the sword-and-shield sign bang in the middle of the square. Can't miss it."
I memorized it perfectly, gave him finger guns.
"Thanks, Gorrin Turnipfist. Catch you later."
He spun the pitchfork like a baton and saluted.
"Go get 'em,! Make us proud!"
A blue window rudely pops up right in my face, like Windows Update deciding now's the perfect time to restart.
Name: Kai Ashford
I swipe the panel away with one finger and start walking.
Not just walking, though. I'm talking full Sung Jin-Woo swagger: hands in pockets (even though these linen pants don't have any), shoulders loose, chin slightly up, eyes half-lidded like the whole world owes me rent money. Every step screams "main character who's already bored of being overpowered."
Nailed it.
The village street is alive: kids chasing glowing butterflies, dwarves arguing over ale prices, elves playing harps on rooftops for some reason. Sunlight hits just right, flowers smell like hope and cinnamon, the whole package.
A squad of village MILFs (human, elf, one curvy beastfolk with cow ears) spot me and immediately switch to flirt mode.
"Oh my~ New adventurer?"
"Look at those eyes, so cold~"
"Little brother, come drink tea with big sister later, okay♡?"
I give them the smallest sideways glance, lift one hand in a lazy two-finger wave.
They collectively squeal like I just proposed.
"Kyaa~ So cool!"
"Visit us anytime, handsome!"
I keep walking, smirk barely there. Inside, I'm grinning like an idiot. This is the life.
The bustling main street opens up ahead: laughter, clinking mugs, the smell of fresh bread and roasted meat. Pure harmony.
I breathe it in.