Waking up every single morning just to be a corporate slave is the cruelest curse in the world. The real bitterness of life isn't about being broke; it's about having absolutely no reason to get out of bed.
Akira's eyelids felt heavy as he stared at the bottom of his chipped glass. The last few drops of clear liquor swirled as his trembling hand moved. The smell of cheap sake and boiling udon broth filled his nose, giving his freezing body a brief moment of comfort.
"B-boss... one m-more bottle," he slurred, pointing a finger at nothing in particular.
His right cheek was already plastered against the sticky wooden table. Cold sweat formed on his forehead, mixing with the drool dripping from his chin. His vision was slowly fading.
"That's enough, Fujiwara-san. We're closing up, and you've had way too much," the old shop owner replied, quickly wiping down the greasy counter.
Akira's brain couldn't process those words anymore. The only thing he could hear was the deafening sound of his own failures. He forced his head up. The whole room spun like a fast carousel, making his stomach churn.
He could almost see mountains of paperwork floating in the air, along with the fake smiles he had to force for his clients. His life revolved entirely around going home, sleeping for three hours, and dragging himself back to the hellhole they called an office. No wife, no girlfriend, not even a pet dog to welcome him home. Only the cold air of his rented apartment waited for him. Every gulp of alcohol was an attempt to wash that reality away, but the bitterness just stuck to his throat like poison.
Coins clattered onto the floor as he fumbled to take out his worn-out wallet. His keys dropped right after. The old man gathered the coins with a look of pity and placed the wallet back on the table.
"Thanksh, b-boss," Akira muttered with a sloppy smile as he stumbled to his feet.
His knees felt like jelly. He would have face-planted onto the floor if he hadn't grabbed the doorframe. Pushing the door open let in the cold wind and evening drizzle, bringing a slight chill to his numb skin.
The street was lit by flickering neon lights, casting red and blue reflections on the wet pavement. He dragged his black briefcase on the ground, making an annoying scraping sound with every step. His cheap tie hung over his shoulder like a wet rag.
Up ahead, he spotted a metal lamppost.
"Hey, Tanaka," he greeted it, throwing an arm around the pole in a tight hug. "Why so quiet tonight? Did baldy yell at you again? I t-told you, don't forget the cover sheetsh for our reports."
The post remained silent under the rain. A loud hiccup escaped Akira's mouth before he slowly slid down until he was sitting on the edge of the curb. He laughed out loud while looking at a trash can he mistook for another coworker. But the laughter echoing through the empty street quickly turned into soft sobs. Hot tears and cold rain mixed on his cheeks. His life was one big comedy with no audience, and he was the most pathetic clown.
He forced himself up. His destination was the train station, but every step was a heavy battle against gravity. The rain poured harder. The sound of the raindrops felt like a sad song keeping pace with his footsteps.
He reached a wide intersection. The pedestrian traffic light was clearly red, but to a man drowning in alcohol, it looked like a glowing red apple inviting him to cross the street.
"Ah, the moon looks beautiful tonight," he mumbled, even though there was no moon visible through the thick clouds, and stepped onto the wet crosswalk.
The middle of the road was dead quiet until a deafening honk shattered the night. It was long, ear-splitting, and full of intense rage.
Akira turned his head lazily. Two giant circles of blinding light were rushing toward him. The rubber tires screeched violently against the slippery asphalt.
A massive delivery truck was heading straight for him. Painted clearly on its side was a courier service logo and its slogan: "Express Delivery Straight to your Destination."
Instead of running away, fate seemed to nail Akira's feet to the ground. His heavy drunkenness faded for a brief moment—not to make him feel fear, but to give him the clarity of a hilarious realization. A wide smile formed on his pale lips.
In those final seconds, he thought about how perfectly ironic everything was. The company that was always late delivering his online parcels was now going to be the one to deliver him to the afterlife. The legendary vehicle to another world was finally here.
"Is this the isekai express?" he chuckled, raising both hands as if welcoming an old friend. "I just hope they don't ask for a resume or make me do forced overtime in the next world."
The light completely swallowed his vision. He didn't feel the impact. What followed was a deafening crash, and then, total silence.
No pain. No stinging. No pools of blood. Instead, his consciousness floated in a soft cloud of old memories.
He saw himself as a little boy with a dirt-smudged face. Holding a small net, he joyfully chased dragonflies under the sun. His laughter was pure and completely carefree.
The image shifted. The savory smell of his mother's sinigang filled their old kitchen. His father smiling and ruffling his hair after praising him for doing well in school. Back then, there were no piles of bills. No cranky bosses. His biggest problem was how to win a game of hide-and-seek before the sun went down.
He remembered a night when he looked up at the stars. He dreamed of becoming a strong knight who saved the oppressed, or an astronaut exploring the cosmos.
But the world mercilessly changed him. The kid with big dreams was chewed up by a cruel system until he became just another nameless employee, dying in the middle of the street because he got too drunk.
A bitter smile formed in his soul. Freedom was finally here. The memories faded like smoke, leaving behind a quiet and peaceful darkness. He was ready to accept an eternal sleep where no alarm clock would force him awake at six in the morning.
But the quiet darkness was suddenly shattered by a sharp, high-pitched noise. It sounded like an old computer booting up, mixed with faint static. Broken blue lines crawled across the pitch-black void, forming a large digital square.
A voice echoed in his mind. It wasn't warm or friendly. It sounded like a broken record—mechanical, cold, and seemingly hiding a malicious intent.
[DOWNLOADING SOUL... ERROR 404: SOUL FRAGMENT MISSING. FORCING OVERRIDE... SUCCESS.]
Akira's consciousness jolted. The emptiness was quickly replaced by a strange, new sensation. He couldn't feel his hands or feet. His entire surroundings felt like they were made of a sticky, warm liquid.
[Scanning remaining memories... Pathetic. Determining suitable new world for reincarnation... Complete. The World of Aegartha is ready for your impending suffer—#$@&%!—arrival.]
Even though he was confused, Akira's mind quickly filled with joy. A fantasy world? So those web novels were actually real! A world of powerful magic and shining swords. He was ready to become a famous hero or a wealthy merchant with no boss barking orders at him.
[Processing physical race... WARNING: INSUFFICIENT KARMA. RANDOMIZED SELECTION INITIATED.]
Akira's excitement reached its absolute peak. He waited for the words human, elf, vampire, or maybe even a legendary dragon. His new life was going to start with greatness.
But suddenly, the blue screen glitched. It turned a bright blood-red before displaying a very familiar image—one usually seen in old biology textbooks.
[Welcome to your suffer—glitch—Welcome to the new chapter of your life, Host. Your 'unique' physical form has been successfully assigned.]