I had finally fucking done it.
I, Aurthur Smith had finally gotten my life shitty together and made it decent!
After so, so, so many years my days as a Gen Z stoner were behind him, I had clawed my way up from depression-addled NEETdom to become a proper salaryman with a 401(k)—hell, I even had a gym membership I actually did occasionally use.
And now?
I was at the local bar, celebrating my promotion with coworkers—actual coworkers, people who vaguely tolerated me as I started drinking.
I never had before, but tonight I found himself missing the comforting numbness of weed—not that I'd ever admit it to my corporate simulacrum of friends. My fingers tightened around my fourth sake bomb (shaken, not stirred, because I was *classy* now, goddammit).
Soon it was the very early next day, maybe at most three o'clock. My 'friends' had left hours ago and I was just grinning at the bar like a possum caught in headlights, nursing something that might have been tequila once but now just tasted like fermented regret. The bartender sighed.
I finally left, walking like a man who'd just lost a fight with gravity itself. The neon signs of downtown flickered overhead, casting my wobbling shadow in lurid shades of corporate despair. I didn't notice the truck until it was halfway through my ribcage—which, statistically speaking, is considered late—and his last coherent thought was *"Fuck, my 401(k)!"* before his skull kissed pavement.
Then—*BAM*—reality folded like a drunk origami artist.
I woke up, felt like it was the best sleep I had in my entire life, surprisingly enough.
"I can't see...anything?"
Its not that I've gone blind, but rather, everything around me is just nothing but a blank void.
I could see nothing but my own body.
"Is this what dead people see?"
Suddenly, there was a bright light that was shining behind me
...? Texts?
There was a passage of text, seemingly explaining to me about what's going on
"Lets see..."
The floating text was written in the kind of aggressively cheerful corporate-speak that made me want to punch a middle manager: **"CONGRATULATIONS, ARTHUR SMITH! YOU'VE BEEN SELECTED FOR REINCARNATION INTO A FANTASY WORLD!** *(Terms and conditions apply. Void where prohibited by local deity bylaws.)*"
Below it, smaller font detailed the *"exciting opportunities"*—dragons, magic, harems (optional but *highly* encouraged by the fantasy world tourism board). My stomach lurched. This was worse than the time HR tried to "synergize" the break room.
"Can I go back?"
The void pulsed like a migraine made sentient. More text appeared, this time in Comic Sans—because apparently divine bureaucracy had a *sense of humor*. **"REJECTED!** *Current return policy requires: A) intact original body (yours is currently spread across six city blocks), B) willingness to abandon your destined coolness (don't be a quitter, Arthur!), or C) a notarized letter from God (He's busy. Try again never.)*"
I groaned, rubbing my temples—or at least, I tried to, before realizing I no longer had hands. Or arms. Or, upon further existential inspection, *anything* resembling a body. The void cheerfully informed me this was "normal for the onboarding process" and that I should "please hold while we assign your starter loot." A loading bar materialized, stuck at 1%, with a footnote: *"Estimated wait time: 2-3 business eternities."
Then—*pop*—like a zit in the fabric of reality, a floating menu appeared. **"CHARACTER CREATION!"** it announced, boastfully
"But... but I finally had my life together, you *eldritch spreadsheet-fucking bastards—*" I tried to protest, but the void just displayed another cheerful message: **"ERROR: COMPLAINTS NOT FOUND IN DATABASE. PLEASE INSERT COIN TO CONTINUE WHINING."** A cartoon piggy bank appeared mid-air, shook itself mockingly, and vanished with a *blorp*.
The character creation menu expanded with a flourish, revealing a holographic avatar that looked like a generic fantasy hero:
Gigantic, completely covered in white armor, a matching white cape filled with golden embroidery embroidered with tiny dragons and eagles.
The fantasy avatar twirled mid-air like a goddamn ballerina, sunlight glinting off its absurdly polished pauldrons—which, incidentally, were broader than my old studio apartment. A tooltip popped up: **"Recommended for: Protagonists with unresolved father issues and/or a crippling need to look *fabulous* while slaughtering goblins."**
My disembodied soul groaned.
A new panel materialized—**"STAT ALLOCATION!"**—with a pie chart that looked suspiciously like HR's last PowerPoint. Strength, Dexterity, Charism.
The numbers pulsed mockingly, taunting me.
"What if I just don't pick?"
The void responded by having the pie chart explode into confetti that smelled vaguely of spreadsheet errors and existential dread. **"DEFAULT SETTINGS LOADED!"** it chirped, as my holographic avatar suddenly sprunted a six-pack that could grate cheese and thighs thicker than my old neckbeard—complete with a *ding* and a notification: **"Achievement Unlocked: *Welcome to Your New Life as a Generic Isekai Protagonist!* (Reward: One free existential crisis, redeemable at any time.)"**
The armor-clad avatar struck a pose that defied both physics and common sense, cape billowing dramatically despite the complete lack of wind in this featureless void. Tooltips popped up like overeager interns: **"+15% Dramatic Entrance Effectiveness!"** and **"Warning: May cause spontaneous villain monologues within a 50-meter radius."** I tried to protest again, but the menu just flickered and displayed: **"Error 404: Fucks To Give Not Found."**
Once again, I woke up, but this time, not in a void, but in a wide open meadow where all I could see out of my helmet was more meadow until the horizon covered anything else that there could be.
"Just like any other isekai theme huh? My start is also in a middle of a meadow?"
I sighed and tried to scratch my head only to be greeted by the cold metal of my helmet. Right, I'm currently wearing a full plate armor now—because apparently, the universe thought it'd be *hilarious* to drop me into this world looking like a walking cutlery set sponsored by a ren faire gone wrong. The grass beneath my armored boots was unnervingly vibrant, each blade practically glowing with that *freshly-rendered* look, like some overzealous god had cranked the saturation slider to "eye-melting." A butterfly flitted past—iridescent wings catching the light in a way that screamed *"I cost three months of a background artist's salary."*
Classic isekai scenery porn.
I need to figure something's out out soon before something shows up. In episode one or chapter one of some isekai anime, manga, light novels, or manhwa, there are main characters who usually gets attacked by a creature straight away...
"And I definitely don't want to end up like that", I muttered, my voice echoing inside the helmet like a pissed-off robot trapped in a tin can. The meadow stretched endlessly, golden waves of grass swaying under a sky so aggressively blue it looked like a corporate screensaver—complete with clouds that resembled stock photo sheep.
There was a sloping area covered in green grass. The sun was still high in the sky, so it might still be early afternoon. The wind blew through the grass, giving it the appearance of green water; a wave of grass flowed in my direction as I sat atop a large rock. The smell of moist soil and the grass mixed with the wind, and the fragrance drifted into my nostrils. The wind carried to the forest behind me, rustling the leaves on the trees.
I stood up unintentionally from the rock which I had just sat on, and fixed my eyes on the seemingly overwhelming expanse of the horizon.
On my back I was now carrying a large white round shield with an elaborate emblem in the center, as well as what can only be described as two twin divine blades which gave off an awe-inspiring aura resting right behind my shield right on my back.
If I was stuck here, I might as well know what I'm dealing with exactly.
I slowly moved to get one of my new and unwanted swords. They were thick, white, double-edged blades surrounded by light is drawn. The admittingly beautiful blades shone like the light of day. The length of the twin swords blades exceeds well over two meters, giving the weapons a seemingly heavy look.
I took a stance—or at least, what I *thought* was a stance, given that my last sword-fighting experience was waving a pool noodle at my cat when high—and immediately tripped over my own cape.
I then immediately got back up, and with the blades perpendicular to my eyes, and I swung them down.
"What the hell?!"
I screamed again.
It was way too light!
The weight is such that I can hardly believe it's made of metal. I lightly swung the unrealistic swords to confirm their weight. Then I swung the swords with one hand each. Even though I'm equipped with body armor, I felt light surprisingly. It's as if I'm not wearing heavy armor at all.
The twin swords clattered to the ground, their holy glow flickering like a dying office fluorescent as I stared at my hands—now encased in gauntlets that looked like they'd been forged by a blacksmith with a *serious* grudge against subtlety. "Oh *come on*," I muttered, watching my reflection distort in the polished metal.
"I look like the lovechild of a cathedral and a disco ball." The armor wasn't just *white*—it was *glossy*, the kind of white that screamed *"I've never seen dirt, only the tears of my enemies and maybe a Starbucks latte."*
With that done, I decided to start walking.
The grass crunched under my giant armored boots like fresh lettuce in a corporate salad—satisfyingly crisp, yet somehow deeply unsatisfying. Ahead, the meadow sloped downward into a valley where the air shimmered like a mirage of unpaid overtime, and beyond that, a forest loomed with trees so tall they probably had their own LinkedIn profiles. A notification pinged in my peripheral vision:
**"Quest Alert: *Walk Toward the Plot (Or Get Trampled by Your Own Destiny)!"**
I sighed—which echoed inside my helmet like a depressed kazoo—and trudged forward, my twin swords clanking obnoxiously against my armor and perfectly round shield with every step. The meadow stretched endlessly, its golden grass swaying like a crowd of eager peasants awaiting their obligatory "Chosen One" introduction.
Sunlight glinted off my pauldrons with the precision of a Hollywood lighting director, casting dramatic shadows that screamed *"Yes, these shoulders can carry the weight of this terrible narrative."* The valley unfolded like a budget open-world RPG map—lush grass that moved in suspiciously synchronized waves, suspiciously placed rocks (quest markers, probably), and a distant river so sparkly it looked like it was filtered through a mobile game ad. A rabbit like thing hopped past, paused, and gave me a look usually reserved for failed Kickstarters before bolting into the underbrush.
**"Tutorial Mob Fled! +0.1% Character Development!"** flashed across my vision in obnoxious neon pink as the rabbit like thing vanished—because apparently, this world had *opinions* about my inability to murder innocent wildlife within five minutes of arrival.
The forest loomed ahead, its trees towering like skyscrapers built by an overzealous druid on a power trip, their leaves shimmering with an uncanny emerald glow that screamed *"I cost extra rendering budget."* A path—conveniently lined with suspiciously evenly spaced mushrooms—snaked into the gloom, practically winking at me with the subtlety of a tavern wench's cleavage. **"Recommended Route for Protagonists!"** flashed a tooltip, complete with a cartoon arrow that pulsed like a strobe light at a bard's worst gig.
I sighed, my armor creaking like a bad punchline, and stepped forward—only for my boot to sink into what I desperately hoped was mud.
The moment my foot squelched, the forest *reacted*. Birds—too colorful to be biologically plausible—exploded from the canopy in a panic, their feathers leaving rainbow contrails like a pride parade had just been startled by a dragon.
A squirrel the size of a small dog chittered at me from a branch, its eyes gleaming with the unnatural intelligence of an NPC about to drop a *very* inconvenient side quest. **"Alert: Local Wildlife Has Opinions About Your Footwear,"** my HUD chimed, as the squirrel hurled an acorn that hit my helmet with the precision of a medieval siege weapon—and the damage notification flashed **"-1 Ego"** in Comic Sans.
Meanwhile, the mud (or *possibly* sentient dungeon lubricant) bubbled ominously around my boot, releasing a smell that could best be described as "goblin locker room after leg day." A notification popped up: **"Debuff Acquired: *Eau de Chosen One* – Charisma -5 (Monsters now find you 20% more punchable)."**
I yanked my foot free with a wet *schlorp*, sending a glob of what was definitely *not* mud sailing into the bushes—where it landed with a sound suspiciously like a drunk innkeeper face-planting into a vat of mead. The forest ahead shimmered with an almost *aggressive* level of picturesque fantasy charm; sunlight filtered through leaves like liquid gold, dappling the moss-carpeted ground where bioluminescent mushrooms pulsed in time with my increasingly erratic heartbeat.
A notification popped up yet again: **"Ambience Settings: *Whimsical Fairy Tale* (Recommended for beginners! Warning: May cause spontaneous musical numbers.)"** The trees rustled in perfect harmony, like a god had cranked the "forest ASMR" slider to eleven, while butterflies performed synchronized aerial maneuvers that would put the Red Arrows to shame. One landed on my pauldron—iridescent wings catching the light with CGI-level precision—before promptly exploding into glitter. **"Achievement Unlocked: *Disney Princess Adjacent!*"** my HUD chimed, as sparkles rained down with the oppressive cheer of a corporate team-building exercise.
The path ahead curved like a drunk novelist's plotline, leading to a clearing where sunlight pooled like liquid butter in a fantasy diner's pancake commercial. At its center stood a single, suspiciously pristine rock—the kind of rock that screamed *"Sit on me for mandatory lore dump!"* in 72pt Impact font. I approached cautiously, my armor clanking with all the subtlety of a dumpster full of soup cans, only for the ground to suddenly *lurch* beneath me like a startup's stock price.
The rock then fucking *spoke*—its voice a booming baritone that vibrated through my armor like a subwoofer at a dragon's rave. **"BEHOLD, CHOSEN ONE! I AM THE ANCIENT ORACLE OF ... uh, hold on—"** The rock coughed, its surface flickering like a buffering YouTube ad before continuing in a distinctly more frazzled tone, **"Sorry, wrong script. Ahem. BEHOLD, I AM... a talking rock. Look, budget cuts hit the divine pantheon hard, okay?"**
A pebble fell off its side with a pathetic *plink*.
I blinked inside my helmet and sighed.
But I didn't leave.
Because one way or another, I was going to get back home.
You might ask what about my body?
Well, I didn't think any of this could have ever happened, and so by that logic just about anything is possible now.