"Ugh... University life sucks..."
I shuffled through the evening streets, every step heavier than the last.
Seriously, who was that bastard who promised university was all about babes and parties? More like all-nighters and existential dread.
I was exhausted. My academic career had become an endless cycle of soul-crushing exams and projects that multiplied like gremlins after midnight.
And dating?
Yeah, I'd dipped a toe in those waters. Let's just say the dating pool on campus felt more like a kiddie paddle pool.
Which is how I reached my grand, totally uncontroversial conclusion:
MILFs are the best.
Fight me. Or don't. I really don't care.
Finding a mature, understanding girlfriend felt less like finding a needle in a haystack and more like finding a specific, non-existent golden needle in the entire Sahara Desert.
With the wind now whipping my hair into my eyes like tiny, icy lashes, I decided retreat was the better part of valor.
Time to head home and lose myself in a good book.
Honestly, books had become my only reliable refuge in this cruel, MILF-less world.
As I stepped off the curb to cross the deserted road, fate decided to play its first practical joke. With a groan and a shower of sparks, the old electric pole beside me snapped.
WHAM!
"Son of a—!"
My head snapped back, then spun like a top somebody had whacked with a baseball bat. The coppery tang of blood flooded my mouth.
Great. Just perfect. Dying because a rusty pole decided to give up the ghost?
" Irefuse to die by pole!"
I slurred, spitting blood.
"Where the actual hell is that isekai truck when you need it?!"
My thoughts were scrambled eggs, courtesy of the pole-induced concussion.
Reading way too many fantasy novels hadn't helped – my brain was currently offering helpful suggestions like 'summon a healing potion' or 'check your stat sheet for head trauma'.
And then, as if some bored god had been scrolling through my internal monologue and thought, 'Hold my ambrosia…', I saw it.
A massive delivery truck, swaying wildly, tires screeching like a banshee on roller skates.
It had clearly lost its argument with physics and was now hurtling directly towards me with the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
Reality, cold and unwelcome, slammed back into place.
Nope.
Not a novel protagonist.
Definitely not the Hulk.
Just a very unlucky, slightly concussed, and terminally single university student.
This was it. Curtains. Final boss fight, and I hadn't even leveled up.
"FINE! FUCK YOU TOO, TRUCK-KUN!"
I yelled, throwing my hands and showing my middle finger.
The world vanished into blinding headlights, awful crunching noises, and the huge THUD of me hitting the wall like a sack of potatoes. Then... nothing. Just sweet, truck-sized blackness.