Average height, average salary, average existence, thoroughly and proudly mediocre, until the truck looked at my life, shrugged, and said, "Yeah, that'll do," and turned me into roadkill with impeccable timing.
I'm dead.
That absolute bastard floored it like I'd personally slept with his wife and keyed his car. What the hell did I ever do to him? I was just trying to get home, microwave some instant ramen, and finally catch that new video my favorite camgirl dropped tonight (4K, new lingerie, the one I'd been saving my last clean sock for).
Thirty-four years of playing it safe, paying my taxes, never even jaywalking, and this is the thanks I get? Splattered across the crosswalk because some guy in a hurry decided my mediocre ass needed to be a speed bump.
Figures. Even my death is cliché. Truck-kun. Of fucking course.
Black.
Just black.
No up, no down, no sound, no light, not even the echo of my own screaming anymore.
I'm floating—or maybe just existing—in this endless nothing, and the panic has already burned itself out. Now there's only the slow, grinding rage.
How long have I been here?
Minutes? Years? Centuries? Time doesn't bother showing up to work in this place.
I've counted heartbeats until I remembered I don't have a heart anymore.
I've jerked off in my head to that camgirl video so many times the fantasy's gone stale. Even imaginary nutting loses its charm after the ten-thousandth loop.
I tried praying.
I tried cursing.
I tried bargaining with whatever cosmic intern forgot to hit the "next life" button.
Nothing.
Just me, my thoughts, and the growing certainty that I'm stuck in the loading screen of the afterlife because some divine sysadmin went on smoke break.
Heaven? Fine.
Hell? Bring the pitchforks, at least it's something.
Reincarnate me as a slime, a vending machine, Elon Musk's left testicle—I don't care anymore.
Just get me the fuck OUT of this void.
I'm so bored I've started ranking my own regrets in tiers.
Tier S: never told my mom I loved her out loud.
Tier A: never got that raise.
Tier F: dying before I saw those new 4K tiddies.
And then, when I'm right on the edge of going actually, legitimately insane—
A voice.
Finally.
It's dry, bored, and sounds like it's reading off a clipboard.
"Name?"
I scream into the dark: "MOTHERFUCKER, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"
The voice sighs, like it's heard that one before.
"Congratulations. You've been selected for mandatory isekai. Please choose your world package:
A) Generic medieval fantasy with dragons, elves, and a demon lord who's surprisingly reasonable about rent.
B) Sci-fi dystopia with chrome skyscrapers, corporate overlords, and neural implants that glitch during orgasm.
C) Surprise me (warning: 40% chance you wake up as furniture)."
I don't even hesitate.
"ANYWHERE BUT HERE. NOW."
The voice actually chuckles.
"Customer service noted. Preparing transfer… Oh, and one more thing: your death was logged as 'comedy/tragedy.' Corporate says you get one free cheat skill as compensation."
I'm laughing now. Or crying. Hard to tell in the void.
"Just make sure the Wi-Fi is good in the next life. I've got a video to catch up on."
Light finally rips open the darkness.
I open my eyes and the first thing that hits me is the smell: damp straw, woodsmoke, and something vaguely like horse shit mixed with lavender.
Actual smells. Real air. I almost start crying from relief.
I'm lying on a creaky cot inside a one-room hut made of sticks and mud. Sunlight leaks through the gaps in the thatch roof like it's personally mocking the void I just escaped from. My body feels… smaller? Lighter? I sit up too fast and nearly brain myself on a low beam.
"Finally," I mutter, voice cracking like a 20-year-old's. "I'm out of that fucking place."
I stumble outside barefoot (because of course I'm barefoot; this is budget isekai) and blink at the view.
Beginner village. One hundred percent.
Wooden palisade, dirt paths, a little fountain in the middle with a statue of some goddess who's definitely judging me. Smoke curls from chimneys. Chickens cluck. Somewhere a blacksmith is already hammering at 9 a.m. like a psychopath.
And the people, holy shit the people.
A pair of human kids chase each other with sticks.
A dwarf with a beard so epic it has its own postal code hauls a barrel twice his size like it's a handbag.
Two cat-eared beastfolk (one tabby, one black panther vibe) argue over the price of fish at a stall, tails flicking.
A tall, elegant high elf in traveler's robes glides past, nose in a book, pointed ears twitching at the noise.
There's even a pair of fox-eared kitsune twins running a potion cart, nine tails total between them, flirting shamelessly with every customer.
And over by the well, a green-skinned orc woman with tusks and arms like bridge cables is gently helping an old human grandma carry water buckets. Everybody just… exists together. No pitchforks, no screaming, no "kill the demi-humans" signs. Civilized. Annoyingly wholesome.
I stare at the empty air in front of me and think, half-mocking, half-praying:
Status window. System panel. Whatever the hell you nerds call it; come out already.
The second the thought finishes, a faint blue rectangle flickers into existence right in front of my eyes, floating like it's been waiting for me to ask.
I almost yell "Holy shit!" out loud, but the memory of that endless void slaps me across the brain.
Dude. Chill. You were stuck in literal nothing for who-knows-how-long. This is the consolation prize. Don't scare the villagers.
I force myself to breathe and actually read the thing.
It's… depressingly basic.
Name: —
Occupation: Mage
Age: 20
Level: 0
EXP: 0/100
HP: 80/80
MP: 120/120
That's it. No title, no fancy background, no cute mascot. Just a boring status screen that looks like someone made it in five minutes on MS Paint.
I swipe right (because muscle memory is a bitch even in another world).
Skills
・Fireball (Level 1)
MP Cost: 10
Cooldown: 3 seconds
"Fireball. Of course it's fireball," I mutter. "I don't even know how to throw a baseball, let alone—"
Swipe again.
Skill Tree
Fireball Level 1 [0/100]
There's a little grayed-out [+] glowing faintly next to it.
I tap it, half expecting nothing.
A fucking tsunami of knowledge slams into my skull; hand signs, breathing pattern, mana circulation route, the exact way to shape the spell so it doesn't blow up in my face. Thirty seconds later I'm panting like I just ran a marathon, but I know, I KNOW how to cast Fireball now.
The panel updates:
Fireball Level 1 [0/100]
(Cast the skill 100 times to reach Level 2)
"Are you kidding me?" I whisper. "One hundred casts just to level it once? What is this, a mobile-game grind from 2012?"
Then a little envelope icon blinks in the corner. New Message.
I tap it.
[Hey kid,
This is your truck-related compensation.
Every 10 levels you'll get to pick 3 new skills from a custom list so you can actually choose how you want to fight; frontline nuker, battlefield control, glass cannon, whatever.
Build whoever you want.
Don't die again too fast; watching paint dry was more entertaining than your last life.
Good luck.
P.S. No refunds.]
The message fades into sparkles like a dickhead fairy just trolled me and flew off.
I stand there in the middle of the beginner village, chickens clucking around my boots, staring at the empty air where the panel just vanished.
A slow, crooked grin spreads across my face.
I scratch the back of my neck and glance around the sunny square.
Where the hell do I even start?
Inner me kicks in like a veteran speedrunner:
Dude. Adventurer's Guild. Register, get quests, grind EXP, become OP. Basic tutorial shit. Move your ass.
Fair point.
I spot a kindly-looking guy leaning against a cart; human, mid-forties, salt-and-pepper beard, wearing a leather apron like he just stepped off a renaissance fair poster. Perfect.
"Excuse me, sir. Where's the Adventurer's Guild?"
He sizes me up (boots, starter tunic, the universal scent of "just got isekai'd") and grins.
"Kid, you got a name yet? Can't go registering as 'Newbie #472'."
Name. Right. The status window left that field blank like a passive-aggressive DMV form.
I straighten up, slide one hand into my pocket, tilt my head just enough to look effortlessly cool, and let the perfect name roll off my tongue like I was born saying it:
"Kai. Kai Ashford."
(Yeah, I rehearsed that one in the void for three subjective centuries. Sue me.)
The guy's eyes light up. He actually gives me a finger-gun and a solid thumbs-up.
"Kai Ashford! Hell yeah, that's got protagonist energy written all over it. Name's Garrick Barrelbreaker, former C-rank tank, current professional alcoholic and cart-fixer. Pleasure's mine, kid."
He jerks his thumb over his shoulder like he's directing traffic with his whole arm.
"Guildhall's easy. Head past the fountain, take the first left at the kitsune twins' potion stall (don't let the redhead flirt with you, she'll empty your pockets faster than a pickpocket convention), straight till you smell fresh bread, hang a right at the bakery, and boom; big wooden building with a sword-and-shield sign you literally can't miss unless you're blind or stupid. You good?"
I repeat it once in my head and nod. Nailed it.
"Got it. Thanks, Garrick."
He waves with both hands like he's shooing a happy pigeon.
"Go get 'em, Kai Ashford! Make the name famous or at least don't die on the first slime quest!"
I throw him a lazy salute and start walking, boots kicking up little puffs of dust.
A blue rectangle rudely pops up in the exact center of my vision, like Windows deciding the worst possible moment to install updates.
Name: Kai Ashford
Occupation: Mage
Age: 20
Level: 0
EXP: 0/100
HP: 80/80
MP: 120/120
I flick it away with one finger. Panel vanishes with an obedient beep. Good boy.
I start walking.
Not just walking; Solo Leveling protagonist walking. Hands in pockets, shoulders loose, chin slightly tilted, the kind of stride that says "I could kill everyone here and still make it home for dinner, but I'm too cool to bother." Boots hit the dirt in perfect rhythm. A gentle breeze (summoned by the world itself, I'm sure) ruffles my hair exactly the right amount.
Nailed it.
The village is actually gorgeous in that picture-perfect fantasy way: flower boxes on every window, kids laughing, dwarves and elves sharing a joke over mugs of something frothy. Even the orc grandma is humming while watering her herbs. Harmony level: disgustingly high.
Then come the MILFs.
A curvy human baker with flour on her apron and a dangerous smile.
A busty beastkin blacksmith wiping sweat off her cleavage with a rag that's definitely not regulation size.
Twin elf sisters running the general store, both giving me the slow up-and-down.
"Hey handsome~ New in town?"
"Need someone to show you around, cutie?"
"If you're ever lonely, big sister's door is always open…"
I just raise one hand in a lazy half-wave, flash the tiniest smirk, and keep walking like I'm the final boss of this starter zone.
The effect is instant. They clutch their chests, squeal, go full fan-girl mode.
"Come drink tea with big sisters anytime, little brother!"
"We bake really good… cookies~"
"Don't be a stranger, Kai-kun!"
I don't even turn around. Just another casual flick of the fingers over my shoulder. The screams of delight behind me could power a small city.
The main street is alive: kitsune twins hawking glowing potions, a dwarf bard playing a lute that somehow drops sick beats, sunlight pouring between colorful awnings like the world itself is flexing its graphics settings.
Laughter everywhere. Smells of fresh bread and grilled meat. Actual joy in the air, unfiltered.
I let a real grin creep onto my face; no performance this time.
Yeah.
This place is pretty good.
I finally push open the heavy double doors of the guildhall and step inside.
Oh boy.
The place is massive: vaulted timber ceiling, trophy heads of monsters I don't even have names for, a whole-ass wyvern skeleton hanging from chains like interior decoration. The main hall is packed shoulder-to-shoulder with adventurers of every flavor: hulking orcs in plate armor, tiny halflings with crossbows bigger than they are, a dragonborn polishing his claws at the bar, a pair of dark elves laughing over tankards that smell like jet fuel.
And yeah, floating above every single head? Question marks.
Bright red ?????.
Except for one drunk goblin passed out under a table; his says Level 0.
So that's the rule: I can only see levels equal or lower than mine. Cute. Real humble of the system.
I weave through the crowd, dodging tails, wings, and one very enthusiastic minotaur trying to arm-wrestle a golem. My old-life bullshit detector (honed from years of office politics and sharpened to a razor in that endless void) pings hard. I spot a chill-looking guy in simple leather armor nursing a mug by the notice board. Zero malice, zero ego. Perfect.
"Excuse me, man. Where's the receptionist desk?"
He glances over, friendly smile. "New blood, huh? Straight ahead, past the quest board, left at the giant sword stuck in the floor. Can't miss it."
"Thanks, legend."
"No worries. Name's Torren, by the way. Good luck, kid."
I give him a lazy two-finger salute and keep moving.
The receptionist desk is a long wooden counter manned by exactly one woman.
Holy hell, she's gorgeous: long silver hair tied in a severe bun, sharp elven features, crimson eyes that look like they've seen the heat death of the universe and filed the paperwork for it. The only problem? Her face is locked in Permanent Deadpan Mode. Like someone told her smiling causes wrinkles and she took it personally.
I stop in front of her. "Afternoon, madam. I'd like to register as an adventurer."
She doesn't even blink. Slides a palm-sized black crystal orb across the counter. It's smooth, warm, and faintly glowing with runes.
"Hand on the orb. Fingerprint, retina scan, one strand of hair."
I raise an eyebrow. "Hair for DNA? Seriously?"
"Criminal background check," she drones in a voice that could freeze lava. "If you're wanted anywhere on the continent, the orb turns red and security drags you out back. If you're clean, we proceed."
Fair enough. I press my hand, stare into the little light, pluck a hair and drop it in the slot.
Orb flashes green.
"Clear. Name, age, occupation, current level."
"Kai Ashford. Twenty. Mage. Level zero."
She scribbles on a metal card with a stylus that literally etches the words into the surface. Real fantasy tech.
"You can update your level here anytime," she continues in the same flat tone. "Why? Because the Information Guild buys the data. Nobles, royal factions, mercenary companies; they all recruit through the broker. Update your level, get headhunted. Don't update, stay a ghost. Your choice."
I nod slowly. "And ranks? Like F through S or whatever?"
A tiny, terrifying smirk ghosts across her lips and vanishes. "Ranks are for children's games. Take whatever quest you want. Slay a dragon at level one? Be my guest. We only care if you bring proof it's done."
One more question slips out. "What if two people want the same quest?"
Her crimson eyes lock onto mine. The temperature in the room drops ten degrees. A thin blade of killing intent brushes my throat like an invisible knife.
"Then the stronger one takes it," she says softly. "And the weaker one learns why we have a back door."
My insides turn to ice, but I force my face into the coolest, most unbothered smirk I can manage.
"Cool cool. Message received."
I slide the freshly etched metal tag (my official adventurer ID) into my pocket.
"Anything else, Mr. Ashford?"
"Nah. Have a good one, miss…?"
"Call me Reyna. And Kai?"
She leans forward just a fraction.
"Try not to die too fast. Paperwork's a bitch."
I give her the lazy salute again and turn on my heel, heart still hammering.
Guild card acquired.
World's a jungle.
I pocket the guild card and turn toward the main hall, scanning the crowd like a predator who's pretending to be prey.
Parties. I need bodies between me and whatever murder-beasts live outside the village.
I'm not Sung Jin-Woo; I don't have infinite shadow soldiers or drip-fed plot armor. One bad crit from a horny dire-boar and I'm back in the void, probably with a "Return to Lobby" sign this time.
A tiny, perfectly coiffed version of Sōsuke Aizen appears on my shoulder, arms crossed, butterfly wings fluttering smugly.
"Observe. Analyze. Manipulate. We require allies, not friends. Plan A: charm. Plan B: guilt trip. Plan C: bribe with future loot shares. Plan D: fake crying. Plan E: run like hell."
I flick the imaginary Aizen off my shoulder.
"Why are you even here?"
"Because your original personality was boring," he says, vanishing with a smirk.
Whatever. Time to work.
I spot them immediately.
Two girls chilling at a corner table like they own the guild (they don't, but confidence is sexy)
One is a high-elf archer: long silver-blonde hair in a side braid, green leather armor that hugs in all the right places, bow taller than she is leaning against the wall. Ears sharp enough to slice bread.
The other is a cat beastkin, black ears and tail, dual daggers on her hips, wearing a cropped jacket that shows off a toned midriff and a mischievous fang-baring grin. Tail swishing like she's bored out of her mind.
Floating above both heads: big, beautiful Level 0.
Jackpot.
Inner Aizen reappears, adjusting invisible glasses.
"Excellent specimens. The elf will be prideful; stroke the ego. The cat will smell desperation; hide it under cockiness. Five contingency plans already loaded. Proceed."
I slide my hands into my pockets, drop my shoulders into that perfect lazy-cool slouch, and stroll over like I have all the time in the world.
Showtime.
"Ladies," I say, voice low and smooth, stopping just close enough to be confident but not creepy. "Level zeros, sitting in the loudest corner of the guild like you're waiting for someone worthy to notice you. Hate to break it to you, but your wait just ended."
I flash the half-smirk that made village MILFs spontaneously combust five minutes ago.
"Name's Kai Ashford. Mage. Fireball certified. Looking for a party that doesn't mind carrying a handsome genius to glory. You two look like you could use a competent caster who isn't a creepy old man or a screaming dwarf."
I lean one elbow on their table, tilt my head, and let the smirk widen.
"So… got room for one more zero who's about to turn into a very big number?"
Both girls stop whatever they were doing and turn to look at me at the exact same second.
The elf leans back in her chair, arms crossed under her chest, one perfect eyebrow arched like she's judging a talent show.
The catgirl's ears flick forward, tail curling into a slow question mark, golden eyes narrowing into slits while a fang-baring smirk creeps across her face.
They're sizing me up the way cool kids size up the new transfer student:
Posture? Check.
Voice? Low and steady.
Didn't flinch under their stare? Double check.
Smirk calibrated to exactly 7/10 arrogance? Triple check.
Two full seconds of silence.
Then the elf gives the tiniest nod.
Catgirl's tail does a satisfied swish.
"He'll do," the elf says, voice like wind chimes made of ice.
"More than do," the catgirl purrs, kicking out the chair opposite them with one foot. "Sit, pretty boy. You just passed the vibe check."
I slide into the seat like I own the table, leaning back with one arm draped over the chair next to me.
Inner Aizen is somewhere clapping slowly in approval.
The elf extends a slender hand first. "Liora Sylvara. Archer. Level zero, but my aim doesn't care about numbers."
The catgirl flicks two fingers in a lazy salute, tail curling around her own ankle. "Nyx. Rogue, scout, occasional pickpocket of hearts. Also level zero. For now."
I shake Liora's hand (cool, firm grip), then bump fists with Nyx because of course the catgirl wants a fist bump.
"Kai Ashford," I say, letting the smirk turn into a real grin. "Mage. One whole Fireball in the chamber and zero shame about hiding behind prettier teammates."
Nyx snorts. "Smart. We like smart."
Liora actually smiles; small, but it's there. "Bold enough to admit it too. Refreshing."
Nyx leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes gleaming. "So, Kai Ashford with the protagonist name… what's the plan? Goblins? Herbs? Saving the world by next week?"
I shrug, spinning a copper coin I definitely didn't have five seconds ago across my knuckles (thank you, void boredom practice).
"Start small, stack bodies, get rich, never return to the void. In that order. You two in or do I have to keep looking for people who can handle my level of cool?"
Liora rolls her eyes, but she's already pulling out a blank party registration parchment.
Nyx just laughs, low and dangerous and delighted.
"Welcome to the party, Kai."
"Try not to burn the forest down on day one," Liora adds dryly.
"No promises," I shoot back.
The three of us clink imaginary glasses.
Level zeros, zero reputation, maximum vibe.
Liora tilts her head, golden eyes curious. "So, Kai Ashford, what skills did you start with? Don't tell me you're one of those trust-fund mages who bought a rare spell on day one."
Nyx leans in, tail flicking with interest. "Yeah, spill. If it's Fireball, that crystal runs like a thousand gold in the capital. Your family must be loaded."
Family.
The word hits like a truck all over again.
Mini-Aizen appears on my shoulder in a tiny captain's haori, pushing up his glasses.
"Already prepared, as expected of me. Tragic orphan backstory: activate."
I let my gaze drift to the table, voice dropping just enough to sound real without overacting.
"Nah. No family. Orphan. Grew up in a little church orphanage on the edge of the kingdom. The director; Sister Elara; basically raised me. Saved up for years selling herbs and doing odd jobs around the temple just to buy me that one Fireball crystal before I left. Told me, 'Go make something of yourself, Kai. Don't waste this.'"
I give a soft, bittersweet chuckle. "So yeah… not rich. Just someone who had a really kind old lady believe in him."
Dead silence for three full seconds.
Liora's ears droop a little, her usual ice-queen mask cracking clean in half. "Kai… we're so sorry. That was incredibly rude of us."
Nyx's tail stops mid-swish. Her golden eyes go wide and watery. "Gods, we're assholes. Here we are flexing our starter gear and you… you had Sister Elara give you her life savings…"
Inner Aizen dusts off his hands, smug as hell.
"Emotional sympathy: acquired. Loyalty +30. Future betrayal resistance: drastically lowered. Flawless execution."
I mentally flip him off.
You're a monster.
"Thank you," he whispers back, fading with a shit-eating grin.
I wave it off like it's no big deal, flashing a small, lopsided smile. "Hey, it's fine. Honestly? Makes me wanna grind twice as hard so I can go back one day and build her a whole new orphanage. So really, you just gave me extra motivation to carry you two freeloaders."
Nyx punches my arm lightly, ears still flat. "Shut up, idiot. We're carrying YOU now."
Liora nods firmly, already sliding the party registration parchment toward me. "Whatever quest we take, first big payout; half goes to Sister Elara. Non-negotiable."
I blink.
Did… did that actually work too well?
Inner Aizen gives a slow golf clap.
I sign the parchment with a flourish.
Party officially formed.
And somehow, in under five minutes, I went from cool mysterious mage to the group's tragic cinnamon roll.