Here's a fun philosophical question: if you had to pick a way to die that scholars would find really embarrassing in a hundred years, would you go with "hit by truck" or "on the toilet"? Because historically, both have claimed some pretty important people.
Hiroshi Tanaka thought about this while restocking instant ramen at 2:47 AM in a FamilyMart that smelled like cleaning products and bad life choices.
The podcast in his earbuds was going on about isekai tropes. Something about Truck-kun being "brilliant narrative design." He snorted and muttered at the miso ramen packets. "Yeah, because vehicular manslaughter is cosmic kindness."
Twenty-eight years old. Night shift at a convenience store. Job interview in six hours that he'd definitely bomb because—oh shit, did he iron his shirt? No. He didn't. Great. Add that to the list of things he'd screwed up this week.
His brain was helpful that way. One small problem, and it'd spiral into a full catalog of failures. It was like speedrunning anxiety.
If his life was an RPG, he'd min-maxed the wrong stats. INT 15, CHA 3, WIS maybe 8 on a good day. Perfect build for a support character who dies in the tutorial.
The door chimed. A drunk salaryman stumbled in, grabbed a Strong Zero from the cooler, and squinted at Hiroshi.
"You living the dream, kid?"
Hiroshi's customer service smile activated automatically. "Every night, sir. Would you like a bag?"
The dream is REM sleep. Haven't had that in three days.
The guy left. The store went quiet again. Just fluorescent lights buzzing and the hum of refrigerators. Hiroshi finished the ramen restock and grabbed the window cleaner.
3:00 AM. The loneliest hour in Tokyo. Not silent—cities never are—but muffled. Waiting.
He sprayed the glass and wiped. Outside, the street was empty except for—
Movement.
A kid. Maybe six years old, in pajamas, chasing a ball into the intersection.
Hiroshi's brain kicked into overdrive immediately. Where are the parents? Is this a prank? What if they think I'm creepy for watching? Should I call someone? Am I overreacting?
The kid stepped into the street.
Red light.
Okay, someone will stop them. Parents are probably right behind—
Truck engine. Growing louder.
Hiroshi's head turned. Delivery truck, running the red light, not slowing down.
His brain did the math instantly. Truck speed plus kid position plus time equals dead child.
"DON'T!" his brain screamed. "You'll die or get sued or both!"
His body was already moving.
He didn't remember dropping the cleaning supplies. Didn't remember bursting through the door. His legs just ran, and his hands just reached, and he shoved the kid hard—harder than he meant to, panic strength—and the kid went flying toward the sidewalk.
The truck hit Hiroshi instead.
Pain wasn't the right word. It was too big for a word. His body became a ragdoll, airborne, then slamming into asphalt. Copper taste. Couldn't feel his legs. Couldn't feel much of anything.
The kid was crying. Alive, though. The truck driver was screaming into a phone.
Hiroshi stared at the streetlight above him and thought clearly for the first time in years.
Of course I die in an anime protagonist way. My life was already a joke. At least the punchline was decent.
The kid's voice, distant. "Someone help!"
Kid's alive, Hiroshi thought. That counts for something, right?
Vision went grey. Then black. Sound cut out.
The pavement was warm against his cheek.
Maybe I wasn't completely useless.
Darkness.
Waking up was weird.
Hiroshi was standing—or floating?—in white nothing. No walls. No floor. No up or down. Just white and him.
He patted himself. Body was back. No injuries. Still wearing his FamilyMart uniform, which seemed unfair. If he was having an afterlife hallucination, couldn't he at least get a costume change?
"Interesting."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
Hiroshi spun around. A glowing humanoid shape stood—floated?—in front of him. No face. No features. Just light in a vaguely person-shaped outline.
"Uh," Hiroshi said. "Is this the part where you judge me, or—"
"You died a hero's death but lived a coward's life," the entity said. Its voice had no echo. No emotion. Pure admin vibes. "Perfect."
"Can I just stay dead? This seems like paperwork."
"You've been selected for dimensional relocation."
Hiroshi blinked. "Selected? Was this a lottery? Because I never win anything."
"You weren't our first choice." The entity's tone didn't change. "Or our hundredth. But you meet specific criteria."
"What criteria? 'Most likely to die immediately?'"
The entity didn't deny it.
"That's not reassuring," Hiroshi said. "That's the opposite of reassuring."
"Would you prefer to return to being dead?"
Hiroshi opened his mouth. Closed it. Thought about his apartment. His job. The interview he'd already failed by dying. The endless spiral of anxiety that had been his brain for ten years.
Being dead had been the most peaceful he'd felt in ages.
But also, non-existence seemed boring.
"What are my other options?"
"There are no other options."
"Then I guess I'm going." Hiroshi crossed his arms. "But I'm filing a complaint."
The entity started glowing brighter. Hiroshi's brain caught up to what was happening.
"Wait, what happens now? Do I get a character sheet? Class selection? Cheat skills?"
"You'll receive appropriate capabilities."
"That's vague! I need specifics! What does—"
The light intensified. The white void became blinding. Hiroshi threw his arm up over his eyes.
"—appropriate mean?!"
Reality dissolved.
The last thing he heard before the universe reassembled itself was a new voice, calm and formal:
"Welcome to the Nexus of Ascension, Hero Candidate."
The word "Candidate" pinged something in his brain, but he was too busy being ripped through dimensions to process it.
This was going to suck.
He knew it was going to suck.
But at least it'd be different.