I died like every other forgettable extra in an isekai story: stupidly, suddenly, and without dignity.
It was late. Rain hammered the city streets like it had a personal grudge. I was walking home after pulling another all-nighter debugging code that refused to behave, earbuds blasting the Dandadan opening for the third time that week because the beat matched my heartbeat when I was this sleep-deprived.
Headlights flared too bright, too close.
No dramatic slow-motion. No inner monologue about regrets or unlived dreams.
Just the wet slap of tires on asphalt, the crunch of metal meeting meat, and then—
Nothing.
Absolute black. No tunnel. No floating above my body. Just void so complete it felt like someone turned off the universe's power switch.
Then a voice scraped across the silence. Rough. Tired. Annoyed.
"Human. That was embarrassing."
I tried to speak. No mouth. No lungs. Just the thought: *Who the hell are you?*
"Doesn't matter. Call me the quota guy. You're dead. Boringly. I've got a slot open for reincarnation. You want it or not?"
My mind reeled. Reincarnation. Actual isekai. The cheat I'd joked about a thousand times while reading late into the night.
*What are the options?*
"Options are limited. You pick the world. I pick the handicap. Fair trade."
I didn't even hesitate.
*Dandadan.*
Silence. Then a low, rasping chuckle that made my non-existent spine crawl.
"You sure? That place eats virgins for breakfast. Literally. Turbo Granny's got a collection going."
*I know. That's why.*
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Bold. Stupid. I respect it."
Something shifted in the dark—like a contract being signed in blood I no longer had.
"System assigned: Echo Evolution.
Rules are simple:
- You copy what you survive seeing.
- Weak at first. Stays weak unless you keep almost dying.
- No status screens screaming numbers at you.
- No auto-win buttons.
- And yeah… your 'last pride' is fair game. Granny's curse doesn't discriminate."
A cold weight settled in what used to be my chest. Like someone had installed a second heartbeat made of static and bad decisions.
"One last thing," the voice said. "I'm dropping you in Kamigoe City. Not episode zero. Not episode fifty. Somewhere in the middle. You'll have to figure out the timeline yourself. No spoilers."
*Wait—*
Too late.
The void flipped like a coin toss gone wrong.
Colors exploded. Pain stitched itself back into bones. Smells hit first: incense, old wood, faint cigarette smoke. Then sound: a ceiling fan creaking overhead.
I opened eyes that weren't mine anymore.
A small Japanese-style room. Futon under me. School uniform draped over a chair. Flip phone buzzing on the tatami mat.
I sat up slowly.
My hands looked younger. Slimmer. No scars from years of typing. Just smooth teenage skin.
I touched my face. Sharp jaw. Messy black hair falling into eyes that stared back from a cracked mirror across the room—Japanese features, tired expression, nothing remarkable.
A quiet ping echoed inside my skull. No window. No fanfare. Just words forming behind my eyelids like frost on glass.
Echo Evolution – Lv.1
Passive: Supernatural Sense (weak)
You feel the residue of yokai and alien presence like pins on your skin.
Active: Echo Mimic (weak)
Observe → survive → copy faint traces. Costs stamina. Often fails.
Current stamina: 100/100
Last pride status: Intact. Enjoy it while it lasts.
I stared at the mental text for a long, silent moment.
Then I laughed. A short, broken sound.
"Of course," I muttered to the empty room. "Of course the system's first message is a dick joke."
Outside the window, Kamigoe City stretched under gray morning light. Telephone poles. Low rooftops. In the distance, the unmistakable silhouette of that tunnel.
The place where everything starts.
The place where Turbo Granny waits.
And somewhere in this city, a psychic high-school girl and her ball-cursed boyfriend were probably already knee-deep in the next disaster.
I had no plot armor.
No overwhelming power.
No destiny.
Just a garbage system, a second chance, and the very real knowledge that in this world, your last shred of pride was the first thing anyone with claws would try to take.
I stood up on legs that still felt borrowed.
First step: don't die today.
Second step: don't let Granny find me.
Third step: maybe—maybe—survive long enough to meet the people who actually know how to fight back.
The flip phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
I opened it with shaking fingers.
One message:
"Welcome to Kamigoe, loser. Try not to lose your balls before lunch. – Management"
I closed the phone.
Took a deep breath.
And stepped toward the door.