The world isn't as sparkling as everyone pretends it is. They say "go outside," "gaze at the stars," "find a hobby." What a load of utter crap! Complete, utter bullshit!

I took the advice. And look where it landed me? Now I'm trapped in the body of some MIDDLE-CLASS GODDAMN NOBODY! It's a nightmare, the worst kind of cosmic joke, and it's my reality now. I wish I could say it was just a bad dream. But what did I do to deserve this? Absolutely NOTHING! Yet here I am, marooned in the hellish world of this pathetic excuse for a novel.

Who am I? I was Ray Redland, heir to the vast Redland fortune. Insane wealth was all I knew. The company practically ran itself, and my life was a ceaseless parade of luxury. Then someone had the bright idea of suggesting I pick up a hobby.

So, I did. I chose the easiest one imaginable—novels. I stumbled onto a random book on some obscure site, and it turned out to be the single worst piece of trash I'd ever laid eyes on. I tore into it in the comments, savagely ripping apart its every flaw. And just like that, I'm summoned by some pompous goddess who informs me that writing is HER hobby.

I told her she should just give up on life after producing such a godawful book. And BAM! Next thing I know, I'm in the world of Grand Cross. End of story. Welcome to my personal hell.