It was the kind of day that felt like it never even started.
A dull, colorless sky spread itself over the city, heavy and leaden, casting a pall that made even the most vibrant parts of life feel muted.
In my tiny, dim apartment, the gloom outside had settled comfortably indoors, as though the weather had climbed in through the window to keep me company.
At thirty years old, I'd become the very thing I'd once sworn to avoid: a jobless, unshaven recluse, a NEET in every sense.
Scattered around me like some sad modern-day armor lay piles of empty ramen cups and grease-stained pizza boxes, relics of a life lived at half-capacity, a life I'd stopped wanting but somehow kept dragging forward.
In a way, my only connection to the world was this laptop—the one before me now, flickering a dim blue on my face in the near-darkness.
It was an odd portal, this screen. It was all I had to escape the isolation, my only window into a life that didn't feel like a prison.
On it, I scrolled, hours blurring together, passing through endless isekai forums with their endless posts on reincarnation and new life in other worlds.
How I Became the Demon King's Advisor.
Reincarnated as a Sword.
I Was Summoned as the Hero of Light.
Each title was a little spark, a promise of a life filled with purpose and adventure, magic, mystery, and women who would look at you like you were someone special.
Not this—this mundane nightmare, where nothing happened, where the walls seemed to close in a little more each day, where I was fading away like a ghost in my own life.
"Why them?"
I muttered under my breath, my fingers shoveling another handful of potato chips into my mouth.
"Why do they get to go? Why do they get to escape?"
My voice, small and hollow, drifted into the empty space, swallowed up by silence.
I couldn't even be angry anymore.
I felt… worn down, tired in ways I didn't know how to name.
The days on the calendar had slowly piled up, each crossed out in thick, angry red lines, marking another day that nothing had changed.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. I was drowning in this monotony.
"This life is garbage"
I muttered. The words came out louder, stronger, but the truth of them stung all the more.
If only I could escape, too.
Leave this prison behind, start fresh in a world that needed me.
Even if it meant being something absurd, something inhuman—a sword, a slime, a rock.
It didn't matter, as long as it was somewhere, anywhere else.
But here I was, crossing out days, waiting for nothing.
At some point, I found myself typing into the forum.
Scrolling, I stumbled upon a thread I hadn't seen before, titled:
"How to Get Reincarnated 100% Guaranteed."
It was like a sign, beckoning me.
My heart beat a little faster as I clicked on it, a small thrill tingling in my fingers.
The post read:
"Dying isn't enough. The gods only reincarnate those who deserve it—heroes, people who sacrifice themselves for others. If you want to get reincarnated, do something heroic. Save someone's life. Stop a robbery. Take a bullet for a stranger. Then, and only then, the gods will reward you."
A heroic act?
I leaned back, sighing bitterly.
If reincarnation required heroism, I was out of luck.
The closest I'd ever come to helping anyone was grinding in MMOs so noobs could join my high-level quests.
Surely that didn't count.
But the idea stuck, weaving itself into my thoughts.
The only way out was to be a hero.
If I wanted to escape this endless, crushing monotony, I'd have to find a way.
The more I thought about it, the less ridiculous it sounded.
If a heroic act was my ticket out, then I would do it. I'd do anything to escape this.
With a final, resigned groan, I pushed my chair back.
I stood, my joints creaking, my legs stiff from disuse.
But beneath it all, there was something else: determination, a clarity that sliced through the numbness.
"Fine"
I muttered to myself.
"I'll do it. I'll find someone to save. I'll be a hero."
The sun, uncomfortably bright, stung my eyes as I stepped out of the apartment for the first time in days.
The noise of the city swelled around me, a distant roar, as if I'd surfaced from a deep underwater silence.
People bustled past, hurrying somewhere important, lives filled with meaning, with purpose—lives I couldn't imagine anymore.
I drifted along, trying to stay out of their way, waiting, hoping for some sign.
How long was I supposed to wait?
Did heroism just… happen?
Then I saw it—a crowd gathered at a nearby crosswalk, people pointing, their voices rising in alarm.
A runaway truck tore down the street, careening out of control, heading straight for a woman and her child who were frozen in its path.
I didn't think; I couldn't think. The moment seized me, and I felt my legs move.
This was it—my chance.
If I threw myself into the path of the truck, if I saved them, then everything would change.
I would get what I wanted.
My heart pounded as I ran, each step a surge of desperation, of hope.
My vision narrowed to a single point—the woman, the child, the looming metal.
This was it.
This was my way out.
I barely registered her widening eyes, her cry of alarm.
All I knew was the moment I hit the truck.
Impact.
My body twisted, weightless, every nerve exploding in white-hot agony as I felt myself lift into the air.
I couldn't scream.
The pain swallowed everything, filling my mind with darkness.
This was it—I was going to wake up somewhere else, a new life beginning.
But then, the pain didn't fade.
I opened my eyes, groggy, as if emerging from a dream.
Light cut through my vision, bright and unforgiving.
A sterile ceiling came into focus, and I felt the weight of something heavy pressing down on me.
I blinked, and then it all sank in: the antiseptic smell, the beeping monitors.
I was still in my world.
I was in a hospital bed.
This wasn't another world.
I was still here, still alive.
I groaned, turning my head.
Two nurses stood beside me, watching with vague interest, in plain uniforms, without a hint of the mystical healers I'd imagined.
I was still in my broken, aching body, and reality crashed over me like a wave.
I wasn't reincarnated; I hadn't escaped.
"He's waking up"
One of the nurses said, her voice distant.
"How do you feel?"
The other asked gently.
"Like… like I got hit by a truck"
I muttered, barely able to process the irony.
"You were very lucky"
She said as she adjusted a tube connected to my side.
"That truck should've killed you."
I almost laughed.
Lucky?
If she only knew.
I was lucky in the worst possible way, stuck in the same life I'd tried so desperately to leave.
She continued talking, her voice a soft hum, listing my injuries—broken ribs, internal bruising, fractured legs—but none of it mattered.
My body would heal, but my soul… that was something else entirely.
Hours passed, maybe days, in that sterile room.
I stared up at the ceiling, hollow, empty.
Why was I still here?
I'd finally gathered the courage to do something, and now I was back to where I'd started, bruised and broken, tethered to a world that held no more hope for me than before.
A sharp knock pulled me out of my spiral.
A man in a cheap suit entered, his clipboard in hand, a detective by the look of him.
"Keisuke Mori?"
He asked, glancing down at his notes without waiting for my response.
"Detective Taichi Sasaki. I need to ask you about the incident."
I blinked.
The incident?
I had almost forgotten what had brought me here in the first place.
"The accident"
He continued.
"Witnesses say you pushed a mother and her child out of the way before getting hit yourself. Pretty reckless thing to do."
"Did I?"
I managed to croak, unsure.
I'd only been thinking about myself, hadn't I?
It was all a blur.
But there had been that woman and her child… hadn't there?
"Are they… okay?"
I asked, surprised by how the question slipped out.
The detective nodded, almost impressed.
"They're fine. No injuries. Thanks to you."
I felt his eyes on me, as if searching for something.
"Why'd you do it?"
He asked, an edge of curiosity in his voice.
I could have told him the truth—that it wasn't about them, that I'd only wanted to die.
But a strange embarrassment filled me, a shame I didn't fully understand.
"It just… felt like the right thing to do"
I said, voice barely above a whisper.
He didn't look convinced, but he didn't press me further.
"Well, lucky for you, you're alive. Not many people would walk away from that."
Walk away?
I thought bitterly.
More like dragged back into the same hell I'd tried to leave.
He asked a few more questions, but I barely heard him.
When he left, I was alone again, and the emptiness pressed down, heavier than before.
I had risked everything, thrown myself into the abyss, and for what?
I was still here, bruised and broken in this same, colorless life.
Days passed in that hospital room, every one feeling heavier than the last.
At night, the quiet hum of the machines surrounded me, a constant reminder of my failure.
I'd tried to escape, tried to leave it all behind, and instead, I'd been yanked back into the same dark reality.
And for what?
There was no new beginning waiting for me, no grand adventure, no world that needed saving. Just this—this empty, hollow life, like a prison I couldn't escape.
I closed my eyes, letting the sounds of the machines lull me into darkness.
Whatever came next, I knew it wasn't what I had hoped for.