Rain poured steadily from a brooding sky, shrouding the city in a misty haze. On the rooftop of a 24-story building stood Riku Tanaka, a 26-year-old man whose style teetered between "generic office worker" and "anime protagonist." His tie fluttered dramatically in the wind, though its effect was somewhat diminished by a noticeable coffee stain.
His feet hovered precariously over the edge, as though he was waiting for the universe to grant him a double-jump ability.
He stared down at the hazy cascade of rain blending into the chaotic city below, his voice heavy with sarcasm and despair. "You probably think I'm about to jump, right? Relax, I'm not that kind of idiot," he muttered, the words dissolving into the downpour. His eyes narrowed, searching the heavens as if daring them to respond. "Anyway, Where are you hiding, God?" he muttered, letting the rain sting his face. "Are you some cosmic con artist? I've done my part, played by the rules. But no miracles, no divine intervention… "
He scoffed, then snorted. "Truck-kun had one job. At least isekai protagonists get cheat skills and harems. Meanwhile, I get stuck in the grind of bills, bad coffee, and a string of meaningless days. What do I get? Taxes and vending machines that eat my change."
Riku shook his head, memories flashing by like an unwelcome montage, vivid and unrelenting: his father's towering figure cloaked in shadow, his voice cold and cryptic, leaving scars that outlasted any wound; his mother's gentle smile extinguished in an instant, leaving behind an aching void; and the relentless mockery of classmates, their sneers and whispered taunts echoing like daggers in his fragile spirit. Each scene stabbed at him, refusing to blur into oblivion.
"My father," he muttered, clenching rain-soaked fists. "A real piece of work. Murdered my mom when I was seven and told me, 'God forgives, but you still gotta take out the trash.' What does that even mean? I was seven..!!"
His school days weren't much better. "Being a Yakuza kid didn't exactly win me friends. No one trades Pokémon cards with the 'mobster's brat.' My social circle was basically me, Goku, and the Straw Hats."
Then came his stint at a research lab. "Thought science would be my escape. Turns out, everyone's either a robot or running on caffeine. And then… I met her." He paused dramatically, as though waiting for a poignant soundtrack to swell.
"My first love. My only love. The one bright ember in the charred ruins of my existence. She wasn't just my solace; she was my salvation, a fragile tether holding me to this cruel, indifferent world. Two days ago, that tether snapped—not by chance, not by some cruel twist of fate, but by violence.
It wasn't just a car crash. It was murder cloaked in faith, a cruel, calculated byproduct of a war waged by zealots. Two rival cults, each drenched in self-righteousness, turned the streets into their battlefield. Their so-called 'holy war' demanded blood, and she—beautiful, innocent, irreplaceable—was caught in the crossfire.
Losing someone you love is unbearable, they say. But have they felt this? Have they held the shattered body of their world, knowing her death wasn't just meaningless—it was sacrilegious? Not a senseless tragedy, but a deliberate act of destruction, justified by twisted scriptures and poisoned faith.
They took her from me in the name of their gods. Gods too cruel, too silent, too absent to stop them. What kind of deity looks down on their creation and watches as love is traded for carnage? What kind of 'divine plan' demands the innocent pay the price for the dogmas of the damned?
She didn't deserve this. Her laugh, her warmth, the way she could pull me from my darkest corners—none of it deserved to be extinguished, least of all for their holy war.
I loved her with a ferocity I never thought possible. She knew my scars, my madness, the shadows that crept inside me—and she loved me still. She made the wreckage of my life bearable, even beautiful. And now? Now, I am left to navigate this hellscape without her. Every step I take feels heavier, as if the weight of her absence is crushing me from the inside.
If there is a god, they should tremble. For the price of her life is one I will make the heavens themselves reckon with."
He forced a bitter smile. "Life's a cosmic joke, huh?"
Tipping his head back, he let the rain cascade over his face, his chest tightening with a mixture of defiance and despair. "If there's a God—if you're out there—this is it," he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice cracking. "Show up. Prove you exist. Show me the face of a coward—stop hiding behind your silence and these storms! Is this all you can do? A flash of light and thunder to drown out a cry for answers?"
Arms outstretched, he bellowed, "COME ON, SHOW YOURSELF, YOU F***ING GO—"
In a flash, lightning split the sky, cutting him off mid-rant. Thunder roared, and the world dissolved into an all-encompassing light.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, a voice—deep, resonant, and palpably annoyed—spoke from the void.
---
Riku's eyes fluttered open, his head pounding as though he'd head-butted a thunderstorm. His vision swam, and the world around him burst with an almost dreamlike vibrancy. The colours seemed alive, pulsing with an energy that felt both mesmerizing and disorienting, as though the very air was charged with something otherworldly. He stared at his hands—slender, delicate, and unfamiliar.
"What… happened?" he mumbled, wobbling like a marionette with tangled strings. Catching his reflection in a puddle, he saw flowing robes, intricate runes, and a pointy hat.
"Is this… a mage outfit?" His voice rose in panic. "Oh no. What the heck? Am I summoned or something?"
Before he could fully grasp his situation, a shadow loomed over him. He looked up to find a tall, imposing elf with razor-sharp features. Her expression was unyielding, etched with a cold hostility that sent shivers down his spine. Her piercing eyes, brimming with contempt, seemed to dissect his very existence, as though determining whether he was worth her time. The eerie light of this otherworldly realm gleamed off her polished armor, enhancing her ethereal yet intimidating presence. Each step she took was deliberate, her movements radiating authority that froze Riku in a cocktail of awe and dread. Her massive sword, a deadly fusion of artistry and menace, looked like it belonged in the hands of a legend, not someone who could end his life without a second thought."Uh… hi?" Riku ventured, offering a nervous wave. "You wouldn't happen to know where the nearest Starbucks is, would you? I just got here."
The elf didn't respond. Her eyes narrowed, gleaming with fierce determination, and her grip on the hilt tightened, veins standing out against her pale hand. Her golden hair flowed wildly in the air. With a sharp intake of breath, she moved—a blur of motion. Her blade arced through the ethereal light, slicing through the tense air with a sound like a whisper of death, as if the world itself held its breath.
Riku's brain short-circuited. "WAIT, WAIT, WAIT! TIME OUT!"
Too late. The sword arced perfectly, cutting him cleanly in half, and Riku found himself staring at his bisected body.
Darkness engulfed him.
"Why didn't I just stick to Truck-kun?"
The last thought echoed in his mind before everything faded into nothingness.