"Holy mother of Hell. What the actual fuck," a teenage boy with black hair cursed as he looked around the room that he was in.
The room was absolutely massive; it was probably bigger than the most expensive hotel room he'd ever been in before.
Three sections of the room were separated not by doors but by openings in the wall.
Firstly was the bedroom that was in the middle with a king bed pressed against the wall that had openings on either side of the bed that led to the lounge/study room. On the left side of the bed was a nightstand.
In the lounge was a sofa pressed against three windows that were tightly separated from each other. Opposite the sofa was a large bookshelf filled to the brim with stories and informational texts on the same wall that the bed was touching.
Other than the sofa and the bookshelf, there were a few plants in the corners of the section that looked full of life, as though whoever had been taking care of them was meticulous with everything down to the last drop of water.
Beside the sofa and one of the plants in the corner was a desk that also served as a drawer on either side. There were also more books on the two shelves that were also on either side of the desk.
Both the bedroom and the lounge had sliding glass doors that led to a single balcony that overlooked a view from four floors up; it was decorated with flowers and a hammock that had a tarp over it in case of bad weather.
Lastly, the bathroom was the third section, with two openings on the wall that led to it, on the opposite side of the room from the lounge.
There was a mini-section that was kind of its own room in the middle with two sinks, a bathtub, and a shower enclosed in glass.
On either side of the mini-section, directly where the openings were, were closets, and tucked away in each area of the closet was a toilet that had three walls on all sides except the front, creating this greater sense of privacy.
Ives Saint-Dominique began to assess his situation as he got out of the king bed that felt so comfortable it could've been made out of feathers plucked from the wings of angels.
"Is this... is this what I think it is?" he groaned. "I had a feeling this would happen one day to someone. I just didn't think that someone was going to be me."
There was a saying that had been etched into his brain at a young age when he was taught it by his science teacher, who had a missing front tooth and smelled like oranges every morning:
"The universe is infinite. That means there are infinite possibilities thus, everything can exist and be true. And when you factor in the idea of the multiverse, infinity becomes even more infinite. Anything that can happen will eventually happen regardless of how small the chance it is," was what she told the class one morning after coming to school, having clearly been through something tragic.
The tragic event was she had been through a terrible breakup, but that's a story that will be left untold.
Ives began to ponder the possibilities: was he chosen randomly out of the billions of humans on his home planet, or was there a reason as to why he was picked?
Mathematically, the probability of being the one out of billions was low compared to being the one who had done something thus, he was specifically chosen.
"Likely the latter," he muttered. "If that's the case, then what? What did I do?"
As if to answer his question, a bolt of lightning appeared from the ceiling, striking a piece of paper that was "coincidentally" on the nightstand.
Despite the lightning, the paper didn't burn into ashes. Instead, black words formed on the page, creating a letter.
Was this the explanation he was searching for?
Grabbing the paper, he began to read it out loud, "Hey dipshit... dipshit?"
The introduction of the letter stunned him. Ives did not expect that sort of language whatsoever. Shaking off the momentary confusion, he continued reading.
"Hey, dipshit, this is God. No. Not the God you're thinking of. I wasn't the one who made your world. I'm not any of the gods that you Earthlings pray to."
'So God is the one who sent me into this world...'
"If you're wondering why you've woken up in the body of Ives Saint-Dominique (perhaps that name sounds familiar to you), look no further than this."
Below was a box that looked like a screenshot that was taken from an electronic device. Inside the box was a circular profile picture of a squirrel shooting a small bow at a target.
"Is that... my profile picture?" Ives uttered as he immediately recognized it.
Beside the profile picture was a bunch of words. Specifically, it was a bunch of words that made up a review – a novel review.
As he read the review that he had written a few days ago, Ives nervously gulped; he was starting to understand where he was now. This was the world of the novel that he had insulted; otherwise, why would this specific review be mentioned in the letter by God?
He continued reading the letter, "If you haven't guessed by now, this review you left on my novel is the reason why I've brought you here."
"..."
"God writes novels?" Ives said in disbelief.
As if he predicted Ives' reaction, the letter continued, "Yes. I, God, write novels. And quite frankly, you're here in this world not because of any grand reason other than the fact that your review pissed me off. Since you think that my writing is so bad and that you dislike how 'Mary Sue' the protagonist was, I erased him from the face of this world. Congratulations, Ives, you are now in charge of saving this world from destruction. Good luck. And if you haven't guessed it by now, you're Ives Saint-Dominique, the cannon fodder that died in the first arc."
Ives reread the letter a few more times as he was in complete shock. His heart was pacing faster than a prized horse.
"Uhm... God, if you can hear me... I don't want to undermine your abilities, but I didn't actually read your novel. I was just trolling, so... can I please go home?" he asked while looking upwards, assuming that God was up there in the heavens.
Zap!
A lightning bolt struck the letter he was holding in his hands. The original message was erased and was replaced by a new one.
"Don't care. Deal with it. Either die like the cannon fodder that you now are, or go deal with the end of the world before everything is destroyed. No, you don't get to return to your original world if you die. If you die, you die."
Ives wanted to tear the letter into a million pieces and swing two middle fingers into the air but held back.
"But as I said, I didn't read your novel. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do. I don't know who the main villain is. Am I fighting a demon king?"
Zap!
"Fuck you. Do you think I'd write something as generic as a demon king into my novel?"
'I didn't know God was this profane.'
"If you get down on your knees and bang your head a hundred times, I'll send you a little present to help increase your chance of survival from 0.0001% to 1%."
Without hesitation, Ives dropped down to his knees and began banging his head on the floor. Halfway through the required amount, a voice asked from the other side of the door that connected the entrance hallway to his bedroom, "Young master. Are you okay? Is something wrong?"
Ives, still banging his head, worried that if he stopped to rest, God would count that as restarting, lied, "I'm fine. I'm training."
After that lackluster explanation for the commotion he was causing, the maid left, not daring to question her young master.
'Ninety-nine, one hundred. And just in case I miscounted,' he banged his head on the floor five more times.
As he lifted his head off the floor and sat up straight, he felt dizzy. Not only did it hurt, but it felt like he could see birds flying around his head, like in the cartoons he watched growing up.
Zap!
Picking up the paper he placed beside him, he read:
"Good doggy..."
'This God is rather sadistic. Was my review really that bad?'
He thought about the review he had just reviewed a few moments ago and bit his lips. It was indeed – that bad. Knowing now that it was God who had written that novel he was trolling, Ives felt glad that he wasn't just struck dead with a million lightning bolts and burned to nothingness by holy fire.
"As a reward for the satisfying display you just showed me, I will grant you something that even the original protagonist didn't have the luxury of possessing. A system. That's right, the heavily sought-after system that every isekai protagonist abuses to become overpowered."
As soon as he read the last word of the letter, the paper in between his hands caught on fire suddenly. Letting go before it could burn him, he watched as it turned into nothing, leaving not even a single speck of ash behind.
Before he could say another word, a screen suddenly appeared in his mind. He could see it in his imagination, which was rather convenient because it wouldn't obscure anything in his real vision.
Just as he was about to thank God for throwing him a bone, he stopped in his tracks once he noticed the specifics of this system that he was given.
To say that the system was one of the worst systems he's ever seen being used by an isekai protagonist would be an understatement. Essentially, the system had only one function. In exchange for answers to any questions he may have, he had to pay the system.
Pay with what? Coins?
Nope. The way he had to pay the system was with pain. Depending on the value of the information he was seeking, he had to endure more pain.
"...Fuck," he swore as he banged his head on the floor.
After settling down a bit, he asked his first question.
"What's the most important thing I need to do at the moment?"
Without asking for confirmation or any warning, Ives immediately felt a pain that was comparable to having his limbs pulled apart in opposite directions; thankfully, it only lasted a brief moment, which was probably due to the content of the question.
[The most important thing you need at the moment is the memories of the body that you inhabit. Would you like to pay to acquire the memories in exchange for pain?] a monotone robotic female voice sounded in his head.
"It can give me Ives' memories? I guess it is technically... information."
It didn't take long for him to make up his mind.
"Yes. I'll—" Before he could finish his sentence, the transaction was made.
The thing about the pain exchange was that when it happened, no matter how painful it was, you weren't able to scream. No matter how much Ives opened his mouth and made the screaming face, not a single sound escaped from him.
As memories began pouring into Ives' mind, he was simultaneously cursing at God. 'Fuck you! Fuck you and your shitty novel! I don't care that I didn't read it! The story was probably dog water anyway. Fuck you! Fuck you! AHHHHH! Why is this so painful?'
Tears were pouring down his face as he squirmed and twitched on his bed like a patient who was experiencing a seizure.
When the final piece of memory entered his brain, Ives was finally allowed to speak again. "Haaa... haa...." he exhaled deep breaths.
Wiping his tears, he sat up and stared into the distance for what felt like an hour. On the one hand, he felt a little more secure in this identity now that he knew everything he had to know about this cannon fodder in order to not get exposed for being a different person; on the other hand, that level of excruciating pain he had just endured was something he never wanted to experience again.
But he buried his face into his hands as he could already sense that he would have to go through it many more times in the future, especially if he wanted to survive.
'I should've read the novel. I should've read the goddamn novel. I don't know anything about this story. I don't even know what this cannon fodder did in the original story...'
Memories past the point in time, when he took over Ives' body, weren't given to him.
[Would you like Ives' memories of the future that occurred in the novel?] the system asked him.
As a tear trickled down his face slowly, almost as if it was hugging and comforting him, he responded, "Y—" and was immediately interrupted before he could even finish the word.