Anger and annoyance.
That was Mark's current mood as he scrolled through yet another generic fantasy anime, novel, and manga.
A genius who doesn't work hard.
"Just because you're a genius doesn't mean you'll automatically become the greatest or the strongest," Mark muttered, irritation bubbling in his voice.
In every scenario, it was the same recycled plot: the so-called "genius of the generation"—lazy, prideful, and self-centered—thought they were untouchable. But by the halfway mark, they'd always get their ass kicked by the hardworking, underestimated protagonist.
Mark groaned, slapping his forehead. Facepalm level 100.
"Why?! Stop wasting your potential!" he shouted, hurling his middle finger at the monitor as if the fictional characters could see his frustration.
But why was Mark this annoyed? Simple.
Because "he" was a "self-proclaimed genius".
Not the lazy, arrogant kind. No. Mark actually worked hard to earn his title. Blood, sweat, and all-nighters fueled his achievements. Seeing these fictional "geniuses" squander their gifts felt like a personal insult.
"Well, you deserve that, you little bitch," he sneered at the screen.
Suddenly, his vision blurred. A sharp dizziness gripped his head, and before he could process what was happening—everything went black.
---
"What the hell?!"
Mark's mind raced. Why did I black out? He racked his brain, analyzing every possible reason. Nope. Can't be health issues. I take care of myself. I'm not some cliché isekai protagonist who dies because of poor health choices.
Silence surrounded him. No sound. No light. Just... emptiness.
"Now what?!" Mark snapped, his voice echoing in the void, more annoyed than scared.
"That's a pretty lame reaction from someone who just died without realizing it."
The voice was flat, emotionless. But Mark's ears perked up. He spun around, searching for the source, but saw nothing.
"Quite rude, don't you think? Talking shit about me without even showing yourself," Mark shot back, his tone laced with arrogance.
"Stop wasting your strength looking for me. I'm just a voice speaking to you."
"So? Any reason why you did that to me?" Mark folded his arms across his chest, unbothered.
"Nothing really. But... aren't you bored in that powerless world of yours?"
Mark didn't reply immediately. A flicker of something crossed his face—curiosity, maybe.
"In your world, everyone was blessed with gifts from the gods," the voice continued, now carrying a hint of arrogance. "But you? You got nothing."
Mark scoffed, his annoyance bubbling up again. "If you're trying to get a rise out of me, you're wasting your time."
"Wasting time, huh?" The voice echoed, now intrigued. "Mark, the most distinguished Jack of All Trades, Master of None". Even without gifts, you persevered and made a name for yourself."*
"A useless thing," Mark shot back. "So what? Mind telling me why you killed me?"
The voice chuckled—a hollow, eerie sound. "Truly an interesting one. I already told you, aren't you bored in your world?"
"Bored, yeah. What can you do about it?"
"You see, I'm bored in my world too."
Mark raised an eyebrow, amused. "Your world? What are you, some kind of creator?"
"I am." The voice was proud now.
"Let me guess—you want me to be a hero and save your world?"
"Quite the opposite."
A spark of curiosity lit Mark's eyes. Now this is getting interesting.
"I want you to show my creations what it really means to have the gifts I gave them."
"By pressuring them to actually use it?" Mark grinned, excitement creeping into his voice.
"You're excited?" The voice laughed, genuinely this time.
"Of course, because you're going to give me something too, right?" Mark smirked.
"Sure. But only three things."
"Alright, first—limitless potential."
"Second?" the voice asked.
"A shape-shifting weapon."
"Why not mana so you can use magic?" the voice suggested, confused.
"HELL NO!" Mark barked. "I don't want to use magic. IN FACT, DON'T GIVE ME MANA AT ALL."
Silence. The voice was quiet for a long minute.
"Hey, but make sure that shape-shifting weapon works without mana," Mark added, grinning.
"Aren't most fantasy fans dying to use magic at least once?"
"Yeah, no," Mark replied flatly. "Magic users are sitting ducks once their mana runs out. Meanwhile, physical fighters just need stamina, and that's easier to manage."
"Well, if you say so. What about the third thing? Any thoughts?"
Mark thought for a moment, then grinned wider. "Oh, how about—"
The voice burst into laughter, intrigued. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Don't you think it's more fun that way?"
The voice chuckled darkly before finally calming down. "You're right. It'll be more fun—and humiliating—for them when they lose."
"You're enjoying yourself a little too much, considering you killed me," Mark teased.
"For that, how about designing your own appearance as my token of apology?"
"Well... sure," Mark shrugged, starting to shape his new look in his mind.
As he worked on his appearance, a sudden thought crossed his mind. "What about the orphanage I built? The kids? What will happen to them?"
"Don't worry about that. I've got it covered." The voice softened.
A rare, genuine smile spread across Mark's face. "Thank you."
---
"I guess that's about it..." Mark muttered as he finished.
"Remember," the voice said, "I may have given you a mission, but you're free to have fun with it."
"That's good... See you later," Mark replied as a swirl of red and white light enveloped him.
And then—he was gone.
---
A figure materialized in the void where Mark had stood just moments before.
"Have fun in your new journey, my son."