Gasping for air, my chest rose and fell as I halted on the pavement outside the bustling convention center. My heartbeat pounded like a war drum inside my ears, still echoing from the sprint I'd just endured across several blocks of the city. Sweat beaded on my forehead, trickling down past my eyebrows as I leaned forward, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. My legs throbbed with fatigue, and my sneakers felt glued to the concrete beneath me.
Finally, I thought, staring up at the massive glass doors of the building ahead. My shoulders relaxed slightly—until my peripheral vision caught movement on the other side of the crosswalk.
A small child, no older than six or seven, stepped off the sidewalk, giggling as he wandered into the street. His parents lagged behind, completely absorbed in their phones, thumbs tapping away with ignorant delight. My eyes widened in horror.
Then I heard it.
The aggressive growl of a diesel engine revving, getting louder by the second. A delivery truck hurtled down the street with reckless abandon, its tires shrieking as it barely acknowledged the red light.
"Shit," I hissed through clenched teeth, instinct kicking in like a switch flipped. I bolted forward, my aching limbs roaring in protest as I launched myself across the street. This stupid brat is not going to die on my watch.
My fingers reached out desperately and snagged the back of the kid's hoodie just in time. I yanked him backward with a sharp tug, throwing both of us off balance. The boy tumbled onto the sidewalk with a thud, his shocked eyes wide and mouth agape. He started to cry, more in surprise than pain.
"Damn stupid brat can't use common sense," I muttered under my breath, kneeling slightly as I caught my own balance. My face twisted in exasperation—eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched, nostrils flared from the adrenaline rush. I turned to glare at the oncoming truck as it zoomed past.
"You're not going to isekai me today, you stupid truck," I growled internally, teeth grinding.
Just then, a shrill, angry voice pierced the air.
"You DARE pull my child's hoodie?! Stay away from my baby!"
I looked up to see a blonde woman, probably in her late 40s, storming toward me. Her face was contorted with fury, cheeks flushed, lips curled back like a lioness protecting her cub.
Great. Here we go again, I thought.
Without saying a word, I turned on my heel and sprinted toward the convention center. Her voice trailed off behind me, still yelling incoherent accusations. But the farther I ran, the more distant her words became, mercifully muffled by the city noise.
Thank God I can't make out what she's screaming due to the distance between us, I mused grimly. She should've taught her brat to look both ways instead of yelling at me. This reminds me way too much of my job.
The memory of classroom chaos flashed in my mind—middle schoolers launching paper airplanes, shouting answers, throwing tantrums.
Thank the heavens I turned in that five hundred million dollar lottery ticket yesterday. No more history lessons, no more brats, no more school fights.
I slowed my pace as I approached the convention gate, where a young man in a deep red guard uniform stood motionless, arms crossed. His posture was stiff, serious—clearly taking his job too seriously for someone guarding anime merch. But what caught my eye wasn't just the uniform; beneath it, peeking through the collar and cuffs, I noticed the unmistakable purple tie and crisp white dress shirt of a Yoshikage Kira cosplay. His perfectly styled blond hair completed the look, slicked back just like the character's.
It was a strange contrast—an official guard with the aura of a fictional serial killer. I flashed him my digital ticket on my phone.
He glanced down, then nodded once with a grunt, stepping aside.
Maybe I'll get lucky today and avoid all the lines, I thought, stepping into the brightly lit convention lobby.
Inside, the place buzzed with excitement—cosplayers, flashing cameras, fans squealing with glee. The air smelled like fresh plastic, popcorn, and sweat. Giant posters of anime heroes and game characters towered over rows of booths.
I navigated quickly through the crowd, beelining toward a specific table—his table.
Mr. Chaos.
There he was. The man himself.
Older than I imagined, with a wild mess of silver hair and circular glasses that made him look like a wizard. His dark coat was emblazoned with gold runes, a nod to his protagonist from Chronicles of a Broken World.
I approached the booth, panting slightly. My legs trembled from exhaustion but I planted my feet firmly in front of him.
"Can I get an autograph signed for Connor? I'm a really big fan of your official novel," I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, though my face betrayed my exhaustion—sweat dripped from my hairline, and my shirt clung to my back.
He smiled kindly and took the book from my hands, nodding as he scribbled something across the title page.
I barely had time to appreciate the moment when sudden laughter shattered the calm.
Maniacal, chaotic laughter.
Heads turned. People gasped.
An elderly man, looking like he'd escaped a steampunk asylum, stood on a makeshift platform. He wore a white lab coat splattered with oil stains, massive goggles resting on his forehead. Behind him was a boxy metal contraption, the size of a vending machine, humming with unstable energy.
"My isekai machine works! After all these years, they laughed at me, but now—I'll be the one laughing!"
People laughed nervously at first, assuming it was a performance. But then the machine sparked. Blue lightning arced across its surface. The box shook violently, groaning like a beast waking from slumber.
Who let the crazy old man in here? They should've sent him back to a mental asylum, I thought, eyebrows raised, lips curled with disdain.
But the moment the machine began to thunder and creak, panic spread like wildfire.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
I turned and ran.
My legs screamed. My thighs burned. I pushed through the crowd like a linebacker. Behind me, the machine roared louder—electricity whirled in the air, crackling against walls and floors.
I knew my luck had to end eventually! Why the hell did I run all the way here with no breaks?!
My breath came in shallow gasps, my vision blurred. People shouted. Booths toppled. Somewhere behind me, something exploded.
I just won the damn jackpot! I'm not dying here—not after escaping the education system!
I rounded a corner, nearly tripping over someone's dropped plushie. Just ahead, the exit glowed like a beacon of hope.
Then, a sound like a thunderclap.
A searing yellow light burst behind me, engulfing the hall. The heat slammed into my back like a furnace. My skin prickled with heat, every nerve ending on fire.
I reached for the door handle, fingers trembling, eyes wide—
Then, white light.
Blinding. Consuming.
"Please—someone! I don't want to die like this!" I screamed, not sure if the words were in my head or out loud.
Everything vanished. The door. The crowd. The world.
And all that remained… was light.