"Honestly, this novel makes no sense."
Ray kicked a pebble along the sidewalk as he walked beside his friend. His voice carried the kind of conviction usually reserved for politicians—or anime fans in a comment section. "The hero's a jerk, sure, but the so-called protagonist's revenge doesn't even have weight. No trauma, no explanation—just endless ecchi scenes slapped onto a revenge plot. It's like the author got lazy and hit copy-paste."
His friend shrugged, hands shoved into his jacket. "I read it too. Yeah, it wasn't deep, but it was… y'know, a mindless read. Something to kill time. Not everything has to be a masterpiece."
Ray spun around, jabbing a finger at him. "But that's exactly the problem! If the MC's only goal is revenge without any meaningful backstory, the entire journey feels hollow. It's like playing an RPG where the villain says, 'I'm evil because I feel like it.' Where's the substance?"
The friend chuckled, shaking his head. "You're overthinking it. It's just fiction."
"Fiction is supposed to mean something!" Ray declared dramatically, pointing at the night sky like a shounen protagonist giving a speech.
HOOOONK!
The sound ripped through their argument like an airhorn at a funeral.
Both turned.
A truck barreled down the empty street, headlights blazing like divine wrath. Plastered across its front grille was a massive banner that read:
"Get Isekai'ed LOL®"
"…What the—"
BAM!
The truck smashed into Ray. His body launched into the air like a ragdoll fired from a cannon. He spun wildly—one, two, three glorious barrel rolls—before plummeting headfirst into the asphalt.
CRACK!
His neck snapped cleanly, bending at an angle no human chiropractor could ever fix.
"RAY!!"
His friend sprinted toward him, collapsing to his knees beside the mangled body. Tears spilled as he grabbed Ray's shoulders.
"Why him, God?! Why not me?! It could've been me… it should've been me!" he sobbed, shaking with grief. Then his voice cracked into something far less noble. "I—I wanted to get isekai'ed toooo!"
The street fell silent, except for the fading growl of the truck's engine, which let out one last smug "vroom-vroom" before vanishing into the night.
Ray's lifeless eyes stared blankly at the streetlight. But his soul… had already been claimed.
When Ray opened his eyes again, he wasn't lying broken on the pavement. He floated in a boundless white void, wrapped in a gentle glow that pulsed through him like warm sunlight.
"…Where…?" he muttered.
A man appeared before him—not winged or haloed, but dressed in a crisp business suit, sipping coffee from a mug that read:
"#1 Reincarnation Department – Keep Calm and Truck On."
A miniature toy truck circled lazily around his head like a glowing halo.
"Welcome," the man said smoothly, setting down his mug. "I am the God of Trucks."
Ray blinked. "…You're kidding."
"Nope."
Ray narrowed his eyes. "…That truck just now—did you summon me on purpose?"
"Yes." The god sipped again, looking oddly smug.
"…Why?"
"Well," the god leaned forward, lowering his voice. "You remember that novel, Revenge of a Sidekick?"
Ray's eyes widened. "…Wait. Don't tell me—"
"Yup. That was mine." The god grinned proudly. "I got bored of just sending trucks to fetch souls, so I tried novel writing. Published it on Earth. It went semi-viral, had some fans, had some haters… but you—" His expression darkened. "You criticized it."
Ray froze. "…You killed me because I roasted your novel?!"
The god coughed into his fist. "Okay, I might have been a little petty. But relax—I've calmed down. I'll make it up to you. You want to be reincarnated into a fantasy world, right?"
Ray hesitated, then nodded. "…Hell yeah."
"Good. Because if you refused, I'd have been in trouble." The god rubbed his neck awkwardly. "You weren't actually supposed to die. My boss doesn't like 'unauthorized summons.' So as a gift I will grant any of you're wish" He snapped his fingers, and a glowing countdown clock appeared above his head.
Ray raised his hand. "Wait—before that, can you tell me more about the world I'm getting reincarnated into?"
The god tapped his chin. "Of course. The world is full of magic and skill, though only ten out of a hundred people are actually born with them." His eyes shifted sideways, narrowing slyly. "But I won't give spoilers. You'll have to learn it on your own."
Ray groaned. "…Seriously?"
"Seriously. And you should make your wish quickly," the god added, pointing up at the glowing clock. "Time's almost up. I've only got five minutes before the deadline for my new novel. Who knows—you might even find it published in the world you're going to."
Ray blinked. "…You're publishing in other worlds now?"
The god just sipped his coffee with a smug smile.
Ray frowned, pacing in the void. Should I just ask to be the strongest? Nah, too cliché. Knowledge? Useless if I'm weak. A king? Forget it—being class monitor was already hell.
Minutes ticked by. He muttered, crossed his arms, muttered again. Nothing sounded right.
Finally, the god sighed, rubbing his temples. "You mortals… always overthinking. Too late—you've taken too long. No wish for you."
Ray blinked. "Wait, what?!"
The god smirked, snapping his fingers. "Instead, you'll face the RNG. Pure chance. May luck be your only blessing."
Ray's stomach dropped. "Hold on—RNG?! You mean like pure luc—"
But the light swallowed him before he could finish.
"…Good luck," the god's voice echoed, amused.
And thus, Ray's journey began—randomized from the very start.