My name was Tanaka Kenji, and my life was the human equivalent of plain rice crackers. Nutritious? Sure. Exciting? Absolutely not.
I worked as a data entry clerk for a mid-level manufacturing firm. My job consisted of taking numbers from one spreadsheet and putting them into another, slightly different spreadsheet. My biggest excitement of the week was deciding between pork or chicken cutlet for my Friday lunch. I was a master of flying under the radar, of being present but unnoticed, of achieving the zenith of a peaceful, unremarkable life.
And how did such a life culminate? In a death so profoundly, cosmically stupid that it would have been funny if it weren't happening to me.
It was a Tuesday. I was walking home from the convenience store, clutching a bag containing a new brand of instant ramen I'd mustered the courage to try. The sky was overcast. The world was quiet. It was, in all respects, a perfectly average evening.
Then, I saw it. A single, bright yellow banana peel, lying on the pristine sidewalk with the audacious prominence of a Shakespearean actor center stage.
'How cliché,' I thought, my mind a detached, analytical machine even in the face of absurdity. 'Who even eats bananas on the go anymore? It's all about protein bars.'
I, being a sensible and moderately coordinated adult, carefully stepped over it. A small, smug smile played on my lips. I had defeated cliché. I had triumphed over narrative convenience.
What I failed to account for was the universe's deep-seated love for irony.
My foot landed squarely on a stray marble—a marble, for heaven's sake, who even owns those anymore?—that was hiding in the shadow of a lamppost. My ankle twisted with a sickening crunch that was more sensation than sound. My body pitched forward, the world becoming a tilting carousel of gray sky and concrete.
In that slow-motion fall, my life didn't flash before my eyes. Instead, a single, crystal-clear thought echoed in the cavern of my mind.
'The ramen… it's going to get crushed.'
Then, darkness.
---
Part 2
I awoke—or rather, I became aware—in a space that defied description. It wasn't black, nor was it white. It was… beige. The visual equivalent of elevator music. I was floating, formless, in a vast, dimensionless waiting room of the soul.
'So,' I thought, my consciousness humming with a strange calm. 'This is it. The great beyond. It's… underwhelming. Fitting, I suppose.'
"Ahem! Hello? Candidate #B-7421? Tanaka Kenji?"
The voice was high-pitched, flustered, and sounded like it belonged to someone who had just spilled coffee on their keyboard minutes before a major presentation.
A figure flickered into existence before me. He—it presented as male—was dressed in a stark white, ill-fitting bureaucratic uniform, complete with a ridiculously small hat perched precariously on a mess of silver hair. A stack of floating digital tablets whirred around him like anxious hummingbirds, their screens flashing with error messages and angry red text. He was frantically tapping on one, his brow furrowed in despair.
"Are you… God?" I asked, my mental voice flat.
"What? No, no, no! Stars above, no," he sputtered, not looking up from his tablet. "I'm Provisional Divine Attendant, Third Class, Celian. I handle… well, I usually handle minor soul placements. Flower reincarnations, mayfly rotations, that sort of thing. But there's been a… a slight… a teensy, tiny, system-wide hiccup."
He finally looked at me, his eyes wide with panic. He had the face of a man who had accidentally sent a company-wide email complaining about his boss.
"A hiccup," I repeated.
"Yes! A glitch! A whoopsie-daisy of cosmic proportions!" He waved his hands, causing the tablets to bob erratically. "You see, you weren't scheduled for reincarnation for another forty-seven years! Natural causes, in your sleep! Very peaceful! But the system registered your… ahem, unconventional demise as a 'critical existence failure' and fast-tracked you here. My terminal froze, and when I tried to reboot it, I… I may have accidentally selected the 'Isekai Hero Package' for your soul."
I processed this. Isekai. Being sent to another world. It was a popular genre in the light novels I read to pass the time. It always involved trucks, not bananas and marbles, but the principle was similar.
"I see," I said. "And this is a problem because?"
"Because you're not qualified!" Celian wailed. "The Hero Package is for… well, heroes! Paragons of virtue! Dying young athletes! Self-sacrificing firefighters! Not… not…"
"Data entry clerks?" I offered helpfully.
"Precisely! The metrics are all wrong! Your Karmic Heroic Potential is in the negative! Your Charisma stat is 'Adequately Pleasant but Forgettable'! You're a background character, Tanaka-san! A background character with a pre-assigned, walk-on role!"
He shoved a tablet in my face. On it was a character sheet for a generic fantasy RPG. There was a pixelated image of a young man with brown hair, brown eyes, and utterly unremarkable features. His name was 'Bobinious,' but it was crossed out and a sticky note was attached that simply read: 'Bob.'
Name: Bobinious "Bob"
Race:Human
Role:Background Character (Town - Maplewood)
Fate:Killed in Bandit Attack (Chapter 3)
"My role is 'Background Character'?" I asked, a strange feeling blossoming in my soul. It wasn't disappointment. It was… hope.
"Yes! And your fate is to die in a bandit attack in the third major story event!" Celian scrolled through the text. "Look! 'Provides minor world-building commentary to the Hero in the tavern, then is tragically cut down to establish the stakes.' It's all right here! It's a solid, if brief, role!"
A slow smile spread across my non-existent face. It was perfect. A quiet, unassuming life in a fantasy world. No pressure. No destiny. Just a simple existence, ended quickly and cleanly. After a lifetime of mediocrity, it was a fitting end.
"I'll take it," I said.
Celian stared at me. "You… you'll take it? You understand you'll be murdered by bandits?"
"It sounds peaceful," I said with utter sincerity. "No spreadsheets."
"But that's not the worst part!" he cried, his fingers flying over another tablet. "The system already processed the skill allocation! I can't reverse it! The Seven Divine Gifts of the Heavenly Hero, the ones meant for the actual Chosen One, have been irrevocably bound to your soul!"
He spun the tablet around. My new character sheet had been updated. Dramatically.
<<< SKILLS >>>
· Ultimate Appraisal Lv. MAX: Perceive all information about any target: person, object, or concept. See through all deception and obfuscation.
· Absolute Stealth Lv. MAX: Become undetectable by all physical, magical, and divine senses. Presence, sound, scent, and mana signature are completely erased.
· Infinite Inventory Lv. MAX: A personal pocket dimension with infinite capacity and instant retrieval. Time within is stopped.
· Instant Transmission Lv. MAX: Teleport to any visualized or previously visited location instantly. No cooldown. No mana cost.
· Mirage Crafting Lv. MAX: Create illusions that are physically, magically, and spiritually indistinguishable from reality. Can affect single or mass perception.
· Physical Apex Lv. MAX: Possess the absolute peak physical condition possible for a human form. Strength, speed, durability, and regeneration are unbound by natural limits.
· Soulbond Contract Lv. MAX: Create unbreakable, magically enforced agreements. Can dictate terms and penalties on a conceptual level.
I stared at the list. It was absurd. It was game-breaking. It was the kind of power set that would make a god blush. And it was attached to me, a man whose greatest achievement was a perfect attendance record for three years running.
"You have got to be kidding me," I said, my hope for a quiet death crumbling.
"I wish I were!" Celian sobbed. "The real Hero is going to be born with just a single, mediocre skill like 'Sword Proficiency Up (Minor)'! He'll be doomed! The Demon Lord will win! Reality will be unraveled! And it's all because of my clumsy fingers!"
He was on his knees now, floating in the beige void, begging. "Please, Tanaka-san! You have to use these powers for good! You have to support the Hero! Guide him! Ensure he fulfills his destiny!"
I looked from the weeping celestial bureaucrat to the list of world-shattering skills, and then back to my character's fate: 'Killed in Bandit Attack (Chapter 3).'
A new resolve hardened within me. A selfish, wonderful, glorious resolve.
I was going to ignore destiny. I was going to ignore this so-called Hero. I was going to ignore the Demon Lord and the unraveling of reality.
I had been given a ticket to the ultimate easy life. With these skills, I could avoid that bandit attack with ease. I could live in comfort. I could be the most well-rested, well-fed, and peacefully anonymous background character in the history of fantasy worlds.
"Okay," I said.
Celian looked up, tears of hope in his eyes. "Okay? You'll do it? You'll be the secret guardian? The power behind the throne?"
"Sure," I lied smoothly. "I'll… look out for him."
The relief on his face was instantaneous. "Oh, thank you! Thank you! I'll initiate the transfer immediately! Good luck, Tanaka-san! The multiverse is counting on you!"
He slammed his hand on a large, glowing button that read 'YEET SOUL.'
The beige void vanished.
---
Part 3
The first thing I registered was smell. It was a potent cocktail of roasted meat, unwashed bodies, damp wood, and something sweetly floral. The second was sound. A cacophony of laughter, clinking tankards, a crackling fireplace, and the off-key strumming of a lute.
I was sitting on a rough-hewn wooden stool, a heavy clay mug of something lukewarm and frothy in front of me. I was in a tavern. Of course I was in a tavern. It was isekai law.
I looked down at myself. I was wearing simple, coarse-spun trousers and a tunic. My body felt… light. Strong. I flexed a hand. The calluses from a lifetime of pen-pushing were gone. This was the body of 'Bob.' It was lean, probably in its late teens, and utterly average.
Acting on instinct, I focused inward.
'Status.'
A translucent blue screen, much sleeker than Celian's clunky tablets, appeared before my eyes.
Name: Bob
Race:Human
Title:Background Character, The System Error
Level:1
Skills:
[Ultimate Appraisal],[Absolute Stealth], [Infinite Inventory], [Instant Transmission], [Mirage Crafting], [Physical Apex], [Soulbond Contract]
A wave of giddy euphoria washed over me. It was real. It was all real. I had to fight the urge to cackle maniacally. Instead, I took a calm sip of the mug. It was ale. Cheap, watery, and slightly sour. It was the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted because it was the taste of freedom.
"—and I heard the Royal Mage's Academy is accepting applications," a voice next to me said.
I turned. A portly man with a magnificent red beard was talking to another, thinner man. They were the epitome of NPCs. My heart swelled with kinship.
'Ultimate Appraisal,' I thought, focusing on the red-bearded man.
A flood of information filled my mind.
[Appraisal Target: Garrick]
Race:Human
Age:42
Occupation:Cooper (Barrel Maker)
Level:3
HP:110/110
MP:15/15
Skills:[Carpentry Lv. 4], [Axe Proficiency Lv. 2], [Alcohol Tolerance Lv. 5]
Current Thoughts:'This ale's gone flat. Should have gone to the 'Stumbling Griffin' instead. Did I leave the latch on the chicken coop open? Martha will have my head.'
Life Story:Born in Maplewood, apprenticed to his father at 12, took over the business at 25, married Martha at 28, has three children, fears his eldest daughter is dating a blacksmith's apprentice he doesn't approve of, has a recurring pain in his lower back when it rains.
I blinked, the torrent of intimate detail overwhelming. I could see the faint ache in his lower back as a pulsing, yellow spot in my vision. I knew his deepest fears and most mundane thoughts. It was… incredibly invasive. And useful. I immediately turned it off. For now, the surface-level stuff was enough.
I practiced with my [Infinite Inventory]. I focused on my mug of ale and thought, 'Store.' The mug vanished without a sound. A new, separate mental space opened up in my mind—a vast, dark, and limitless warehouse. In the very center, floating in the nothingness, was my single mug of ale. I willed it back into my hand. It reappeared, the liquid not even having sloshed.
This was paradise.
The tavern door burst open with a dramatic crash that made everyone jump. A sudden hush fell over the room.
Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the setting sun, was a young man. He had hair the color of spun gold, eyes as blue as a summer sky, and features so perfectly chiseled they looked like they'd been focus-grouped for maximum heroic appeal. He wore pristine, if simple, traveler's clothes that somehow still looked regal.
This was him. The Hero. The guy who was supposed to get my skills.
He took a confident step forward, a radiant smile on his face. And then his foot caught on the slightly raised floorboard at the entrance.
He stumbled forward with a yelp, pinwheeling his arms for a full three seconds before managing to catch himself on a nearby table, sending several mugs of ale flying and drenching a very large, very unhappy-looking patron.
"My apologies!" the Hero said, his voice ringing with earnest charm. "A misstep! I am Leon, of the distant village of Oakhaven! I am here to answer the call of destiny!"
The large patron, now dripping with ale, slowly stood up. He was a head taller than Leon and twice as wide.
'Ultimate Appraisal.'
[Appraisal Target: Brutus]
Occupation:Bouncer/Thug
Level:5
Skills:[Brawling Lv. 4], [Intimidation Lv. 3]
Current Thoughts:'I'm going to peel this pretty boy like a grape.'
"You've got a funny way of answering it, kid," Brutus growled, cracking his knuckles.
The air was thick with tension. This was it. My first crossroad. The divine attendant's plea echoed in my mind. 'You have to support the Hero!'
I watched as Leon puffed out his chest, clearly about to deliver a heroic speech.
I made my choice.
I quietly activated [Absolute Stealth]. A faint, shimmering veil of nothingness fell over me. To the world, I was no longer there. Sound, presence, even the slight draft I created vanished.
I stood up, walked over behind the hulking Brutus, picked up my now-invisible mug of ale, and poured the rest of it over his head.
The effect was instantaneous.
Brutus froze, the cold liquid trickling down his neck. He spun around, his rage redirected from the confused Leon to the empty space behind him. "WHO DID THAT?!"
Everyone in the tavern was now staring at the furious, ale-drenched bouncer who was screaming at an empty corner.
"Is he mad?"
"The stress of the job,finally got to him…"
"Maybe the ale was stronger than we thought."
While Brutus was distracted, sputtering and searching for a non-existent assailant, Leon seized the moment. He gave a graceful, slightly confused bow to the room and made his way to the innkeeper to secure a room, the incident already forgotten by everyone but the fuming bouncer.
I deactivated my stealth and sat back down on my stool, my heart thumping not with fear, but with exhilaration. It had worked. I had manipulated events without anyone ever knowing I was involved. I was a ghost. A whisper. The perfect background character.
Leon, now at the bar, tried to pay for his room with a dramatic flourish, presenting a strange coin from his village. The innkeeper squinted at it.
"This ain't kingdom currency, son. You got proper silver?"
Leon's face fell. "I… this is all I have. It is a sacred token of my people!"
The innkeeper shook his head. "No token, no room. Rules are rules."
I saw another opportunity. Not to help, but to test another skill. I focused on the single silver coin in the innkeeper's till. 'Ultimate Appraisal.' I learned its weight, its mint year, the tiny scratch near the eagle's wing. I then focused on the space in front of the innkeeper and activated [Mirage Crafting].
A perfect, indistinguishable illusion of a silver coin appeared on the counter. It had the correct weight, the correct sheen, even the correct faint smell of metal and old hands. The innkeeper, none the wiser, scooped it up. "Well, now. That's more like it. Room 3, top of the stairs."
Leon looked bewildered but grateful. "Thank you, kind sir! Destiny smiles upon me!"
He headed upstairs, brimming with naive confidence.
I sat in the dim, noisy tavern, a smile on my face. I had already altered the "script" twice without anyone noticing. The Hero was in place, my powers were a secret, and my life of peaceful anonymity was secured.
I had no intention of being a hero. I had no intention of being a guide. I was Bob, the background character with the power to bend reality to his will. And I was going to use that power for one thing, and one thing only: to ensure I lived the most comfortable, quiet, and blissfully uneventful life this world had ever seen.
I finished my (now replenished from my inventory) ale, placed the mug on the counter, and headed out into the twilight of Maplewood. The air was clean, the stars were beginning to peek out, and the future was full of glorious, mundane possibilities.
My first order of business? Find a real estate agent. A man with infinite storage and teleportation needed a very specific kind of fixer-upper. Something remote, with a good view, and absolutely zero chance of bandit attacks.
The game was afoot. The game of ultimate leisure.