5th August, 2023
The television screens flickered in every home, every shop, every street corner. Urgent red banners scrolled across the bottom. The anchor's voice was tense, almost trembling.
> "Breaking news: our astrologer-scientists have just discovered that a massive meteoroid is hurtling towards West Bengal. Its trajectory suggests it will crash somewhere in Darjeeling. The government has ordered immediate evacuation to designated safe zones. Impact is expected within one to two days."
The words hit like a hammer. Crowds formed instantly in the streets. People packed belongings into bags, clutching children to their chests, shouting over one another. The air was thick with panic.
Raj watched from his window, his mind still trying to process what he'd heard. His parents were out, his friends scattered. The streets, usually noisy with evening chatter, had transformed into a current of fear flowing toward the bus stations.
But the warnings weren't enough.
That night, the sky ripped open.
A fragment of the meteoroid—smaller than the main body but still massive—broke away from its course. It screamed across the heavens in a streak of molten gold and violet fire. The shockwave split clouds apart, the burning trail lighting the night brighter than day.
It slammed into the mountain behind Raj's town.
The explosion was deafening—like the roar of the earth itself tearing apart. Windows shattered in waves. Walls cracked. Heat and wind ripped through streets. Then came the silence.
When it was over, half the town was gone.
---
When Raj's eyes opened again, there was no mountain, no smoke, no rubble.
He lay in a bed softer than any he'd ever touched, its sheets white as snow. The air was warm, carrying a faint, sweet scent of flowers he didn't recognize.
He sat up slowly. The room around him was enormous, its polished marble floors reflecting the glow of crystal lamps. Gold-trimmed curtains hung over tall windows, their fabric swaying gently as if breathing. Carved shelves held artifacts and strange objects, their shapes foreign and intricate.
Raj's chest tightened. This… isn't my house.
He stumbled toward the nearest window. His breath caught.
Outside stretched a landscape straight out of fantasy—forests of silver-leafed trees swaying under twin moons, rivers that glowed faintly like streams of light, and a distant mountain range crowned by shimmering clouds. The sky itself shifted colors like liquid glass.
"Ah… ahhh…"
A sudden sharp pain tore through his head. His knees buckled.
Memories—some his own, some belonging to someone else—flashed like broken film. He clutched his skull, trying to hold onto one thought at a time. Faces, names, voices came and went.
When the storm in his head finally calmed, he found himself sorting through two sets of memories: his life on Earth… and the life of a boy who looked exactly like him at age nine.
The boy's name was Kall.
---
The memories told him this was the Land of the Calculators, a realm where gods were said to be born. But Kall was no god.
No mana. No strength. No blessings. No talent.
They called him trash.
His mother had died young. Most queens of the royal court despised him, except the First and Third, who pitied him in silence but dared not show it. His elder brothers—especially the First and Second—had been kind when they were children, but reputation and politics built walls between them.
Kall was utterly alone.
Yet, somewhere in that loneliness, a stubborn spark remained. He searched for ways to grow strong, spending hours in the royal library, poring over old, forbidden tomes.
It was there he found the Consume Art—a dangerous technique allowing one to absorb a creature's essence. But it came with a warning: those without power risked their lives attempting it.
Kall didn't care.
In this world, the weak die every day. Better to die once than a thousand times, he thought.
As the Fourth Prince, he had access to equipment and resources others would kill for. To minimize risk, he chose the weakest possible target—a mere slime.
Or so he thought.
---
When he attempted the ritual, a cold, mechanical voice spoke in his head:
> "You are now awakened… Job initiation in progress… The force of the Rainbow Slime King cannot be absorbed. Soul destroyed."
And that was the end of Kall.
Yet somehow, Raj's soul had crossed over and taken his place.
---
Is this real? Or just… a dream? Raj wondered.
> "It is real," a voice answered, calm and clear.
Raj spun around. "Wh… who's there?"
> "I am your skill—Sage Voice."
"Skill? This… this is like a game?"
> "No. This is reality. If you die here, you will be dead forever. This world is not like your world."
Raj swallowed. "So you know everything? The past… and the future?"
> "Only the past."
"Then tell me—how did Kall die? And why am I here?"
> "Kall was killed. Someone removed a page from the records describing the slime's true nature. They arranged for him to face a creature stronger than any Slime King. His soul could not withstand it and was destroyed. You must prepare. In two weeks, Kall and his brothers will enter the dungeons—ancient places from the dawn of this world, where real monsters live. Once a year, only the brave dare to enter. Jobs here include warriors, magicians, lords, summoners. Each person's unique power is identified by the elders, who predict their futures. Kall had none, so they called him useless trash."
The explanation sank into Raj's mind like stones into deep water.
---
A shadow flickered at the edge of his vision.
"Who… who's there?!" Raj demanded.
The door burst open and a guard rushed in. "Fourth Prince! Are you well?"
Raj pointed. "There—someone was there!"
The guard scanned the room and found nothing. "Master, you must be exhausted. Please rest… if your playing is done."
Raj's eyes narrowed. Playing? You dare call this playing…
He turned his attention inward. "Sage Voice—give me my full skill description and status."
The voice obeyed, its measured tone describing every locked and unlocked ability, every potential path forward.
By the time it finished, Raj was smiling—slowly, deliberately.
It wasn't the smile of relief.
It was the smile of someone who had just realized the game was rigged… and decided to play anyway.