Graveyard Shift
They say the night is quietest when your soul's the loudest. I don't know who said that—probably me, in one of my 3 a.m. monologues to a coffee cup. But it fits.
My name's Rouie Kazuno. Half Filipino, half Japanese, and somehow still full of bad decisions.
For the past five years, I've been working night shifts at a BPO company in Ortigas. The kind where you pretend to care about someone's router in Kansas while chugging instant coffee and hoping your supervisor doesn't catch you watching anime on the side. I applied for the job thinking, "This will fix my life." Five years later, my life's still broken. Just with air conditioning.
But hey, I'm surviving.
I left home at twenty with nothing but a backpack and the brilliant idea that I could build a life with my girlfriend. Spoiler alert: you can't build anything when only one of you is doing the work. Rent? Me. Groceries? Me. Dishes? Also me. The only thing she ever lifted was her phone to flirt with guys on Facebook.
Yeah, I found out. Her laptop was open one night, and curiosity did its thing. And by "curiosity," I mean my last remaining brain cell told me to snoop. There it was: chat after chat, full of winks, pet names, and… ugh. Let's not go there.
We broke up the next morning. She cried. I didn't. You can only cry when there's something left to lose.
Since then, it's just been me. Alone in a cramped rented room near work. You'd think solitude would be peaceful. Spoiler #2: it's not. It's quiet, sure, but not peaceful. It's like living in an echo chamber of your worst thoughts, with moldy walls and a rice cooker that doesn't shut up.
But work? Work was different.
At the office, I'm that guy. The funny one. The "Big Bro Rouie" who cracks jokes in the pantry and sings badly during karaoke Fridays. I know all the right things to say, all the punchlines that make even the coldest TL smile. I'm the unofficial therapist for new hires and the designated lunch order guy.
People think I've got it all figured out. I don't.
I just got good at acting.
Every clock-in feels like switching to a different channel. At work, I'm a talk show host. At home, I'm the rerun no one watches.
Sometimes I wonder if there's a reset button somewhere. A magical do-over. A second life, maybe. Somewhere far from routers and trust issues and twenty-eight-peso instant noodles.
But of course, that's not how life works, right?
Right?
Smiles and Static
"Rouie, tell us a joke! We're getting sleepy!"
That was Jelai from the adjacent station, twirling her headset cord like a noodle. She was in the same wave as me three years ago. We both survived training, irate callers, and a flood in the office pantry. At this point, she was practically my little sister.
"Okay," I said, spinning my chair dramatically. "Why didn't the relationship between the headset and the agent last?"
Everyone nearby groaned before I even finished the punchline. Jelai covered her ears.
"Don't! I already know that one!"
"Because… the connection was unstable!" I declared with fake jazz hands and a tragic violin sound.
Even the sleepy ones chuckled.
That's what I was good at—making people laugh. Or at least forget their misery for one coffee break.
Our floor was dimly lit, full of cubicles and cold air. Every night, we'd clock in like soldiers—armed with headsets, caffeine, and that customer service voice that made us sound unnaturally cheerful.
"Thank you for calling, this is Rouie, how can I help you today?"
Even when I was dead inside. Especially then.
It wasn't just work. It was survival. Not from poverty—I mean, yeah, money was tight—but from falling into that mental pit. From becoming the kind of person who stops showing up, not just to work, but to life.
At the office, I was present. People noticed me. Laughed with me. Shared their lunches and their secrets. Like how Marlon from billing was secretly in love with his supervisor. Or how Tina in payroll made an altar for her K-pop bias. They all had lives. Dreams.
Me?
I had the night shift, an empty room, and a stack of instant noodles.
After every shift, I'd drag myself home. The streets would be damp with early morning dew, jeepneys crawling like sleepy bugs, and 7-Eleven would already be out of my favorite steamed bun.
I lived in a studio near the call center—walking distance, no windows, cracked linoleum tiles. There was a bed, a desk, a fan that sounded like it had asthma, and a tiny bathroom where the shower and toilet were practically dating.
As soon as the door closed behind me, everything changed.
The smile dropped. The energy drained.
Home wasn't warm. It was quiet. Too quiet.
I'd toss my bag on the floor, heat up some rice if I had any left, and crash onto the bed with my phone in hand. Then came the nightly ritual—scrolling through the usual sites, waiting for updates from my favorite anime and manhwa. Sometimes I'd refresh the page every five minutes like a lunatic, hoping the next chapter of Solo God Reborn in Another World With a Vending Machine magically dropped early.
Yeah, that's the stuff that kept me going. Just a few minutes in another world—where losers get superpowers and introverts build harems. Where everything made sense, and the good guys actually win. It was the only escape that didn't require a passport or a miracle.
Those little doses of fantasy? They killed the boredom. Tamed the dull ache gnawing at my chest. Even if just for a while, they made me forget I was a 28-year-old man alone in a shoebox apartment with a squeaky fan and no one waiting for him.
Sometimes, when the buffering took too long or the site glitched out, I'd stare at the ceiling and wonder, "Is this it?"
Then I'd sigh, roll over, and hit refresh again.
Because sometimes, that next chapter was the only thing I had to look forward to.
One night, while staring at the ceiling and pretending not to hear the rats in the wall, I whispered, "I wish… there was another world."
A stupid thought.
Just a passing wish.
But the universe, apparently, has a messed-up sense of humor.
One Last Break
It was 2:41 a.m.—that sacred time in every night shift when your soul leaves your body, and only coffee can bring it back.
"Fifteen-minute break," I muttered, stretching until I heard my spine pop like bubble wrap. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I stepped away from my station, headset still warm from the last customer who thought unplugging her modem would summon internet demons.
Outside, the city was a different world. Silent, almost respectful. Only the distant hum of traffic and the occasional tricycle breaking the stillness. I liked it. It felt like I had the whole world to myself, even if just for a little while.
I walked down the block toward a 24/7 tapsilog (A Filipino Beef Tapa Breakfast), a place I liked—greasy, fast, and just sketchy enough to feel authentic. My breath came out in soft clouds. The kind of chill that seeped into your bones but didn't bite. Just a quiet reminder that yes, you were still alive. Still here.
I passed by a row of parked motorcycles, a flickering streetlamp, and a drunk guy singing to a half-eaten burger on the curb.
"This is the soundtrack of my life," I thought dryly, hands in my jacket pockets.
There was something strangely comforting about it all. The empty sidewalks, the distant sound of a delivery truck, the smell of fried garlic in the air. It was the kind of peace you don't notice until it's about to end.
As I crossed the street, my phone buzzed. A notification from my manhwa app: "Chapter 93 is now available."
My face lit up. Finally.
I pulled out my phone, already swiping to load the page. The main character was just about to fight a dragon-wielding necromancer with—
CRASH!
Pain. Searing, blinding, all-consuming.
My body was flung like a ragdoll. My phone flew from my hand, skidding across the pavement.
Voices—shouting, panicked. A car door slamming. Tires screeching.
Then… silence.
I was lying on the cold concrete, staring at the night sky. The same one I looked up at every shift, wondering if there was more out there.
There was a strange calm in those final moments. No fear. Just a thought.
"Is this it? Is this how I go out? Mid-chapter?"
My vision blurred, the stars above me stretching into streaks of light. Then—
a voice.
Not from the crowd. Not even from the world around me.
It echoed in my head. Calm, curious.
"Connection established. New vessel confirmed. Preparing transfer…"
What?
I tried to speak, but no words came out. Just a gasp, like my lungs had given up on pretending they worked.
"Welcome, Rouie Kazuno."
Everything turned white.
A World I Didn't Order
I expected darkness. Or nothing at all. Maybe a loading screen, if the afterlife had decent servers.
Instead, I woke up gasping—like I'd been holding my breath underwater and just broke the surface.
My back was against grass. Soft, thick, and strangely warm. Not city grass, either. This wasn't the kind that grows between cracked sidewalks. This was alive. Breathing, almost.
Above me stretched a wide red sky, too perfect to be real. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting an amber glow across the trees. No smog, no drone of airplanes—just the occasional fluffy cloud drifting by like it had nowhere important to be. And yet, I couldn't tell if it was morning or evening. Everything looked painted in twilight, as if the forest itself was suspended between day and night.
I sat up, blinking hard. No blood. No pain. No twisted limbs. I touched my chest, my face, my arms. Everything felt intact. In fact… I felt lighter. Stronger, even. Like my body had been rebooted on high-performance mode.
My clothes were different. Gone were my worn jeans and call center jacket. In their place: a rough, brown tunic, boots, and what looked like leather bracers. I looked like a background character in a fantasy RPG—right before they get eaten by a goblin.
Then the voice returned. That same one I'd heard before everything went white. Calm, genderless, and somehow inside my head.
"Synchronization complete. Vital signs stable. Welcome to the plane of Arcanza."
"Whoa, hold on," I said aloud, looking around like an idiot. "Who said that?"
"I am your guide. You may refer to me as Echo."
"Echo?" I repeated. "Wait, is this like… a dream? Did I hit my head that hard?"
"Negative. Your previous body ceased all biological function at 2:47 a.m. Earth Standard Time. Your soul has been successfully transferred to this vessel, created to adapt to this world's magical environment."
I just stared at the sky, letting that sink in. I'd heard of isekai plots. I read isekai plots. But now I was… living one?
"Okay. Okay okay okay. So, just to confirm—I died, got rebooted, and now I'm in some magical world called… Arcanza?"
"Correct."
"Right," I muttered, standing slowly. "Because that makes total sense. Sure. Why not? Next thing you'll tell me is I have secret powers, a destiny to fulfill, and a harem waiting for me behind the nearest tree."
"…Negative. However, you may acquire skills and magic based on your compatibility and choices moving forward."
"No harem?" I sighed. "Figures."
I looked around. The field stretched out toward forests, hills, and mountains that shimmered faintly with something… otherworldly. Birds I didn't recognize flew in strange patterns above. The air itself smelled like pine and mystery.
It wasn't Earth.
But it wasn't hell either.
For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel stuck. Or tired. Or invisible.
I didn't know what this world had in store for me. But it had to be better than answering customer complaints about routers.
And besides…
I'd been looking for a new chapter.
Guess I just found it.
---
End of Chapter 1