The year is 2025, and I'm staring down the barrel of my last day as a high school student. It's surreal. Feels like I blinked and four years blew past in a gust of half-finished homework, late-night fast food runs, locker-side drama, and too many football practices to count. Name's Tyron Smith. Eighteen years old. Senior. Future Aggie. And today is the final lap of a race I didn't even realize I'd started running.
The sun isn't even fully up yet, but I'm already awake—sitting on the porcelain throne, contemplating the finality of it all as I conduct my morning "business."
Then, from downstairs:
"You better start waking up! Don't want to be late!"
My mom's voice echoes like a war horn.
I groan, loudly. She already knows I'm awake. She just can't help herself.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm up! Be down soon. Give me 20 minutes—I'm stocking the lake with brown trout!"
I hear my dad wheezing with laughter downstairs. Dude's been waiting years for the Browns to make the Super Bowl, and now that they're finally in, he acts like the world is right again. Can't even be mad at him.
I finish up, brush my teeth, and glance in the mirror. Same old me: slight bags under the eyes, a little scruff growing in, and a nervous grin creeping in despite myself. It's a weird mix—pride, anxiety, and a dash of "I hope my car starts today."
Downstairs, both of my parents are moving like clockwork—coffee mugs in hand, dressed for work, calm but clearly buzzing beneath the surface.
"Son, I'm leaving you some money for breakfast. And make sure you finish returning what you owe the school so you can walk at graduation," Mom says, reaching for her purse. She pauses, looking at me for a moment longer than usual. "I'm very proud of you. We'll see you at noon."
She leans in, gives me a quick hug, then disappears out the door.
Dad stays behind a second longer. He just looks at me, grinning like a proud coach after a championship win.
"I'm proud of you—not just for graduating, but for how you've handled everything these last few years. Your mom and I can't wait to see you play ball at A&M."
That one hits different. I nod, suppressing the lump rising in my throat, and we hug it out. No words needed.
Now it's time to face the beast.
The shitbox.
My 1999 Ford Ranger—held together by zip ties, rust, and sheer willpower. I twist the key and say a silent prayer. The fuel pump wheezes. It protests. Then, like a miracle, the engine sputters to life. I pat the dashboard like it's a loyal dog. "Atta girl."
Quick stop at Mickey D's. Sausage McMuffin, hash brown, and OJ—breakfast of champions. I pull into the school lot for the last time. There's already a buzz in the air. Seniors walking taller, smiling wider. We all know: this is it.
First stop, the library. Gotta return those three books I've had since sophomore year—Beowulf, Catcher in the Rye, and a science textbook I never actually opened. I hand them over with a sheepish grin. The librarian just sighs and clears me for graduation. Victory.
Then it's on to meet the squad—
The boys. Day one goons. We dap up, talk trash, reminisce. Every classroom we walk into feels like a mixtape of memories. Inside jokes echo. Laughter spills out. There's an unspoken bond—we're all teetering on the edge of goodbye.
As the clock ticks toward noon, the announcements come through. Seniors, dismissed.
Caps. Gowns. Tassels. We're all suiting up for our victory lap.
Outside, I'm heading toward the Ranger when the boys fall in behind me.
"Yo, Ty, got any plans before you dip to Texas?"
"We should hit the creek this weekend."
"Or mob around the Cinders!"
I laugh, already picturing the dust trails and bonfire glow.
"Let's go to the Cinders. And tell Crimson Chin to bring pallets this time—we're going big."
Everyone bursts out laughing.
"Fuck you, asshole," Crimson Chin calls out. "Hope your ball joints explode again on that junker."
"Hey, that 'junker' got me through thick and thin… mostly thin."
"I'll watch a game… if I've got literally nothing else to do."
I chuckle, flipping him the bird. We're all grinning like fools.
We break off, heading toward the stadium in our own little groups. I slow down, glance around at the city. Small. Dusty. Kinda boring. But it's home.
Then—sirens.
Red and blue flash in the rearview mirror.
I freeze. What the hell? I wasn't even speeding.
Two deputies approach, one on each side of my truck. I roll the window down manually—like an ancient ritual.
"Camp Verde Sheriff's Department. Do you know why we stopped you today?"
"No, sir."
"Your tags are expired, and your left brake light's out."
My heart drops. Not today.
"Sorry, sir. I had no idea. I'm headed to graduation."
The officer looks at me, then cracks a faint smile.
"Well, congratulations. Since it's your big day, I'll let you off with a verbal warning. Drive safe, okay?"
Relief floods me. I grin and thank him like he just handed me a golden ticket.
But then I see his face change.
Pale.
Eyes wide.
I turn—and see the second officer, gun drawn.
Pointed at me.
"HEY! What the fuck are you doing!? Holster that goddamn thing!" the first officer shouts.
Everything slows down.
What the hell is going on?! I'm not even Black.
Then—
"ISEKAI TIME, MOTHERFUKKKAAAA!"**
He pulls the trigger.
I see the bullet.
Time stops.
I can see the fire trailing behind it. It's coming for me—right between the eyes. I can't move. Can't even breathe.
Then—white. Blinding, searing white.
I hear a voice.
"Well, young man, you've won the Isekai Lottery Drawing. Let's begin…"
"What the fuck are you talking about?! Where am I? Am I dead?!"
The figure in front of me looks like some kind of divine used-car salesman—white suit, gold trim, white hair, neatly groomed beard. He grins like this is all routine.
"You've been selected to be reborn in another world. Can we proceed? Or do you need to scream some more?"
"Scream? Dude, I just got shot for no reason! Send me back! I had plans—I was going to college!"
He sighs.
"You wouldn't have made it. You were going to die either way. A car crash… or a rattlesnake."
"A rattlesnake?!"
"Don't ask how. I just know. Now, shall we spin the wheel?"
I shake my head. This is insanity. But I'm trapped in it.
He spins the first wheel. Names fly by: Marvel, DC, Star Wars, Harry Potter, Skyrim… It slows down.
Stops.
"Ah… devils, angels, power, and… boobs. How fitting."
I groan. No way. High School DxD? Seriously?!
Before I can argue, another wheel spins—powers.
It lands: Viltrumite.
A scroll materializes in the air:
🪐 Viltrumite Powers
• Super Strength – Punch through mountains
• Flight – High-speed, space-capable
• Invulnerability
• Longevity
• Accelerated Healing
• Killer Instinct
It dissolves into my skin. I feel it. Like I've always had it.
The wheel spins again. Lands on: Ryomen Sukuna.
Another scroll:
🔥 Sukuna's Powers
• Cursed Energy Mastery
• Dismantle & Cleave
• Domain Expansion: Malevolent Shrine
• Reverse Cursed Technique
• Fire-based Technique
• Possession & Binding Vows
This one hits harder. Darker. More chaotic.
"Well, time's up," the man says, grinning.
I stare at him, stunned.
"This… this isn't real."
FLASH.
Nothing.
Darkness.
And just like that, I'm gone.