There are days when the world seems simple and clear, like the assembly instructions for an IKEA stool. And then there are days when it throws you a curveball. The kind of surprise that even the most unhinged Japanese screenwriter, having binge-watched every Isekai anime in existence, couldn't come up with. For me, that day started as the most ordinary, unremarkable Wednesday.
My name is Alex Miller. But to my friends, I'm just Alex, or in particularly ceremonial instances, "The Lord of Singularity and Master of Forbidden Knowledge." The latter, of course, is my own personal initiative. And why not? Sixteen is the perfect age to invent pompous and grand titles for yourself. It's called "Eighth-Grader Syndrome," or as refined connoisseurs of Japanese culture like myself call it: Chuunibyou. It's contagious, but fun. It turns a boring grocery run for bread into a "dangerous supply run into enemy territory," and a standard Chemistry quiz into a "mental battle against the Demon of Acids and Alkalis."
Anyway, back to that Wednesday. I was sitting in History class. Our teacher, Mr. Henderson—a man of the old school and the owner of a mustache thick enough to rival a beaver's pelt—was droning on monotonously about the Great Depression. I, meanwhile, hiding behind my textbook, was diving into a world far more interesting: finishing the latest chapter of a manhwa about a guy who became a Necromancer.
It was exactly at the moment when the main character was dramatically raising his first skeleton army that something… blinked in front of my eyes. Not like an eyelid blinking. It was as if reality itself glitched for a split second.
Right in front of my face, blocking my view of Jessica's ponytail and Mr. Henderson's mustache, a translucent blue screen flared up. You know the type—a classic interface from a fantasy RPG. And on it, in obsidian-colored letters, was an inscription:
[System "Gamer" Initialization... 100%]
[Synchronization with Host: Alex Miller. Successful.]
[Welcome, Player!]
I blinked once. Then again. I shook my head, thinking this was the disastrous result of sleep deprivation or a caffeine overdose. But the screen wasn't planning on going anywhere. It hovered in the air, about a foot from my nose, swaying slightly in sync with my movements. I cautiously glanced sideways at my desk neighbor, Sam. He was scribbling something in his notebook with the look of a martyr, completely oblivious to the anomaly floating right in front of my face.
"Alex, why'd you freeze?" he whispered without looking up from his writing. "Do you think if you stare at Mr. Henderson's mustache long enough, it'll fall off?"
I didn't answer. My brain, raised on hundreds of hours of video games and thousands of pages of manga, was feverishly trying to process the information. There were a few options.
Option one: I had lost my mind. Plausible, but too simple and boring.
Option two: This was someone's high-tech prank. Highly unlikely—who would waste the budget on me?
And option three, the most insane and yet the most desirable…
Could this really be happening? A wild thought raced through my mind, and my heart began to pound in anticipation of something incredible.
A new line flashed on the blue screen.
[First Quest Received!]
The world would never be the same again. And honestly? I was damn happy about it.