The rain in June always tasted like rust.
It wasn't the romantic, cinematic rain that Ren saw in the shows he watched late at night—the kind that sparkled against streetlights or set the mood for a quiet confession of love. There was no poetry in this weather. It was just a relentless, lukewarm drizzle that clung to the skin like a second layer of sweat, turning the world into a blur of gray concrete and mud.
It was the kind of rain that seeped into your bones and made you feel heavy.
Ren Satou sat on the wooden steps of an abandoned Shinto shrine, hidden deep within the wooded hills behind his high school. He was fifteen years old, though his eyes held the exhausted, sunken look of someone much older. His school uniform, a stiff navy blazer that he hated, was damp at the shoulders. The collar chafed against his neck, a constant, irritating reminder of the leash society had placed on him.
He shouldn't be here.
By all accounts, he should be in his Juku (cram school) right now. He should be sitting in a fluorescent-lit room that smelled of dry-erase markers and anxious sweat. He should be listening to the drone of a teacher explaining quadratic equations for the hundredth time, memorizing historical dates that held no relevance to his soul, preparing for high school entrance exams that felt less like a gateway to the future and more like a guillotine waiting to drop.
But he couldn't do it. Not today.
The pressure in that classroom was a physical weight. It sat on his chest, making it hard to breathe. It was the weight of his father's silent disappointment—a man who worked fourteen hours a day for a company that would replace him in a heartbeat. It was the weight of his mother's frantic smiles, her obsession with maintaining "face" with the neighbors, her terrifying fear that her son might be... average.
And he was average. Painfully, invisibly average.
Ren looked down at his hands. They were pale, thin, with calluses on the thumbs from hours of tapping a screen.
"I'm just tired," he whispered to the damp air.
He wasn't a delinquent. He didn't fight. He didn't smoke. He just... existed. He drifted through the hallways of his school like a ghost, unnoticed by the popular kids, ignored by the teachers unless he failed a test. He was an NPC—a background character in the bustling, high-definition metropolis of Tokyo.
He pulled his knees to his chest, trying to preserve what little body warmth he had left. The shrine behind him groaned softly under the assault of the moisture. It was a relic of a bygone era, its vermilion paint peeling away like dried scabs to reveal the gray, rotting wood beneath. It was forgotten by the town, overgrown with moss, visited only by crows, stray cats, and one lonely boy who didn't want to go home.
In a way, Ren felt a kinship with this place. Abandoned. Obsolete. A remnant of something that used to matter but no longer fit in the modern algorithm.
"Come on... Just this once. Please."
Ren pulled his smartphone from his pocket. The screen lit up, casting a pale, artificial glow on his face. It was the only source of warmth in the gloom.
On the screen, the familiar logo of Fate/Grand Order appeared, connecting to the server.
Gacha.
It was a hellish civilization. He knew that. He knew it was designed by psychologists and economists to exploit the human brain's reward pathways. He knew the odds were rigged against him—a brutal 1% rate for a 5-star Servant.
But it was the only place where effort made sense.
In the real world, you could study for weeks and still fail because the teacher asked a trick question. You could be kind to people and still be ignored. But in the game? If you grinded, you got EXP. If you leveled up, you got stronger. It was linear. It was fair.
And today was the day.
Ren had spent the last three months eating cheap convenience store onigiri—the tuna mayo ones that were always on discount—and skipping lunch entirely to save his allowance. He had walked home instead of taking the bus. He had farmed every Free Quest, cleared every Interlude, and scraped together every login bonus.
He had exactly 30 Saint Quartz. One multi-roll.
Today was the "Rate Up" banner for Jeanne d'Arc (Ruler). The Holy Maiden.
He didn't want her because she was "meta" or for farming loops. He wanted her because her Noble Phantasm was absolute defense. Luminosité Eternelle. A flag that protected everyone, no matter how strong the enemy was.
In a world that felt increasingly indifferent to his existence, the idea of summoning a Saint who promised to protect him felt like a necessary investment. He wanted to feel safe. Even if it was just pixels on a screen.
"I've done the math," Ren muttered, his thumb hovering over the summon button. His voice cracked slightly in the empty air. "The probability is low. But I skipped the last three banners. The desire sensor shouldn't pick this up."
He wasn't asking for a miracle. He was just asking for one win. Just one golden servant to tell him his efforts weren't wasted. To tell him that saving up mattered.
He pressed the button.
Summon x10.
The animation played. The digital void swirled. Three rings of light spun in the center of the screen.
Ren held his breath. His heart hammered against his ribs, a physical drum of anticipation. This was the only dopamine rush he had left. The one moment where the world might align in his favor.
Silver orbs.
Silver orbs.
Spark.
The light turned gold.
Ren's breath hitched. This is it. A gold card. His eyes widened, reflecting the golden glow. Hope, sharp and desperate, clawed at his throat.
The card spun, revealing its class. It wasn't a Servant card. It was a Craft Essence.
Ren stared.
It was the image of a plate of spicy tofu.
The Spicy Mapo Tofu. (3-star Craft Essence).
The meme of the community. The symbol of absolute despair. The trashiest of trash pulls.
"..."
The animation finished. No 5-star character. No Jeanne d'Arc. Just a digital plate of tofu and nine other useless 3-star cards that had cost him three months of hunger.
Ren stared at the screen. The rain dripped from his hair onto the glass, distorting the Mapo Tofu.
He didn't scream. He didn't throw his phone. That was something a character in an anime would do—someone with enough energy to be angry. Instead, a hollow, dry laugh escaped his lips. It was a quiet sound, easily swallowed by the rhythmic drumming of the rain.
He gently placed the phone face-down on the damp wooden floorboards next to him.
He leaned back against the pillar of the shrine, closing his eyes. The wood was cold and rough against his back.
"Of course," he whispered. "Rate-up is a lie."
The unfairness of it all washed over him, not as a sudden wave, but as a rising tide.
Why did some people get to be born rich? Why were some people born geniuses? Why did the class president have perfect skin and a perfect family, while Ren had to worry about whether his dad would come home drunk or not at all? Why did some people pull three 5-stars in one ticket while he saved for months and got tofu?
"This world... it's a Kusoge," Ren sighed, using the slang for a 'trash game'—one with bugs, poor balance, and unfair difficulty spikes.
The graphics were high definition, sure. The physics engine was realistic. But the gameplay loop? It was repetitive, boring, and cruel. There was no character customization screen. You were rolled at birth, and if your stats were bad, you were stuck with them until the Game Over screen.
That was why he loved those novels about other worlds.
It wasn't just about the power fantasy. It wasn't about having a harem or being a king. It was about the possibility. The idea that if you were removed from this flawed, broken system and placed in a new one—one with clear rules, visible progress bars, and tangible rewards—you could be more.
"I just want a fair game," he murmured, his voice trembling. "I want a world where if I swing a sword a thousand times, my Strength stat goes up by one. Is that too much to ask?"
He stood up, his legs numb from sitting too long. He brushed the dust off his trousers—a futile gesture, as the dampness had already set in deep.
He turned to face the main hall of the shrine. The offering box (Saisen-bako) stood there, silent and imposing, built from dark, aged cypress wood that had turned black with time.
Ren didn't know the name of the God who lived here. He didn't even know if there was a God here anymore. Maybe He had moved out, just like everyone else who left this dying town.
He dug into his pocket. His fingers brushed against lint and a few crumpled receipts before finding a single coin.
A five-yen coin. The symbol of good fortune. A connection between the mortal and the divine.
It was his last coin. He didn't have enough for the bus home. He'd have to walk three kilometers in the rain.
"Hey," Ren spoke to the empty darkness behind the latticed doors of the shrine. His voice was quiet, devoid of the arrogance he usually projected to protect his fragile ego. He sounded tired. So incredibly tired. "Are you there?"
Silence. Only the sound of the rain hitting the tin roof.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Ren flicked the coin. It spun in the air, a tiny golden flash in the gray afternoon, before clattering into the wooden slats of the offering box.
Clink.
A pitiful sound for a pitiful offering.
"I know I haven't been a devout believer," Ren leaned against the wooden railing, looking up at the thick straw rope that marked the boundary between the human world and the sacred space. "I don't even know your name. But... if you're really up there... you're doing a terrible job."
He didn't shout. He didn't kick the box. He just slid down to a sitting position again, hugging his knees to his chest. The frustration that had been building up—the bad grades, the disappointed look in his father's eyes, the crushing loneliness, the failed game—it all coalesced into a heavy, suffocating lump in his throat.
"This game is unbalanced, old man." Ren whispered, tears finally pricking the corners of his eyes, hot and shameful. "The difficulty curve is broken. The lore is boring. And the player base is toxic."
He wiped his eyes furiously with his sleeve, hating himself for crying. Crying solved nothing. It didn't fix his grades. It didn't bring Seraphina home.
"I want to log out," he admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. It was a thought he had suppressed for months. "I'm tired of playing a character I didn't create. If you have any power... if you're actually listening... just send me away. Delete my account here. Create a new save file somewhere else."
He looked up at the rotting wood of the shrine gate, his eyes red and pleading.
"If you can't do that... then what's the point of you?" Ren let out a self-deprecating chuckle that sounded more like a sob. "Just a useless asset in a buggy map. Just like me."
He closed his eyes, waiting for the wind to pass. He expected nothing. He expected to stand up, walk home in the rain, get scolded by his mother for his wet uniform, eat a cold dinner in silence, and wake up tomorrow to do it all over again.
But the wind didn't pass.
The sound of rain stopped.
It didn't taper off. It didn't fade away into the distance. It ceased instantaneously, as if someone had pulled the plug on the world.
Ren frowned. The air pressure dropped suddenly, making his ears pop. A strange, static charge prickled the hair on his arms, smelling of ozone and old, dusty paper.
He opened his eyes.
The world had turned gray.
Not the gray of the rainy sky, but a monochromatic, absolute gray. The raindrops were suspended in mid-air, millions of crystalline spheres frozen in time, capturing the refracted light like tiny diamonds. A falling leaf hung motionless inches from his nose.
"Huh?"
Then, the voice came.
It didn't come from the shrine. It didn't come from the sky. It resonated from the marrow of his bones, vibrating through his skull like a struck bell.
"A 'Kusoge', is it?"
Ren scrambled backward, his shoes scraping loudly against the wood, his back hitting the pillar.
"Who...?"
"You complain about the balance. You critique the narrative. You mock the design."
The voice was ancient. It sounded like the grinding of tectonic plates, deep and terrifying, yet it carried a tone of distinct amusement—like a grandfather watching a toddler throw a tantrum over a toy they didn't understand.
Light began to pool on the steps of the shrine. It wasn't a holy, golden light. It was white—stark, sterile, and terrifyingly intense. From that light, a figure coalesced.
It wasn't a giant monster. It wasn't a dragon. It was an old man.
He wore traditional white Shinto robes (Kariginu), but they seemed woven from starlight. His face was obscured by a veil of shifting mist, but Ren could feel eyes—sharp, piercing eyes—dissecting his very soul.
Ren couldn't breathe. This wasn't VR. This wasn't a hallucination caused by sleep deprivation. The sheer pressure emanating from the entity made his instincts scream: Predator. Higher Being. Admin.
"I..." Ren stammered, his bravado dissolving instantly. "I was just... venting. I didn't mean..."
"Oh, but you did." The God stepped closer. The wooden floorboards didn't creak under his feet. In fact, he didn't seem to be touching them at all. "You offered me five yen. A pittance. And with that five yen, you submitted a bug report for the entire universe."
The God chuckled, and the frozen raindrops around them vibrated with the sound.
"You asked for a transfer. A server change. You want to be the 'Main Character' in a world of swords and sorcery. Is that correct?"
Ren's heart skipped a beat. The fear was still there, cold and gripping, but beneath it, a spark of pure, unadulterated excitement ignited. It was the same feeling he got when he saw the gold light in the gacha—only a million times stronger.
"You... you can do it?" Ren asked, his voice trembling. "Is... is this the Isekai event?"
"I can." The God replied simply. "I am the God of Trials, after all. If a soul rejects its current vessel so violently, who am I to deny it a new path?"
Ren scrambled to his knees, pressing his forehead against the floor in a clumsy, desperate bow. "Thank you! Thank you! I promise I'll do better! I'll save the world! I'll be a hero! Just give me a chance!"
He was already planning it. The cheat skills. The harem. The slow life in the countryside. Finally, a game he could win. He would show them all. He would show his dad, his teachers, the world that rejected him. He wasn't useless. He just needed the right map.
"However," The God's voice dropped an octave. The temperature plummeted, and Ren could see his own breath misting in the air.
Ren froze.
"You called my world 'trash'. You called me a 'useless developer'."
The mist around the God's face swirled violently.
"Do you think a 'good game' is one where you are handed victory?" The God asked, his tone shifting from amusement to something sharper, more educational yet cruel.
"You despise your current life because you lack talent. You lack luck. So you want to go to a new world where you are given talent and luck for free?"
"That's..." Ren swallowed hard. "That's how it works in the stories. A starter bonus... to help me survive... to balance things out..."
"Arrogance." The God declared, the word landing like a gavel. "You claim you can play the game better than I designed it. You claim that if the rules were different, you would be a hero. You blame the system for your own mediocrity."
The God extended a hand. The frozen raindrops began to swirl around Ren, forming a vortex.
"Very well. I will grant your wish. I will send you to a world of magic. A world of monsters. A world where you can hold a sword."
Ren looked up, hope warring with terror.
"But," The God leaned in close, the mist parting slightly to reveal a smile that was not human. It was too wide, too knowing. "Since you insulted the Game Master... I will revoke the tutorial."
"Tutorial?" Ren whispered.
"No 'System'. No 'Status Window'. No 'Inventory'. And absolutely... no 'Luck'."
Ren felt the floor beneath him dissolve. Gravity reversed.
"Wait!" Ren cried out, panic seizing his throat. "That's impossible! How am I supposed to survive? I'm just a high school student! I don't know how to fight!"
"You said you wanted a fair game," The God whispered, his voice fading as the vortex consumed Ren. "A fair game is one where you start with nothing but your own body and mind. If you are truly a 'Main Character', you will find a way."
"Prove to me that your life wasn't 'trash' because of the world, Ren Satou. Prove to me it wasn't trash because of you."
"No! Wait! You can't nerf me before I even start! HEY!!"
The world twisted. The gray shrine vanished. The smell of rain was replaced by the smell of ozone, crushed pine, and ancient, twisting mana.
Ren fell. He fell through the cracks of reality, stripped of his name, his history, and his safety.
He was falling into a new game. But this time, there was no reset button. There were no walkthroughs.
And the difficulty was set to Nightmare.