"Hah..."
Aethel Watts was heading home from his final afternoon classes, noise-canceling earphones plugged in, lost in the immersive narration of a high-fantasy audiobook on a popular webnovel app. He sighed heavily, the weight of the cliffhanger settling in as he realized he'd finally caught up with the latest daily updates.
'Why can't these authors just write the whole thing in one frantic, inspired day?' he thought, his brow furrowing. 'I hate waiting twenty-four long hours for a single, measly chapter that barely satisfies the addictive craving. I guess I'm being somewhat unreasonable, but as a paying reader, I feel entitled to my burning frustration—not that anyone in the real world would listen to such a ridiculous, self-absorbed complaint.'
Aethel was an average, unassuming nineteen-year-old college student living a relatively normal, quiet life. Aside from being a lifelong orphan—which admittedly sucked more than words could say—everything else was going remarkably well. He had a sizeable, carefully managed inheritance from his late parents, who had passed away in a tragic accident when he was only two years old.
Though he had no surviving memories of their faces or voices, he was deeply, quietly grateful; their financial foresight meant he didn't have to worry about crushing student debt or monthly living expenses. Unlike his struggling peers, who worked themselves to the bone in part-time service jobs just to afford salty instant noodles, Aethel was incredibly lucky.
In his abundant free time, when he wasn't studying for his degree, he was a truly voracious and discerning reader. He had developed a keen, cynical eye for literary quality, knowing exactly which novels were worth his hard-earned coins and which were better left ignored in the trash. He had let his current favorite "marinate" and accumulate for an entire month, yet he had still burned through the massive backlog in a matter of frantic hours. Left with no other choice, he sent the author a generous gift through the app, hoping the financial incentive might speed up the next much-needed update.
Standing at a respectable 5'10" (178 cm) with slightly tan skin from occasional walks, messy black hair, and a slightly handsome, symmetrical face, Aethel had enough going for him to attract female attention if he ever truly wanted it. However, he deliberately chose to stay single, waiting until he felt more emotionally stable in his own life before diving into the messy world of dating. He was still a virgin at nineteen, but he didn't care what his judging peers thought—it was his private life, and his personal decision.
He was walking toward the small, tidy one-room apartment he'd moved into after finally leaving the orphanage at eighteen. It was a modest, functional space, but decent enough for the affordable price. He was scrolling distractedly through his phone, searching for a fresh story to bridge the gap until he got home, when the sudden, deafening sound of grinding metal and shattering glass erupted from the road nearby.
A massive, multi-car pileup had occurred just ahead. It wasn't entirely surprising; this was notoriously the busiest and most dangerous road in the city. Nearby drivers slammed violently on their brakes, desperate to avoid joining the twisted, smoking wreckage.
Aethel watched the scene for a moment, shocked and motionless, but as he reached instinctively for his phone, he saw several other frantic pedestrians already dialing emergency services. He lowered his hand and kept walking at a steady pace.
Some might call him cold or heartless, but that was just his pragmatic nature: Don't involve yourself in messy trouble that doesn't involve you directly. He was willing to help in certain, manageable situations, but this one was already being handled by a dozen others.
As he continued his walk, a sudden, terrifying roar of a high-revving engine rose behind him. He spun around, his face instantly contorting into a mask of pure, unfiltered shock. A massive, heavy-duty truck was mere centimeters away from his chest. The driver's wide-eyed expression was just as terrified and helpless as Aethel's.
The road was a steep uphill climb; the exhausted truck driver hadn't seen the smoking pileup until he topped the crest at full speed. With the line of stopped cars completely blocking the path, the driver had swerved instinctively to avoid the fatal collision—right into the narrow space where Aethel stood.
There was absolutely no time to move. Before he could even let out a scream, the truck slammed into him with unimaginable, bone-crushing force, throwing him like a ragdoll onto the hard pavement.
A thick pool of blood began to pool beneath him, staining the cold asphalt a deep, dark crimson.
"Hah... hah... damn... it hurts... like hell,"
Aethel wheezed, his shattered lungs struggling desperately for a single breath of air. "Fucking... Truck-kun... you better... transmigrate me... for all this agonizing pain."
And they say death is a final mercy, he thought bitterly as his vision began to blur and fade. I wish those poetic people were in my exact position right now. This hurts like absolute hell.
After what felt like a long eternity of white-hot agony, Aethel Watts took his final, shuddering breath and slipped away.
___________
In the vast, silent reincarnation cycle, countless glowing souls drifted like falling autumn leaves, guided by the invisible workings of fate and accumulated luck.
There was nothing inherently unique about the majority of them; they appeared as varying shades of misty white, some brilliant and pure, others faint and flickering.In the latest batch of the departed, the soul of Aethel Watts was among them.
Unconscious and drifting aimlessly, he moved with the ancient, swirling currents of the multiverse. His soul possessed a slightly darker, denser shade of white than the average human, though not so distinct as to be noticed among the billions of other drifting lights.
But as he drifted through the celestial currents, a tiny, piercing spark of pure white light—emerging from the cold nothingness of the deep void—latched itself firmly onto his soul, hitching a silent ride into the great unknown.
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