The frat house smelled like regret, stale beer, and absolute victory.
Brad—six-foot-two, blond hair still somehow perfectly tousled despite the chaos, captain of the intramural flag football team, and self-proclaimed "alpha of the party"—rolled over on the sticky living-room floor and groaned. Sunlight stabbed through the half-drawn blinds like it personally hated him. His head throbbed in perfect rhythm with the bass still echoing in his skull from last night's speakers.
Next to him, Chad—dark hair, perpetual half-smirk, the guy who always knew exactly how many shots everyone could handle before things got weird—lay sprawled on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, the other clutching an empty Solo cup like it was a lifeline.
Around them, the aftermath of legendary status: red cups forming abstract art on every surface, a pizza box serving as a pillow for some random pledge, and—yep—3 very attractive, very asleep sorority girls curled up on the couch in various states of undress. One had Brad's hoodie draped over her like a blanket. Another was using Chad's discarded snapback as a sleep mask.
Brad cracked one eye open, surveyed the wreckage, and grinned despite the hangover.
"Dude," he rasped, voice sounding like gravel. "Last night was biblical."
Chad didn't move. "If by biblical you mean we smote the keg and parted the seas of Natty Light… yeah. Confirmed."
Brad pushed himself up on one elbow, winced, then spotted the mini-fridge in the corner that had miraculously survived. He crawled over—because walking was for people who hadn't blacked out at 3 a.m.—popped it open, and pulled out the last two cans of Coors Banquet that had been chilling since pledge week.
"Breakfast of champions," he announced, cracking one open and handing the other to Chad.
Chad finally sat up, hair sticking out in every direction like he'd fought a tornado and lost. He accepted the beer, popped the tab, and took a long pull. "To epic nights," he toasted.
Brad raised his can. "To epic nights."
They clinked—hard. The aluminum rang out like a bell.
For a split second, nothing happened.
Then the room lit up like someone had flipped on the sun inside the frat house.
A blinding white flash exploded from between their cans, swallowing the entire living room. Brad felt weightless. Chad yelped something that sounded like "What the fu—", and then—
Everything went black.
When Brad opened his eyes again, the frat house was gone.
He was lying on cold stone.
Not just any stone—polished marble that looked like it belonged in a cathedral, except half of it was cracked and scorched, black veins of soot crawling across the surface like lightning scars. Above him arched a vaulted ceiling so high it disappeared into shadow. Torches flickered in iron sconces, casting long, dancing light across the room.
He blinked. His head still pounded, but the beer was gone. So was his shirt. And—oh great—his pants.
He was in his boxers. The ones with the little Greek letters all over them.
"Chad?" he croaked.
A groan from his left. "Here. And… dude. Why are we basically naked?"
Chad sat up beside him, equally underdressed, rubbing his temples. His eyes widened as he took in their surroundings.
They were in the center of a massive summoning circle—glowing blue runes pulsing faintly on the floor, geometric patterns that looked like someone had tried to draw a pentagram but got distracted by geometry homework. Floating motes of light drifted in the air like fireflies on steroids.
And they weren't alone.
A dozen figures stood in a loose ring around the circle. Most wore long, hooded cloaks in deep crimson and black, faces hidden in shadow. A few held staffs topped with glowing crystals. At the far end of the chamber, elevated on a dais of cracked white stone, sat a man and woman in regal armor—crowns tilted, expressions a mix of awe, exhaustion, and barely contained hope.
The king—graying beard, scarred face, crown dented like it had taken a few hits—rose slowly. The queen beside him clutched the arm of her throne, eyes wide.
One of the cloaked mages stepped forward, lowering his hood to reveal an old man with a long silver beard and eyes that glowed faintly violet.
"By the grace of the Sun," the mage intoned, voice echoing off the ruined walls, "the prophecy is fulfilled. The Outsiders have arrived."
Brad looked at Chad.
Chad looked at Brad.
Then Brad—because of course it was Brad—raised a hand like he was about to ask a question in lecture.
"Yo. Quick question. Where the hell are we, and why does everyone look like they just survived Comic-Con and a war at the same time?"
A ripple of murmurs went through the mages. The queen's hand flew to her mouth.
The king took one step forward, armor clanking. His voice was deep, gravelly, and carried the weight of someone who'd seen too much.
"You stand in the shattered throne room of Eldrathar Keep. The Demon King is slain. The heroes who felled him… have become the new darkness. The world bleeds under their rule."
He paused, eyes locking onto Brad and Chad like they were the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.
"And you… have been summoned to end them."
Chad blinked slowly.
Brad stared.
Then Chad leaned over and whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear:
"Dude. We just got isekai'd."
Brad nodded once, very seriously.
"Epic."
Somewhere in the distance, a low rumble shook the castle—stone grinding against stone, like the building itself was still settling from whatever apocalypse had already happened here.
The old mage cleared his throat. "The ritual is complete. Rise, heroes. The System will awaken within you shortly. You must—"
Brad cut him off, standing up in all his nearly-naked glory.
"Hold up, Gandalf. Before we do any of that… can someone grab us some pants? And maybe a beer? We've got a world to save, apparently, and I'm not doing it in my underwear."
Chad snorted, then stood too, fist-bumping Brad without thinking.
The moment their knuckles connected—
A second flash erupted.
This one wasn't white.
It was gold.
And a translucent blue screen appeared in front of both their faces at the same time.
[Welcome, Summoned Ones]
[Integration into the Hero System commencing…]
[Error: Residual Corruption detected. Recalibrating…]
[Class Assignment Complete]
[Brad – Class: Arcane Bro-mancer (Mage)]
[Chad – Class: Finance Bro-llionaire (Warrior)]
A surge of electric energy raced through Brad's veins, making his fingertips spark with faint violet lightning. Chad's shoulders squaring as raw physical power flooded his frame—muscles tightening, stance shifting as if he'd just hit the gym for three straight hours.
The mages gasped in unison.
The old silver-bearded mage's eyes widened. "The System has spoken… one wields the arcane storm, the greater mage of the pair. The other bears the unbreakable will of steel and might."
Brad flexed his fingers, watching tiny sparks dance between them. A cocky grin spread across his face. "Mage, huh? Bigger, stronger, and now I shoot lightning? This is gonna be lit."
Chad rolled his shoulders, feeling the new strength settle in like he'd chugged a pre-workout made of pure gains. He smirked back. "Guess I'm going to be fisting these corrupted clowns."
Brad laughed, loud and reckless. "Bro, we're about to break this fantasy world."
Chad nodded, cracking his knuckles. "Let's get it."
And just like that—half-naked, hungover, and now magically juiced—the two frat bros stepped out of the summoning circle and into the rest of their lives.