The café was quiet.
In a corner near a large glass window, a man sat alone. His black hair was neatly combed but fell slightly over his forehead. He wore a dark brown shirt layered with a long coat of the same shade.
Zakra turned the page of the book in his hands. His eyes moved slowly, following line after line in the biography of Alexander the Great. He paused for a moment, his index finger tapping lightly on the edge of the book.
"They were truly great," he murmured, almost inaudibly.
He resumed reading, tracing the stories of past conquests.
"Alexander the Great..." Zakra shook his head slowly. "Man, people like this must have felt alive. They had a purpose. Something to fight for."
Zakra closed his book and let out a long sigh. His gaze shifted out the window, piercing through the glass toward the parking area.
A silver sports car was parked there. Its body reflected the afternoon sunlight. Three teenage boys were taking turns posing in front of the car, laughing loudly while taking photos with their phones.
Zakra looked at them flatly.
I got rich too fast. Too fast,i wonder if I had stayed there and become like them... would my life be a little more alive? Haha.
He lifted his coffee cup, sipping the black liquid slowly. Bitter.
Zakra leaned his back against the hard wooden chair. His eyes stared at the café ceiling.
"What should I do now..." he said softly. "Should I build another business? or become a fighter? No. Or become a writer?"
He fell silent for a moment.
"Or maybe find a wife..." The corner of his lips lifted slightly, forming a bitter smile. "As if anyone would like me."
Zakra raised his right hand, giving a brief signal.
"Bill," he said.
A curly-haired waitress hurried over to him. The faint scent of perfume wafted as she arrived beside the table. She placed a small receipt on the table.
"The total is ten dollars, Sir."
Zakra nodded. He took out his wallet, pulled out a fifty-dollar bill, and placed it on the small tray.
"Forty dollars for the tip."
The waitress's eyes widened. She stared at the money, then at Zakra's face. "Sir?"
"You heard me," Zakra smiled faintly. "Thank you for working so hard."
The waitress remained frozen.
"I like your hairstyle. It suits you very well, by the way," Zakra added while standing up and straightening the collar of his coat.
The waitress's face turned red. Her hand reflexively touched the ends of her hair. "T-Thank you, Sir."
Zakra nodded briefly, then walked toward the exit.
"Thank you for visiting!" the waitress called out from behind.
Zakra pushed the glass door open. The hot city air immediately hit his face. He had taken only one step out of the café when he froze.
He looked up. His hand raised to block the glare of the sun.
There was a small object falling from the sky. Getting bigger and bigger. A tail of white smoke trailed behind it.
"What is that?" he muttered.
From inside the café, the sound of the television, initially low, suddenly became loud.
"Breaking news! Nuclear attack detected heading towards—"
The voice was cut off by static.
Zakra's eyes widened. A blinding white light exploded in the sky, brighter than the sun.
"Ah, shit."
Szzt.
Thud.
Dark.
Zakra's vision vanished completely. The noise of the city disappeared. His body felt light, floating in a void.
What happened? Did I die? No. Don't tell me that was a nuke? A fucking real nuke?!
Silence.
So I just died? Get nuke on my way out of the cafe?
Zakra tried to feel his own heartbeat, but there was nothing.
Huh. Strange. I don't feel sad or scared.
Alright, what comes after this? What will I experience, huh?
For a very long time, Zakra felt nothing. He counted in his heart to estimate the time passing.
It's been 2 hours.
Argh, what is this actually? Is death just emptiness like this? If so, this is truly terrifying!
Szzt.
Light forcibly seized his eyes.
The sound of roaring screams hit his ears like a wave.
Zakra opened his eyes.
He was no longer in front of the café. He was in the middle of a vast stone-paved field. Surrounding him, thousands of creatures were packed into high stone stands.
There were humans. There were green-skinned creatures with protruding fangs. There were graceful creatures with pointed ears. The Demon race, Orcs, and Elves.
They were all staring at him. Their gazes were full of hatred.
Thud.
A stone landed hard on his forehead. Fresh blood flowed down past his eyes.
Wait. Where is this? Hah?
Zakra looked down at his body. His brown shirt and expensive coat were gone. He was now wearing a dirty, worn-out white jumpsuit. Prisoner's clothes. His hands were tied tightly behind his back.
I'm about to be executed?! Bro i fucking die by nuclear!! What does this mean?! Hah?! Where is this? Medieval times? Huh Their appearance... it's like I'm in an Isekai some shit
Wait. Is this a dream? Hallucination after death?
Zakra tried to scream a question, but his mouth was locked tight. His lips felt as if they were glued together by something invisible. He tried to force them open, but his jaw was stiff.
Magic?! The fuck is this Why can't I open my mouth?! Wait, what is this!
A splitting headache attacked him. Hundreds of images and foreign voices flooded his brain in a single second.
Memories of another man.
Memories of an Emperor.
A cruel dictator.
Zakra was now in the body of that king. The memories told him one fatal thing: Humans lost the war against the alliance of Elves and Demons. And he was the symbol of that defeat.
Fucking hell I just died man, am I going to die again?! You FUCKING KIDING ME!
His breathing became ragged. Cold sweat ran down his back.
No. Calm down. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe this is a dream but... argh! This pain in my forehead feels real, asshole!
I got isekaied into the body of someone who is about to die?!
The sound of heavy footsteps approached.
A male Elf with long blonde hair walked toward him. His face was cold and expressionless. In his hand, he gripped a large, gleaming sword.
The Elf stopped right in front of Zakra. He raised his sword high into the air. Preparing to slice through Zakra's neck.