If you'd asked me how I thought I'd die, I might have said a car accident. Maybe a freak illness. If I was lucky, old age in a warm bed.
What I didn't imagine was dying the way I actually did.
It began with a cup of instant noodles—my first mistake. Not just any noodles, but the kind marketed as "three times spicier than hell." I'd ordered them online after watching a streamer cry, hiccup, and nearly faint while eating them. I thought, Pathetic. I could do better.
I couldn't.
Halfway through the bowl, the powder hit me like molten iron down the throat. My lungs spasmed. My eyes watered. I coughed so hard the chopsticks slipped from my fingers. The desk shook, and—because the universe has a sense of humor—the shelves behind me toppled.
Boxes of unopened figurines came crashing down. While I flailed, gagging, my foot slipped on the sauce packet I'd dropped earlier. I went down hard, head first, beneath a plastic avalanche of collectibles.
That's how I died: choking on noodles, crushed under a shrine of unopened waifus, my final words a wet cough.
If you're laughing, don't. I'm already haunted enough.
When I opened my eyes again, the world was different.
I stood on a field of white clouds, as if heaven itself had descended. But it didn't look right. The sky was too blue, painted like a screensaver. A rainbow looped in a perfect circle overhead, repeating itself every few seconds. Neon signs blinked in the mist with phrases like "WELCOME, NEW USER!" and "PLEASE RATE YOUR EXPERIENCE."
And at the center of it all, on a throne carved from glowing marble, sat a god.
Or at least, something claiming to be a god.
He had a halo, crooked and sliding off to one side, but the rest of him looked like a tourist on vacation. A loud Hawaiian shirt with flamingos. Baggy shorts. Sandals. In one hand, he held a cup of bubble tea, the straw glowing faintly as if enchanted. A long beard spilled down his chest, glittering faintly, but he ruined the effect with star-shaped sunglasses.
The moment he spotted me, he broke into laughter. "Hhhah! Oh, man! Instant noodles? Sauce packet slip? Buried alive under figurines? I can't—ha! I can't breathe!"
I stared, horrified. "…You saw that?"
"Oh, every second." He slapped his knee, wheezing. "The way you flailed—it was priceless! Haven't laughed like that since the Dark Ages."
I wanted to curl up and die all over again. "…kill me."
"Already did, champ!" He slurped from his tea.
I hated him instantly.
He waved his hand, as if brushing away his own laughter. "But hey, credit where it's due. Deaths that entertaining deserve a reward. So, here's the deal: I'll let you reincarnate. Any world you want. Fantasy, sci-fi, apocalypse—name it."
"…any world?" I asked cautiously.
"Any." He twirled his straw like a wand. "One-time offer. Think carefully."
I didn't need to think carefully. I already knew.
There was one world I understood better than my own: Arcadia Chronicles, the MMORPG that had consumed a decade of my life. A sprawling land of kingdoms, magic, and an academy where the Hero of prophecy began his journey. I knew every dungeon, every hidden treasure, every exploit the developers never patched.
If I reincarnated there with all my knowledge, I wouldn't just survive. I'd thrive. Riches, power, freedom—all mine.
"I want to go to Arcadia Chronicles," I said.
The god grinned. "Done!" He snapped his fingers.
The clouds beneath me dissolved.
I awoke to the creak of wood and the smell of straw. Above me stretched a low ceiling of rough-hewn beams. Dust drifted in sunlight spilling through a warped window.
Then, a faint shimmer of text appeared before my eyes.
[Identity Established]
Name: Rowan Hale
Status: Orphan
Background: Raised in a rural village. No known family.
Magic Aptitude: Low. Barely qualified for Academy recommendation.
I blinked. "…what?"
Low magic? Orphan? Barely qualified?!
"No, no, no, no—this isn't right!" I clutched my head. "I was supposed to be powerful! A noble with hidden bloodlines! A prodigy with secret potential! What is this trash build?!"
My protest was cut short by a knock on the door.
"Rowan? Are you awake?"
The voice was warm, aged—the village elder.
I froze. The god hadn't just dropped me into the world. He'd shackled me with an identity. Not a chosen hero. Not even a respectable side character. Just a throwaway orphan with garbage stats.
That bastard god.
I dragged myself outside, where the elder greeted me with a smile equal parts kind and pitying. "Rowan. The Academy has accepted you. Despite your… limitations, they agreed to give you a place. You'll depart for the capital tomorrow."
I wanted to scream.
The Academy? The very place where the Hero and his chosen companions would gather? The heart of every world-shaking event?
I didn't want this. I wanted to be far away from them, exploiting my knowledge quietly, stacking gold until I could vanish into luxury. Instead, I was being shoved directly into the plot's jaws.
The elder patted my shoulder. "Make us proud, boy."
I forced a brittle smile. "…of course. Proud."
Inside, I was cursing that damned god with every word I knew.
That night, I lay awake on the rough straw mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling.
It wasn't over. Not yet.
So what if I had low magic? So what if my stats were pathetic? I had something nobody else in this world possessed: meta knowledge.
I knew the hidden martial treasures scattered across the land. I knew the obscure techniques buried in forgotten dungeons. I knew the secret ways to cultivate mana beyond what the Academy taught.
If I played it smart, I could carve my own path to power.
But I had to follow one unbreakable rule:
"If I don't get noticed by the main cast, I'll be safe."
The Hero, the Saintess, the genius mage, the noble rival… they were the eye of the storm. As long as I stayed out of their sight, I could thrive in peace.
That was the plan.
Simple. Elegant. Foolproof.
Or so I thought.
Because as my eyes finally drifted shut, I heard it. A faint chuckle, echoing inside my skull.
"Good luck, champ," whispered the god's voice, thick with amusement. "I can't wait to watch you squirm."
My eye twitched.
This was going to be hell.