Klein Adler was a man of culture.
Or at least, that's what he told himself every time he minimized his browser tabs in a panic when someone walked by his door.
Others—particularly one very specific sister—might have called him a degenerate. But Klein preferred "connoisseur of art."
And what glorious art it was.
His room looked like a collector's shrine to all things voluptuous and fantastical. Posters of beautifully illustrated women covered every wall, each more dangerously dressed than the last. Figurines stood on shelves in delicate, confident poses, gleaming under soft LED lighting like divine idols of desire. His bed was a battlefield of tangled sheets, snack wrappers, and half-read light novels with very suggestive covers.
It wasn't dirty. Not exactly.
It was just… enthusiastically cluttered.
Klein sat at his desk, hunched over his monitor, eyes gleaming as the glow of the screen bathed his unkempt blond hair in light. He scrolled rapidly, devouring another chapter of his favorite smutty fantasy webnovel.
"Ahhh," he sighed dreamily. "The King who married every princess of every neighboring nation to prevent war. What a diplomat. What a visionary."
He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.
"They called him a tyrant," Klein whispered reverently, "but really, he was a man of peace. True love conquers all. Especially when love conquers all five nations."
From behind him came a voice filled with disgusted disbelief.
"Are you seriously reading that garbage again?"
Klein froze. Slowly, with the resigned dread of a man caught red-handed, he turned in his chair.
His younger sister, Mira, stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, wearing the universal expression of a woman forced to share a bloodline with an embarrassment.
"Mira, my beloved sister," he greeted her smoothly, "I assure you, this is a literary masterpiece. The emotional depth of—"
"—'The Emperor's Endless Honeymoon?'" she interrupted flatly. "You've read that thing six times."
"Seven," Klein corrected proudly. "And every reread is a spiritual experience."
Mira rubbed her temples. "You're twenty years old. You don't have a job. You haven't gone outside in three days. And your walls look like the inside of a hormone's fever dream."
Klein looked around his room, considering the criticism.
He didn't see the problem.
"These are works of art," he said defensively. "They're not just pictures, they're expressions of idealized beauty! Every curve, every sparkle in the eyes, every—"
"Every reason I'm never bringing my friends here again," Mira cut him off sharply.
Klein pouted. "You're so judgmental. Don't you want your big brother to find inspiration?"
"Not if your idea of inspiration involves elf lingerie catalogs," she snapped, pointing accusingly at his monitor.
Klein's mouth fell open. "How dare you, that's canon lore! It's cultural research!"
Mira stared at him for a long, silent moment, then sighed so deeply it sounded like her soul was leaving her body. "You're hopeless."
And with that, she turned and left, muttering something about "calling a therapist" and "setting fire to the hard drive."
Klein watched her go, then leaned back in his chair with a theatrical groan. "No one understands visionaries during their lifetime," he lamented dramatically.
He stared up at the ceiling.
Maybe she was right. Maybe he had gone a little overboard lately. He'd been reading fantasy harems nonstop for weeks—stories of reincarnated heroes who built empires, married princesses, and led armies of loyal beauties. Each one inspired him in a weird way. Not the war parts, not the strategy or adventure… but the romance. The charm. The confidence.
In every story, there was always that one guy who had nothing—but through sheer will, luck, and an absurdly powerful cheat skill, he got everything.
Klein wanted that.
Not just the women (well, okay, mostly the women), but the sense of purpose. The thrill of being someone special.
He looked at the clock. 11:47 PM.
Maybe some fresh air would clear his head.
He grabbed a hoodie, slipped on his sneakers, and stepped outside. The cold night greeted him like a splash of reality.
The street was quiet. Dim lamps cast long shadows over cracked pavement. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Klein shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking.
The air was sharp and clean. It smelled of rain, asphalt, and freedom. His mind wandered.
"What if I was reincarnated?" he mused aloud, grinning to himself. "I'd totally make it. I've read everything: systems, cultivation, gacha pulls, you name it. I'd know exactly what to do. First, get a cheat. Second, find some strong girls. Third, build the greatest harem the world has ever seen."
He laughed softly at his own delusion. "Yeah. Right. Like that'd ever—"
HONK.
Klein froze. That sound was not a figment of imagination.
Slowly, he turned his head.
At the far end of the street, under a flickering streetlight, sat a truck. Its headlights flared to life—bright, blinding, and very… intentional.
"...Huh?"
The engine roared.
"Wait—"
The truck lurched forward.
Klein's brain stalled. His survival instincts, however, screamed something along the lines of RUN, IDIOT.
He ran.
"WHY IS IT MOVING?!" he shouted, sprinting down the street.
The truck's tires screeched against the pavement. It accelerated.
"Is this—what the hell, this can't be real!" Klein yelped, darting around a corner.
The truck followed.
'How is it turning that fast?!'
He bolted into an alleyway, panting. His sneakers slapped against puddles as he weaved between trash cans and old crates.
Behind him, the truck somehow fit. The narrow alley echoed with the deep, mechanical growl of its engine.
"This isn't how physics works!" Klein cried.
He jumped over a pile of boxes and dashed into another street. The truck burst through the boxes like they were tissue paper, headlights glaring like the eyes of a vengeful god.
"Dude! I didn't even do anything wrong!" he yelled over his shoulder. "Is this karma? Is this because of the elf posters?!"
The truck's horn blared again, long and mournful.
Klein turned another corner, nearly tripping. His heart hammered. His lungs burned. He glanced behind him.
The truck was still there. Impossibly fast, impossibly persistent.
"Stop chasing me!" he screamed, waving his arms. "You're a vehicle! You don't have emotions!"
The truck swerved left, blocking his escape route.
Klein skidded to a halt, panting, sweat running down his forehead. "Okay. Okay, think. It's just a dream. I'm dreaming. Any second now, I'll wake up and—"
The truck revved menacingly.
Klein swallowed. "...It's not a dream, is it?"
The truck's headlights flared brighter, like twin suns of doom.
"Right. Thought so."
He turned and ran again, darting into another alley. Trash bins toppled in his wake. He leapt fences, stumbled over debris, and heard the monstrous rumble behind him never fade.
The chase became surreal. The truck didn't move like a machine, it hunted. Every turn he made, it matched. Every escape route, it blocked.
"Why me?!" Klein gasped between breaths. "Can't you chase, like someone evil?! A dictator?! A guy who litters?!"
The truck honked twice. Cheerfully.
"Oh, screw you!" Klein spat.
He burst into a small park, his shoes sliding on wet grass. The playground loomed ahead—a swing set, a sandbox, a single lonely bench. Nowhere to hide.
The truck came rolling in like a beast unchained, headlights cutting through the mist.
Klein stopped running.
He turned around slowly, chest heaving, and glared at the glowing monstrosity.
"Alright, fine!" he yelled. "Come on then! If you're gonna end me, do it with dignity! I'll die as I lived—single, broke, and misunderstood!"
The truck revved its engine.
Klein raised a defiant finger. "But mark my words, Truck-kun! If reincarnation is real, I swear I'll come back stronger! I'll build my harem! I'll—"
HONK.
Impact.
A blinding light swallowed everything.
For a moment, Klein felt like he was floating—weightless, painless, endless.
Then darkness.
A voice echoed faintly in the void.
He couldn't see. He couldn't breathe. But he could hear.
"Reincarnation process commencing."
Klein tried to speak, but his mouth didn't exist. He tried to move, but his body was gone.
Only a thought drifted in the void.
'Did I really just get isekai'd by a truck?'
Klein's last conscious thought before fading was a tired sigh.
"...At least make me a king this time."