Rain tapped against the window of a cramped Tokyo apartment.
Inside, surrounded by shelves of anime figures, unopened merchandise, and half-finished instant ramen cups, a man slouched in a gaming chair like a corpse that forgot to die.
Takeshi Oda.
Twenty-eight.
Game developer.
Single. Permanently.
Click. Click. Click.
His mouse moved on instinct as he auto-farmed daily quests in Crystal Hearts: Rebirth—the very gacha game he helped develop.
"Another dupe," Takeshi muttered, dragging the same max-rarity character into the recycle slot. "I literally coded the pull rates… and I still lose."
He leaned back. The chair groaned in protest.
Two monitors glowed in front of him—one with patch notes, the other paused on an anime episode he'd already memorized. The calendar on the wall was full of banner schedules and update deadlines.
Not a single real-world plan.
"What am I doing with my life?" he asked no one.
The question lingered longer than it should have.
He was good at his job. The game was successful. Thousands of players logged in daily because of systems he designed.
And yet—
Work. Sleep. Gacha. Anime. Repeat.
No ambition. No direction. No future worth getting excited about.
His phone buzzed.
Boss: Need that JP server hotfix by morning. You free tonight?
Takeshi stared at the message.
He didn't reply.
Instead, his eyes drifted to a limited-edition figure on his desk—a white-haired mage in ornate armor, standing tall and confident.
Someone important.
Someone powerful.
Someone nothing like him.
He flicked the figure's helmet. "Bet you'd handle life better than me."
Silence.
Takeshi closed his eyes.
For a moment, he imagined a different world. One where magic existed, purpose too. A body that didn't feel like it was decaying from inactivity.
He laughed quietly. "Grow up."
He stood to grab another energy drink. Then, before he knew what was happening… the world tilted. "Huh?"
His vision blurred while his knees buckled. There was no impact.
No floor.
Just darkness.
"What is this?" he thought, just seconds before blacking out.
When his sensation returned, it was not the same lights he was used to or the stale air. He swiftly turned his head both ways. "This isn't right…" he muttered, closing his eyes. After counting to ten, he opened them again.
But the image remained the same. Clear blue sky, while in the middle of a grassy plain.
"What?"
He sat up.
When was the last time? Takeshi could not even fathom it. Grass!? Real life grass was under him. "When was the last time I even touched this stuff…?"
"Hmph, feels overrated."
Then he noticed his clothes. Not his same old pajamas, but a sharp dark navy blazer with ornate gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs, layered over a crisp white dress shirt. His pants were tailored, formal—nothing like the sweatpants he'd been rotting in for weeks. He lifted his hand up to his eyes, realizing he was wearing reading glasses. "But I have perfect vision!?" he blurted.
Just when he thought he couldn't have been more confused, the poor guy stood up—and stumbled.
"What!" he screamed, catching his balance. "Why are my legs so long!?"
Without a doubt, these were not his legs. They were noticeably taller than what he was used to, and yet, it somehow felt lighter than before. Luckily, all of his confusion will soon be answered, as he saw a river stream up ahead.
"Perfect!"
He stared intently into the river. The man staring back at him from his reflection was tall, sharp-featured, and by Takeshi's standards, absurdly attractive. Short, spiky white hair streaked with black. Cold red eyes stared back at him—it sent shivers down his spine.
"That's not me…"
He touched his face, but the reflection followed.
"This really isn't me."
He should've been terrified. Or thrilled. Or something.
Instead, he just felt… empty. Like the universe had copy-pasted him into a stranger's save file.
Suddenly, adding more to his confusion, a monotonic voice echoed in his head.
"You are now occupying the body of Aphrodite Kuzon, newly appointed Instructor of All Star Academy."
Takeshi did not catch any of that. "Come again?"
But the voice didn't repeat itself.
Instead, the air in front of him shimmered—and a glowing translucent screen materialized, floating at eye level.
[WELCOME, INSTRUCTOR]
You have been selected.
Your Role: Instructor of Class Epsilon
Your Objective: Prevent student fate collapse
Your Restriction: Lifespan now bound to student outcomes
First Evaluation Period: 90 Days
Failure is permanent.
Takeshi stared at the screen.
Then he blinked.
Then he read it again.
"…What?"
The screen didn't respond. It just hovered there, cold and indifferent.
He waved his hand through it. The text flickered but didn't disappear.
"Okay. Okay." He took a breath. "So I'm in a fantasy world. I've got a new body. And apparently, I'm a teacher now."
He paused.
"And if my students fail, I die."
The screen pulsed once, as if confirming.
Takeshi laughed. It wasn't a happy sound.
"Of course. Of course that's the system. Why would it be anything else?"
He looked around—endless plains, distant mountains, a forest to his left. No tutorial. No quest markers. No help menu.
Just him, a glowing death contract, and a job he never applied for.
He sighed deeply, running a hand through his unfamiliar hair.
"Guess I'm not getting that hotfix done tonight."
Takeshi stared at the glowing screen, his mind racing.
"Okay, hold on. System. Voice. Whatever you are." He pointed at the floating text like it owed him money. "Why was I brought here? What's your endgame? Who even is Aphrodite Kuzon? Did he die? Did I kill him by accident? Is this body-snatching?!"
The screen didn't move.
It just hovered there, silent and smug.
"Hello?" Takeshi waved his hand in front of it. "I'm asking you a question here. Basic customer service, come on."
Nothing.
He waited.
Still nothing.
Then, as if mocking him, the screen pulsed once—and displayed the exact same message as before.
[WELCOME, INSTRUCTOR]
You have been selected.
Your Role: Instructor of Class Epsilon
Your Objective: Prevent student fate collapse
Your Restriction: Lifespan now bound to student outcomes
First Evaluation Period: 90 Days
Failure is permanent.
Takeshi's eye twitched.
"That's it? That's all you're gonna give me?"
The screen flickered slightly, as if shrugging.
"No tutorial? No backstory? No 'Dear Instructor, here's why we ruined your life'?"
Silence.
"Unbelievable." He dragged a hand down his face. "I've debugged gacha systems with better communication than this."
But the screen didn't care. It just floated there, unmoved, unfeeling, utterly unhelpful.
Takeshi felt something twist in his chest—not panic, not anger, but something worse.
Stress.
The kind that came from knowing you were in over your head with zero guidance and a ticking clock you didn't ask for.
His breathing quickened. His hands clenched.
"Okay. Okay. Think, Takeshi. You've handled worse. Remember the server crash during anniversary? You survived that. This is just… fantasy servitude with a death penalty. Totally fine. Totally normal."
He was not fine.
He looked around again—the empty plains, the distant forest, the impossibly blue sky.
No escape. No logout button. No way back.
Just forward.
And then, unbidden, a memory surfaced.
His apartment. The glow of two monitors. The stale air. The half-eaten ramen cup. The empty energy drink cans piled like a monument to poor life choices.
His boss's message still unanswered.
Another all-nighter. Another patch. Another day where nothing changed.
The same chair. The same desk. The same slow, suffocating decay.
Takeshi exhaled slowly.
He looked down at his new body—the tailored clothes, the clean hands, the legs that actually worked without cramping.
Then he thought about going back.
Back to that room.
Back to those energy drinks.
Back to pulling all-nighters for a game he didn't even enjoy playing anymore.
"...Hmm."
He tilted his head, considering.
"Maybe I should give this life a shot."
The words came out quieter than he expected. Almost like he meant them.
He straightened up, puffing out his chest like he'd seen confident people do in movies.
And that's when he noticed.
His chest was hard.
Not soft. Not slouched. Not the result of years sitting in a gaming chair eating garbage.
It was solid. Defined. The kind of chest you got from actually taking care of your body.
Takeshi's eyes widened.
He pressed his hand against it.
Firm. Real. Undeniably athletic.
A slow grin spread across his face.
"Man! This body's the best!"
He flexed his arm experimentally. Actual muscle. Not much, but way more than he'd ever had.
He did a small jump. His knees didn't hurt.
He took a deep breath. His lungs didn't wheeze.
"Okay. Okay, maybe this isn't so bad." He looked back at the glowing screen, which was still floating there like a judgmental post-it note. "Still think you're a terrible tutorial system, but…"
He glanced down at himself again—the sharp outfit, the clean hands, the body that didn't feel like it was falling apart.
"…I can work with this."
The screen pulsed once, then faded.
Takeshi stood there for a moment, alone in the grass, staring at the forest ahead.
He had no idea what "Class Epsilon" meant.
He had no idea what "fate collapse" looked like.
He had no idea if Aphrodite Kuzon had been a good person, a bad person, or just some guy who got erased so Takeshi could take his place.
But he did know one thing.
He wasn't going back to that apartment.
Not if he could help it.
"Alright." He rolled his shoulders, adjusted his glasses, and started walking. "Let's see what kind of mess I just signed up for."
Behind him, the glowing screen reappeared for just a second, displaying one final line:
[Objective Updated: Reach All Star Academy]
Distance: 12 km
Time Remaining Until Orientation: 6 hours
Takeshi glanced back at it, deadpan.
"Of course there's a timer."
The screen vanished.
He sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets, and kept walking.
"At least the weather's nice."