This is a compelling "Isekai" (reincarnation) start! I've translated this into English, focusing on maintaining the gritty, weary tone of the office life and the sudden, clinical shift to the "System" mechanics.
Chapter 1: The Gear that Broke
The metallic hum of the office air conditioning felt like it was drilling into my skull. Before my eyes, the Excel spreadsheet was nothing but a blurry smudge of meaningless numbers. I glanced at the clock in the corner of my monitor: 17:58. Those last two minutes stretched like chewing gum, a gray eternity of cubicles and reheated coffee.
When it finally struck 18:00, I didn't walk toward the exit; I fled.
As I headed for the bus stop, my mind was no longer in this noisy city. It was far away. I imagined fantasy worlds, starships, and above all, a life where I was the center of attention. I visualized a harem of warriors—athletic, loyal men who lived only to please and protect me; a place where my existence carried real weight.
"Anything is better than this," I thought while crossing the avenue. "I just want something exciting... something I have control over."
Then, the screech of tires and the roar of an engine tore my fantasy apart. A motorcycle, blowing through a red light, slammed into my side. The world spun violently. Cold asphalt was the last thing I felt. In my final seconds, a stinging sadness washed over me: my dogs would have no one to feed them tonight. I was going to die a nobody, just one more gear in a machine that wouldn't miss me.
I woke up in nothingness. There was no floor, only a thick mist that vibrated against my skin. In front of me, something existed, but my brain screamed in pain trying to process it. It was a kaleidoscope of impossible geometries, a mass of light and shadow that shifted shape every microsecond. To keep from going mad, my mind projected a comprehensible image: a hooded figure, tall and ethereal, whose face was a constant mirror.
"You have ended a life of insignificance," the Entity said. Its voice didn't come from the air, but from my own bones. "I will give you a second chance. Choose the setting."
I didn't hesitate. I thought of the worlds I had consumed in my reading. I needed a place where the social order had collapsed, where strength and charisma dictated who ruled.
"The Walking Dead," I replied with a trembling voice. "I want to reincarnate there. I want to create my own domain, my own harem, without laws to bind me."
"A world of death for someone seeking pleasure. Ironic." The Entity transformed into a spiral of fire. "Do you desire advantages? Templates?"
"Yes. I want a System. Something that allows me to surpass human limits. RPG stats, skills I can level up just by using them... cooking, mechanics, combat, survival, seduction... everything. And a storage dimension bound to my soul."
"Granted," the Entity decreed. The mist began to glow with blinding intensity. "But remember: the stronger you become, the more lethal that world will turn to balance your existence. Your own desire will be your engine... or your grave."
My birth was not easy. It happened on a hot July morning in 1971, in a rural hospital on the outskirts of Atlanta. My father, Arthur Miller, was a Korean War veteran and a heavy machinery mechanic; a man of few words and calloused hands. My mother, Elena, was a nurse, possessing infinite patience and a gaze heavy with constant worry.
I didn't cry immediately upon being born. I stared at the operating room lights with a fixedness that made the doctor uncomfortable. Only after a few seconds did I let out a short, almost mechanical cry, as if fulfilling a necessary formality to be left in peace.
My parents soon noticed I was "different." I wasn't restless, but I had a strange determination:
At 10 months while other babies crawled, I clung to the legs of my father's wooden tables, trying to stand over and over. I fell, my legs shook, but I didn't cry. I just tried again.
At 2 years Instead of playing with balls, I spent hours watching my father in the garage. Amused, he would give me an old wrench. I held it with comic seriousness, mimicking his twisting motions.
What they didn't know was that deep in my infant subconscious, something was brewing. A pressure was growing behind my eyes, waiting for the right moment to emerge.
I had just turned four. It was an afternoon in 1975 in our Georgia garden. A Lynyrd Skynyrd song drifted from the kitchen radio, and the smell of freshly cut grass filled the air. My father was working under the hood of his Ford, and my mother was hanging laundry. I was playing with plastic soldiers, lining them up in tactical formations no child should know.
Suddenly, the world stopped.
An electric spasm of pain raced up my spine. I dropped the plastic soldier and clutched my temples, falling to my knees. My vision fragmented: I saw gray offices, neon lights, the roar of a motorcycle, and the face of that formless entity.
"Remember," boomed a voice that did not belong to this plane.
And I remembered. The dam broke, and decades of a life that wasn't this one flooded my senses. When I opened my eyes, the Georgia garden looked like a cardboard set. I looked up at the man by the Ford and the woman with the white sheets. Panic gripped my throat—not from pain, but because of the word forming on my lips. I knew they were "Dad" and "Mom," but in my mind, those titles already belonged to other faces I now remembered with aching clarity.
How could I call them that when I felt I was stealing the names from my real parents? Or were they the real ones and the others just ghosts?
I stayed there, on my knees, caught in the silence of a child who had just aged fifty years in a second but still had to pretend to be one. My mother ran toward me but stopped dead. I know my eyes were no longer those of a child; they were the eyes of a man who had died and returned, heavy with cold ambition.
Before me, a translucent blue interface unfurled, ignoring the laws of physics:
[MEMORIES RESTORED - OVERCOMING SYSTEM V1.0 INITIALIZED]
Name: William Miller
Level: 1 (EXP: 0/100)
Time until "The Event": 35 years, 0 months, 0 days.
BASE STATS:
Strength (STR): 2 (Human Limit: 40)
Agility (AGI): 3 (Human Limit: 40)
Endurance (END): 2 (Human Limit: 40)
Intelligence (INT): 15 (Previous life knowledge) (Human Limit: 40)
Perception (PER): 5
STORAGE: 1 m3 (Soul-Bound)
Arthur approached, wiping grease with a rag.
"Will? You okay, champ? You went pale all of a sudden."
I looked at him. He was strong; he represented the limit of what humanity could be on its own. But I knew that, in time, I would leave him—and anyone else who crossed my path—behind.
"I'm fine, Dad," I said, and my voice sounded strangely mature. "I just got a little dizzy. I'm going to run around the yard to wake myself up."
He let out a laugh and patted my shoulder.
"That's my boy! Go get 'em!"
I started to run. Not like a child, but with a measured stride, controlling my breathing.
[Notice: Aerobic training detected. Skill Progress: Athletics +0.1%]
[Notice: You have pushed your body to its current limit. Endurance (END) +1]
While my parents watched me with pride, never suspecting I was counting the seconds until the end of civilization, I smiled internally.