The screen glowed dimly in the corner of a cramped, one-bedroom apartment. Stacks of instant noodle cups towered beside a small desk littered with old manga volumes and scribbled notebooks. On the screen, the latest chapter of Heaven-Defying Dao Sovereign had just released. A young man leaned back in his creaky chair, eyes half-closed with a familiar mixture of amusement and annoyance.
"'I shall kneel to no one but the heavens?'" he muttered under his breath, his lips curling into a slight smirk. "Come on, man. Just say you have ego issues and move on."
The young man's name was Arin. Twenty years old. College dropout. Cultivation novel addict.
His room smelled faintly of sweat, old paper, and dried spices. Not that he noticed. His focus was entirely on the story. He loved these novels—the struggle, the growth, the profound mysteries—but he couldn't help but roll his eyes at the arrogant declarations every main character seemed contractually obligated to make. How many times had he read the line "My path shall not be dictated by gods or mortals alike"? A hundred? A thousand?
"I'd probably just beg someone stronger to take me in if I really got thrown into that world," he chuckled to himself. "Get a meal, a roof, maybe learn how not to die. Start from there."
His stomach growled loudly, interrupting his thoughts. He looked down at his gut—soft, with a slight roundness from too many sedentary nights and not enough healthy meals. His hoodie—a faded black thing with the words "STAY ASLEEP" printed across the chest—was his favorite, worn to comfort, stretched in the sleeves. He ran a hand through his messy black hair and stood with a groan.
"Damn. Out of noodles."
He opened every cabinet twice, even though he already knew what he'd find—nothing. With a sigh that seemed to come from his soul, he grabbed his wallet and phone, slipped on his battered sneakers, and stepped out into the evening.
The street outside was cool, lit by the pale yellow of aging streetlamps. The corner store was just a few blocks away, a familiar route he'd walked hundreds of times. As he walked, he stuffed his hands into his hoodie pockets and hummed an old anime opening under his breath.
The world felt... ordinary. A little too quiet, maybe. But Arin was used to that. Life had long since fallen into a routine: wake up, scroll through forums, read some chapters, maybe work on a fanfic he'd never publish, eat something quick, and sleep. He didn't have many friends, nor was he close to family. The people in cultivation novels always had tragic backstories. He didn't. He had an uneventful one. A grey life painted in soft, slow strokes.
He reached the store, nodded at the old man behind the counter, and grabbed his usual: two cups of spicy chicken noodles and a bottle of iced tea. He liked pretending it was a spirit elixir.
As he stepped back out, he felt a strange chill.
"Huh?" He paused, one foot outside the store. The wind had picked up. Clouds covered the moon. For a second, something didn't feel right.
But he shook his head. "Been reading too much. Getting paranoid."
Arin started walking back, mind drifting again to his favorite characters. If he ever did get reincarnated, he wouldn't waste time making enemies. He'd hide. Study. Learn. Too many characters died being bold when they had no strength.
The street was empty. Just him, the wind, and the faint hum of traffic in the distance.
Then it happened.
A sound like thunder—no, not thunder, an engine. Too fast. Too loud.
He turned his head, eyes widening.
A truck.
Coming straight toward him.
The headlights washed over him like a tidal wave of light. But he didn't scream. He didn't feel pain. There was no impact.
Just—
Darkness.
Then—
Light.
His eyes fluttered open.
Warmth. Not the harsh light of a streetlamp, but the gentle rays of a sun he'd never seen before. The scent of fresh earth and dew. The chirping of birds that didn't sound like any bird from his world.
He was lying on grass—thick, soft, and strangely blue-tinged. Trees loomed above him, ancient and towering, with leaves that shimmered like jade under the morning sun.
He sat up, confused. The world felt... clearer. The wind was crisp, carrying scents of pollen and distant water. He blinked, looking around. No city noise. No buildings. No phone. No bag of noodles.
Just a robe—wait, when had he changed?
It wasn't his hoodie. It was a loose-fitting white robe with silver trim, tied at the waist with a dark green sash. It felt luxurious, almost ceremonial.
"What... the hell?" he murmured.
His voice sounded different. Lighter. Smoother.
He stumbled toward a nearby stream, drawn by the sound of running water. Kneeling beside it, he leaned over and looked at his reflection.
The breath caught in his throat.
The face staring back wasn't his.
This boy—this young man—had sharp features, almond-shaped eyes, pale skin, and long, dark hair tied neatly behind his head. His frame was lean but fit, his skin smooth, unblemished. His brows were thin and curved like brushstrokes. He looked noble. Refined.
Not average. Not soft.
Not Arin.
And yet, the eyes... those were his.
"What… is this?" he whispered.
He touched his face. The reflection mirrored the movement. The sensation was real. The skin wasn't his, but it felt alive. His.
"No way," he said, his voice trembling. "This isn't a dream, is it?"
A sound echoed through the forest—a distant roar, deep and guttural.
His heart thudded in his chest. Not out of fear, but awe. That wasn't any animal from Earth. That was something else.
Something out of a cultivation novel.
The realization hit him like lightning.
"I'm… I'm in another world."
He stood slowly, still staring at the reflection.
He wasn't wearing his hoodie.
He didn't have his body.
He didn't even feel hunger or cold.
His mind spun with possibilities. Had he died? Had the truck really hit him?
"…I guess this is the part where I get some mysterious grandpa voice in my head," he muttered. But nothing came.
No system. No glowing HUD. No mission objective.
Just the sound of the forest, and the slow ripples in the stream.
Arin—or whoever he was now—took a breath.
"I really got isekai'd," he said. "Just like the novels."
And for once, he didn't roll his eyes.
He smiled.
A little afraid.
But also, a little excited.