Cris opened his eyes, but the world around him remained blurry, like a terrible nightmare. His head throbbed with pain as if being hammered, each pulse echoing in his skull, making him groan as he pressed his palms tightly against his temples in an attempt to stay composed. The air was humid, heavy with the scent of damp soil and rotting leaves, and as his vision gradually sharpened, he realized he was in the middle of a dense forest, with towering trees whose canopies blocked out most of the sky. Distant bird calls echoed, a light breeze rustled through the leaves, but there was no trace of the familiar London streets or his cozy bedroom.
"What... what the hell?"
Cris muttered, his voice hoarse and trembling. He sat up slowly, his heart pounding as fragments of memories flooded back—the match, the truck, the lightning bolt, and then... nothing.
"Could it be... I've been isekai'd? Just like in those damn anime?"
The thought struck him like a hook punch. Cris was no stranger to the concept; he was a hardcore anime addict, especially since his best friend was always dragging him into binge-watching sessions, from one series to the next. Stories of ordinary people getting hit by trucks and waking up in fantasy worlds, gaining superpowers, saving the day. But this? It was nothing like the thrilling adventures on screen. Confusion overwhelmed him, his face turning pale, filled with extreme anxiety and fear—where was he? Why him?
Spotting a large moss-covered rock nearby, Cris staggered over and slumped down onto it, his limbs shaking as if about to collapse. His face was as white as a sheet, as a storm of questions raged in his mind. Why isekai? Why me? Unconsciously, his hands trembled, fingers curling as if grasping at something nonexistent. Unlike in anime, being isekai'd in reality wasn't fun at all—it felt more like a sentence, a punishment that forced him to leave behind everything: family, friends, relationships, possessions, all the hard work from his old world, only to be lost in an unfamiliar place he knew nothing about.
A single tear rolled down his cheek, splashing onto the back of his clenched hand. Then a second, a third, falling continuously like rain. Cris was crying, tears flowing unconsciously, sobs rising from deep within his chest.
"Why did I get isekai'd? Did I die? I just went to sleep... and now I have nothing left?"
His voice broke, echoing weakly through the trees.
Memories surged like a flood. He remembered his close-knit group of friends, the gatherings filled with laughter and jokes after practice, sharing dreams over cheap fast-food boxes. His best buddy—the one who never stopped nagging him to watch anime—was his lifeline, introducing him to the youth team to escape financial hardships after their parents' death. That guy had pulled him out of the abyss, turning his passion for football into a real opportunity. Then there was the girl with white hair in his class, always kind to him, lending notes or smiling on bad days. He recalled the exhausting training sessions, pushing his body to the limit until he was drained, all for a better future. The progress after each match, shining on the pitch, the invitation to the first team—all opening doors to higher salary, a stable life, even the World Cup, Champions League, Ballon d'Or. Clearly, he could have strived and achieved it all through effort... but now? All gone.
And the most painful part: Anna. His adorable little sister, scrimping on every penny, always worrying about him but keeping it hidden inside. How would she survive without him? Who would pay the bills, cook her favorite spaghetti, ruffle her hair and promise everything would be okay? The thought tore at his heart, making the tears flow even harder. All his efforts, his future, everything he had—vanished just because of this damn "isekai."
Rage exploded, mingling with the pain. Cris clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his flesh, and he screamed, his howl shattering the forest's eerie silence.
"Isekai my ass! I had a good life building up, and you just take it away like that?!"
His voice echoed, full of fury.
"If this is some damn story and I'm the protagonist, then I curse the bastard author who wrote this crap! You're a piece of shit!"
The words hung in the air, met only by the terrifying silence. No response, no divine intervention, just emptiness. Tears continued to fall, his body shaking from exhaustion. But as the anger peaked, something twisted inside him. His mouth curved upward, not in joy, but in an exaggerated, distorted smile. He began to laugh—loud, manic bursts echoing through the forest, even as tears streamed down his cheeks. It was a laugh of utter helplessness, a bitter laugh, mocking his own fate.
"Ha ha... ha... what a joke. Everything... gone."
He laughed until his throat was raw, then slumped back against the rock, the smile fading, leaving only a blank expression. The forest seemed to close in around him, indifferent to his despair. What now? How could he go on in this nightmare?