Haruto Tanaka strolled along the narrow edge of the road, the evening air heavy with the scent of exhaust and faint rain in the distance.
Walking beside him was his only true friend in this bleak world — Aiko Takahashi.
She had been his classmate since middle school, the only person who never treated him as a background character in someone else's story.
Her ponytail bounced as she talked about the latest isekai light novel she borrowed from him, waving it like a conductor's baton.
"Okay, but hear me out," she said, flipping to a dog-eared page. "The villain route is truly the most fascinating arc in this story. He genuinely has a motivation for all his actions. The hero, on the other hand, is simply... there."
Haruto looked at the cover again. A silver-haired noble with a stern expression stared back from beneath an ornate crest. He had already read that one twice.
"Told you," he said. "People underestimate the villain because they assume he will lose. But often, he's the only one thinking several steps ahead. The hero simply wins because the story dictates it."
Aiko chuckled loudly enough for a passing cyclist to glance back. "You say that as if you'd willingly be the villain."
"If the only alternative is being a generic, personalityless protagonist? Yeah, maybe."
She gave him a look that was partly amused and partly gentle, the kind she never labelled. "You are such a nerd, Haruto."
"You literally borrowed my copy of that book."
"That's different. I'm expanding my horizons."
He smiled despite himself. It was the familiar kind of banter they had developed over years of lunch breaks and late walks home, which made him forget, even if just for a moment, how completely the rest of his school life had made him feel out of place.
The smile disappeared as he sensed it.
A prickling sensation, low on the back of his neck, felt like a cold finger slowly tracing down his spine.
He had experienced this feeling before, just moments before stepping off a curb where a car almost hit him. His body always sensed danger before his mind realised it.
He looked up the road and saw a large delivery truck was approaching through the diminishing light, its headlights already piercing the gray dusk.
On the surface, there was nothing unusual—just a truck, a road, and an ordinary Thursday evening in the last week of March.
But the truck slowed.
The vehicle didn't halt for traffic or a red light. Instead, it gently slowed down, gliding toward the shoulder with a calculated patience that made Haruto's chest tighten.
It moved beside them for three seconds, headlights illuminating the gravel, engine humming softly. The driver's side window was opaque with no face visible, only a shadow in place of a face.
Then it pulled away and disappeared around the bend ahead.
Haruto stood very still.
"Aiko."
"Hm?"
"Did that feel weird to you?"
She glanced up from the book. "What did?"
"That truck. It slowed down right next to us."
She looked at the empty road ahead and shrugged. "Probably checking for the address. Delivery trucks do that."
"At seven in the evening on a road with no buildings?"
"Haruto." She closed the book and tucked it under her arm, giving him the patient look she reserved for his worst anxiety spirals. "You've read way too many of those reincarnation stories. Not every truck is Truck-kun."
He recognised she was correct. At the same time, he was certain- an irrational certainty born from three years of obsession- that he had narrowly avoided Truck-kun's fatal encounter.
This implied the warning had been given, and something even worse was still on its way.
He kept that thought to himself.
"You're probably right," he said. "Let's keep moving before it gets dark."
They walked.
The area surrounding them was typical of those undefined city zones that no one officially claims, a mix of a residential and commercial space with narrow roads, overgrown lots, and the occasional convenience store with flickering signs.
Haruto was very familiar with it, having walked this route home since his second year.
He was so busy watching the bend in the road ahead that he did not hear them until it was too late.
"Hey. Loser."
The voice sounded from his left. An alley opened between two concrete walls, and three figures emerged, carrying the relaxed confidence of those who have never faced consequences.
Ryo Matsuda led them as usual — broad-shouldered, thick-necked, sporting that distinctive grin Haruto had learned to recognise from thirty meters, a sign of impending trouble.
Behind him, the other two followed. Haruto didn't know their names, nor had he ever taken the time to learn them.
They were the kind of people who only seemed to exist when someone worse was around.
"Still dragging your girlfriend around with you?" Ryo said, eyeing Aiko with a look that made Haruto's jaw tighten. "Thought she'd have figured out by now that you're a dead weight."
Haruto moved slightly ahead of her in a defensive stance, though his hands trembled slightly. "We're going home. We're not bothering anyone."
"See, that's the thing." Ryo said, cracking his knuckles slowly. "Your existence irritates me. It's been that way for quite some time.
"Haruto," Aiko whispered softly behind him, holding his sleeve gently. "Don't."
He had no desire to fight. He knew he wasn't made for it.
Instead, he was simply standing still, waiting for the moment when Ryo would get bored and let them go, just like in every past encounter. The opportunity was small, but it was always there.
He did not account for the fourth person.
The shove hit him from behind with sudden force, catching him off guard as he wasn't watching that direction.
His feet lifted off the gravel, and his arms flailed.
The road seemed to rise up to meet him, then rapidly expanded in width, revealing that he was now right in the centre of it.
Headlights.
It wasn't clear if it was the same truck, or perhaps it was. The distinction didn't matter.
The horn blared loudly, like a scream, and Haruto had just enough time to think, observing himself with a detached clarity from afar.
'I knew it. I actually knew it and I still—'
The impact was different from what he anticipated.
He thought it would be akin to hitting a wall, but instead, it felt like nothing, just a sharp light, followed by a sound reminiscent of the world collapsing, and then an eerily textured silence.
He floated in it for what felt like a long time.
---
Warmth was the initial sensation. It wasn't the warmth of sunlight, blankets, or anything soft.
It was the warmth of another body, not his, pressed against his, covered in cloth so delicate it felt like water on skin.
His fingers clenched something, his lungs moved, and his heart beat with a slow, weighty strength that felt unfamiliar, deeper, as if it belonged to a larger chest than he remembered.
Haruto opened his eyes.
The vaulted stone ceiling above him rose into shadow, with carved patterns that he could barely distinguish in the darkness.
Moonlight streamed through two tall arched windows, cool and blue-white, casting elongated silver rectangles on a dark polished wooden floor.
Heavy curtains framed a four-poster bed in which he seemingly lay, their fabric so black it almost devoured the light at the edges.
He stared at the ceiling for several seconds.
'I'm alive.'
He pressed his hand to his chest, feeling a steady, real heartbeat. He then turned his hand over in front of his face, observing it closely.
The fingers looked longer than he remembered, with a ring on the index finger bearing a dark signet crest that he did not recognize.
His skin was pale and unblemished, as if it had seldom been exposed to the outside world or subjected to any activity.
'This is not my hand.'
He sat up slowly.
The chamber surrounding him was vast, designed more to showcase wealth than for comfort, with dark, heavy, and ornate wood furniture.
A towering fireplace, now reduced to glowing embers, dominated the room. One wall was lined with bookshelves filled with leather-bound books that looked serious and valuable.
Near the window, a stand held a long coat in black and deep burgundy, likely worth more than Haruto's family earned in a year.
He was wearing what appeared to be a silk nightshirt. Black, of course.
He looked down at himself. Long legs. Broad shoulders. A body that had clearly been well-fed and exercised regularly, built more for presence than practicality.
"What," he said. His voice came out wrong. Richer, lower, with a faint accent he could not place.
Then the screen appeared.
It appeared suddenly in front of him, a translucent blue light floating in the chamber's darkness, like a notification patiently awaiting his awakening.
The text was clear and formal, using a font that suggested it took itself very seriously.
[Welcome, Host. Reincarnation successful.]
[You are now Lord Artemis , 18-year-old Duke of the Voss Duchy.]
[Parents deceased. Reputation: Arrogant. Lewd. Doomed villain.]
[Main Quest: Assassinate Prince Leon before the Grand Ball — or face erasure.]
Haruto read it once.
Then he read it again.
Then he looked around the empty room, at the cold moonlight and the dying fire and the absurdly expensive coat on its stand, and he looked back at the screen.
"...Doomed villain," he repeated, very quietly.
The screen pulsed once, helpfully.
He sat with that for a moment.
"Of course," he said finally, in a voice that belonged to someone else entirely. "Of course it's the villain route."