You Know How it All Begins (Or Do You?)

Somewhere in Japan, 2025.

“So this is how the NEET lifestyle feels like huh? No wonder the isekai kicks in usually after this stage…”

Seiya slouched against the back of his jellybean-shaped sofa, the game flashing on the screen in front of him, desperately begging for his attention. His fingers hovered over the controller, too tired to even press a button.

He had been gaming for 8 hours straight.

This is depressing.

Gaming had never really been a habit of Seiya—it usually was just something to fill the few hours of free time he managed to steal away during weekends, after a week of relentless studying.

His parents had always made sure he was buried in textbooks, from the moment he could hold a pencil.

Studying drained him, physically and mentally, but he never minded. It was the price he paid for a solid foundation for his future, and the rare moments of fun that came with the weekend was enough.

Since forever, Seiya had been the top student. The one who did all the right things, followed the rules, and pushed through the grind. It was a cycle he knew too well. And what other choice did he have? Success didn’t come to the lazy, to those who wasted their time.

Childhood should be about endless freedom and fun. But here, in his world, time was a luxury you couldn't afford if you wanted to survive.

As he sat there, eyes glazed, his mind wandered.

Light novels and visual novels—those things his parents had always warned him about—were just distractions. Time-wasters, they called them. He’d always dismissed them as trivial. But recently, something had changed. During his final years in school, something about those stories… intrigued him. He couldn’t stop himself from dipping into them, seeking a taste of something different, something outside of his grind.

The concept that one could dedicate their lives to being a shut in and consume hours of games before transporting away from the cruel reality of this world was extremely tempting.

Seiya, like anyone with a burden of hard work, wanted out of this world. The fantasy of the escape is real. So he decided on something unconventional from a high performing student. During the summer break leading onto his final year of school, he could imitate this lifestyle and see if by any magical luck he could summon an isekai scenario.

A fool’s errand but it was a change of pace in his life he so craved.

Worst case, nothing happens and he wasted the whole break gaming, which is not the worst way to spend time.

“I mean I suppose I would have to die to make it work…but I don’t really want to die...”

Seiya ran his fingers through his brown hair as he sighed and decided to get up and stretch his lanky body upright, feeling his body groan from having sitting for too long.

“I am so cooked if my parents find out what I have doing, luckily they are outside the country for the summer break…”

“Lucky for me too.”

Seiya’s heart leapt into his throat.

“What the—?”

He spun around to find a random guy standing at the doorway of his bedroom. A guy who looked like he’d just wandered off the streets of Tokyo, dressed in an all black suit and tie. He looked like a professional in that getup, and he was carrying…was that a clipboard? But the most bizarre part was that on him he had a pair of wings.

Yes, wings.

They weren’t some majestic, ethereal, angelic kind of wings. No, these were clumsy-looking. It was like someone had stapled two oversized cardboard cut-outs to his back and spray-painted them white. The wings twitched slightly, as if they weren’t quite sure if they should be there either.

The man had the most serious expression on his face, like he was some kind of corporate angel. But the whole ensemble made it hard to take him seriously.

“Uh… who are you? What is happening? What are you doing in my house?” Seiya asked, eyeing the stranger’s wings as they flapped awkwardly. His intruder alert went off and he gunned for the baseball bat lying in the corner of his room, whoever this weirdo was, he was sneaking into his house and Seiya wanted to make sure he had his defence ready.

“Sorry Seiya this might seem out of the ordinary but that bat will not help you.”

The winged businessman talked.

“Seiya swung the bat over his shoulder and posed, keeping a few paces away from the stranger so that he could retaliate if the stranger made an sudden moves.

“Piss off, I have a mean swing and I can beat your ass to a home run if you do not leave my house right now or explain what is going on…Halloween is not for a few months dumbass.”

The stranger did a nervous chuckle before scratching the back of his head.

“Well Seiya this is awkward…but think of me as a professional here to record your arrival into the new world. Got my pen and clipboard here ready to record the incident as it happens, my job of course.”

He flashes a expensive looking gold and black pen in Seiya’s direction to emphasise the point.

New world?

“How do you know my name? And the hell does that mean?”

“Well truck-kun, as you might be familiar with, has a few words to say.”

“What….”

Before Seiya could finish his sentence, he heard a noise from outside.

The siren of screeching tires from outside, followed by a deafening crash as the vehicle crashed through his wall. The massive truck ploughed straight into his room. The force of the impact sent fragments of his wall flying in all directions. His gaming system was destroyed in an instant, sparks erupting as pieces of plastic and metal scattered across the floor. The wall facing the road cracked and splintered, and anything he had in his room was torn apart like paper.

The vehicle didn’t just stop there, it made direct contact with Seiya.

Time seemed to slow as he tried to scramble out of the way.

But there was nothing he could do.

The mass of the vehicle raced to him, crushing everything in its path, and all he could do was brace for impact.

*****

Ghorra, present time

“This is…quite alarming”

An elderly man sat deep within the heart of an enchanted forest, his weight leaning heavily on a staff imbued with primordial magic that kept him anchored in place. His hands carefully traced over a weathered papyrus tablet, where strange, shimmering words danced across its surface. He brought it closer to his face, eyes narrowing as he focused on deciphering the ancient script.

It did not help that the physical letters inked on the page were leaping about like they had just celebrated a wedding.

“I swear the prophecy directed me to this village here on the outskirts of Rhandim, but the hero its prophesizing….its too vague!”

The scripture the old man held seemed to comment on the fact that a prophesied hero was to be arriving from the region located exactly near the place of rest the old man was at. Within an hour journey he would arrive at the village indicated on the page.

The timing of the hero’s reveal and their age are also mentioned as the old man had timed it perfectly to arrive at said village when the hero is to make themselves known, looking for someone in the age range of 17-18.

The alarming thing now however, was that the once promise by the dancing letters on the parchment of describing the hero’s visual appearance has now revealed the description was as elusive as mist. Anyone from the area could fulfil this role. The prophecy, once so confident in its words, was now reduced to a riddle too broad to solve.

So much for a prophecy, if it is not to be precise literally anyone from that region can fit the bill.

The old man grumbled at the predicament.

How could he find out? Especially given the numerous other parties who set out to claim the hero as their own and train them under their tutelage?

A large explosion shook the forest the old man was resting in, snapping him out of his drifting thoughts.

What on the Great Spirit?

The noise had come from the direction of the village. A violent crash, as though something had fallen from the sky with tremendous force.

Wait…

Could this be?

The old man hurriedly packed his things and decided to make a beeline for it.

No more stops…seems like the promised one has come.

*****

Meanwhile, in an unknown location

“So, uh… Senior Angel?”
The Senior Angel, lounging in a permanently affixed hot spring in the middle of emptiness, barely opened one eye, his skin glistening in the soft glow of the heavenly void they existed in.

“What is it, Dofus? Can’t you see I’m enjoying my well-earned break?” His voice carried melodically across, his pleasure still uninterrupted.

“We’ve got a problem with one of the worlds, sire…”

The Senior Angel’s eyes flickered open, a hint of annoyance creeping into his otherwise calm expression. “Now, what kind of problem are we talking about here?” he asked, a faint growl in his tone. His fingers toyed idly, still grasping onto his brief moment of peace before something horrid was to be said, he braced for such.

The junior angel hesitated, visibly uneasy. His wings fluttered nervously, feathers ruffling in an anxious rhythm. “Sire… it seems we’ve… forgotten to properly prophesize a chosen one for this world…” He trailed off, the disaster said.

The Senior Angel’s blissful calm shattered like glass. He shot upright with such force that the water from the hot spring splashed out, his wings unfurling with a snap.

“What?!” His eyes scanned Dofus with newfound fury as he snatched the clipboard from the angel’s hands, flipping through the pages with growing dread. His brow furrowed deeper with each line.

Holy heavens.

There was no chosen one.

The title, the one bestowed only once in a generation for every living planetary mass with a potential to derive one, was completely unassigned for that world.

Which meant…

The Senior Angel's pulse quickened.

“Literally anyone could now claim to be the chosen one?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, laced with cold fury. He shot Dofus a glare so intense that even the brightest stars would have flinched in its presence. “What were you thinking?! This was your job, Dofus! How could you forget?”

Dofus stammered, his wings shaking as if caught in a storm. Words failed him as he stammered to respond.

The Senior Angel, still clutching the clipboard, exhaled a long breath. His frustration slowly transforming into a kind of resigned disbelief. As his mind raced, a horrifying realization struck him.

It was too late now. The narrative had already begun its course. The hero would rise—whether it was by divine plan or sheer chaotic luck.

He stared into the distance, his gaze distant, unfocused.

We’ve severely opened Pandora’s box with this, and once it starts, I can’t interfere.

“...Well,” the Senior Angel muttered, finally lowering his wings and wiping a hand across his face in exasperation. He let out a sigh, a deep, exaggerated exhale that shook the very air. “Might as well get some popcorn, Dofus. Because shit is about to hit the heavens."