Another world

Makoto was at home. Again.
He wasn’t complaining—just stating a fact. It felt... inevitable.
In front of him: a blank document. The only sign of life? The blinking cursor—restless and twitchy, like a cricket trapped under a kettle lid.It blinked like it was trying to say something.
But there were no words.Not in his head. Not on the screen. Not in his heart.
“…That’s it,” Makoto muttered, staring at the ceiling. “The muse is dead. Again. I need air. Maybe some inspiration will strike.”
He threw on a gray hoodie that deserved retirement in the laundry basket years ago, and stepped outside.
It was cool out—pleasantly so.The air didn’t slap his face; it gave him a gentle pat, like an old friend who still believed in him.
He wandered through the park. Past the benches. Past moms with strollers. Past an old man locked in mortal combat with a pigeon over a bread roll.
About forty minutes in, it hit him—like lightning to the back of the head.
“Other world! Boy! Monsters! Magic academy! Genius!”
And just like that, he was sprinting home—like the fate of humanity depended on him.In truth, he was just chasing an idea before it evaporated into routine and bank notifications.
“Heh… I’m a literary beast. This novel’s gonna top the charts! Girls… fangirls… autographs!”
He was almost home. Just one crosswalk to go. The light was green. Easy.
One step and—
SCREEEEECH.
Tires screamed.A truck came flying in from the left.
Time slowed. Even his heart paused like, “Let’s see how this plays out.”
“…No way. A truck? Seriously?”
Makoto stared into the headlights, and suddenly, it all clicked.He was a writer on the edge of burnout. A loner. Disillusioned.
He was... an isekai protagonist.
“Please no…”
But the truck slammed the brakes.Dramatically. Almost like it was planned.
Makoto didn’t die.
He just... fainted. Philosophically.And, yes, he peed a little.Because unlike anime waifus with galaxy-sized eyes, he was human.

---
He woke up in a hospital bed.
“...Is this the afterlife?”
“No,” the nurse replied flatly. “You collapsed from shock and exhaustion. You’ll be fine.”
“…Oh. Cool.”
“Do you have any family? We couldn’t find any emergency contacts.”
Makoto looked away.
“…No. No one.”
Silence followed. Awkward, like after a bad joke.
The nurse nodded and quietly left.
An hour later, he was dragging himself home.Trying to remember. Just one scrap of that idea.
“There was something... magic? A world? Hero...? Ugh, whatever. Sleep first. Ideas later.”
He collapsed into bed and sank into sleep like slipping into a warm abyss.

---
White light.
But not a hospital this time.
Makoto was standing… somewhere. The space around him looked like a world an artist forgot to finish—just background noise.
Then a voice spoke. Calm. Distant. Inside his head.
> Welcome. To another world.


“…A dream?”
> You are now Marcus Kannet. Sixteen years old. A student at the magic academy, Schwarzfer.


“Wait, what? Marcus? Why am I a teen? Why does everything sound so dramatic?!”
> You’ve taken someone else’s body. And he’s in yours now. A one-way transfer.


“Great. Just great. No acne, right?”
> No comment. Your primary skill: Writer.


“…Not a mage? Not a swordsman? Not even some broken gourmet chef?”
> Your ability allows you to write events that become real. With limitations.


Makoto—now Marcus—closed his eyes.His entire being was resisting this nonsense. The absurdity was off the charts.
> Skill rules:


1. No more than three uses per day.

2. Only logical, realistic events can be written.

3. No instant deaths, cheats, or overpowered BS.

4. Breaking the rules = death.


Good luck.
“…So encouraging.”
> Skill activated.


> Please write your story...


Marcus sighed. Sat down.And—for the first time in forever—he smiled.
“Well then, my little ink demon… let’s see who wins.”
He raised his finger and traced the first line into the air:
> “When Marcus returned home, a pleasant surprise awaited him.”


The system buzzed. Mana: 120 out of 300.
“…What kind of surprise? Money? A girl? I’d take a hot sandwich, honestly.”
He laughed. For real. Not scripted.
The story had begun.