Desperation

The bright lights of Tokyo seemed to stretched endlessly. Skyscrapers loomed over the streets, watching the sun rise and fall. Neon signs flickered, pedestrians passed by without a second glance, and amidst it all stood Haruto Ishikawa, a broken shell of a man.

His office suit, once pressed and pristine, was now wrinkled beyond recognition after a brutal 36-hour shift. His shirt was stained with poorly washed ink from a fight with the copier just hours earlier. His slouched posture and dark bags under his eyes painted the perfect picture of exhaustion. He stared blankly up at the sky, mouth hanging open like a zombie, a single sweat drop trickling down his cheek.

"There’s only one way out of this hell," he thought, his mind a jumbled mess.

Haruto’s body swayed slightly as if contemplating its next move. His gaze fell down toward the street, waiting. Then, in a sudden burst of madness, his bloodshot eyes widened, searching for his way out.

He could have jumped from the building, taken a bath with a toaster... Hell, he had a rope at his apartment, but no. There was something special he was looking for. His only hope for a new start.

Now, perhaps if he had slept in the last 36 hours things would be different. Perhaps if he hadn't wasted 15 years of his life, stagnant and wanting, maybe he wouldn't have found himself here. Staring at the street, waiting for an escape. A dear friend he had learned about. It had helped many people out of desperate situations, taken some through coincidence. Today it would take him away from here.

"Where are you?" His mind screamed, a twitch forming in his left eye. His grip on reality was slipping.

Suddenly and without hesitation, Haruto flung himself forward, arms outstretched toward the road. He ran with desperate determination, as a large truck came down the road. He should have waited a moment longer. That didn’t stop him from yelling at the top of his lungs.

“IS THIS THE ONE!?” he screamed, his voice echoing down the street.

However, to Haruto's disappointment, the truck swerved at the last moment, leaving Haruto standing awkwardly with his arms still outstretched. He stumbled forward, nearly toppling over as the truck sped off. He could hear the driver as he sped off down the road.

"You want to get yourself killed!?"

Haruto stared at the ground before walking to the sidewalk. The driver's comment was enough to put a small smile on his face, a chuckle escaping his throat. He began to walk, searching for his next opportunity.

Haruto could feel the exhaustion setting in, his body losing energy fast. He needed to keep going. He needed to find his next opportunity. He wasn't stopping.

Plans have a way of not coming together for Haruto, however. Fate seemed determined to put the familiar tropes right in front of his face, only to snatch them away at the last second. Haruto had pushed three children, five cats, and two dogs out of the way of trucks, hoping to take their place, but to no avail. He received praise from parents and pet owners, but it all rang hollow today.

“Missed again…” Haruto muttered dejectedly, his voice barely a whisper. Defeated and drained of any energy he had, he slumped down in the middle of the street. A small sigh escaped his lips, his chin quivering from exhaustion.

"What do I have to do?" his mind wailed.

His body gave up entirely, collapsing, halting the busy traffic. Sprawled out like a ragdoll, he stared up at the sky again, the weight of defeat heavy on his soul.

"I'm going to be stuck like this for the rest of my life. I'm too stubborn to die of overwork like a normal person..." Haruto's thoughts began to coalesce into that of complete despair.

He didn’t know when the tears had started, but they were flowing freely now, mixing with the snot pouring down his cheeks as he lay on the cold pavement. His sobs were loud, ugly, and utterly pitiful.

"Truck-Kun...", he thought through his blubbering. "I could really use your help right now!"

His one hope—the mysterious force that had transported so many protagonists to other worlds—had failed him.

His favorite past time was reading and watching anything isekai. He had a veritable, encyclopedic knowledge of every isekai story made on earth. His imagination was the only thing keeping him sane. His only solace in this world, the only thing that kept him going, was the thought that things could somehow be better. Today was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Imagination wasn't enough anymore. He needed to be isekaid... or at least put out of his misery.

His voice broke as he screamed out loud.

“Truck-Kun!!” His body writhed against the ground like a worm, flailing his limbs and drawing the attention of people nearby. They glanced at him with a mixture of anger, fear, and amusement.

Haruto didn’t care anymore. To him, everything was already lost. There was no dignity left to protect, no public image he cared for. 

Suddenly, mid-tantrum, he froze. His tear-streaked face slowly turned toward the sky, his bloodshot eyes focusing on something in the distance. There, high above, something was falling. A blazing streak of flame fell from the heavens.

Haruto's breath hitched in his throat. He could hardly believe what he was seeing and, honestly, didn't. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Was this really happening? Could his wish be granted? A smile broke through the tears as he began to laugh uncontrollably.

Within the flames, glorious and unmistakable, was a truck. Descending rapidly from the heavens, glowing with the fiery brilliance of some higher being that chose him. Haruto barely had time to register what was happening before the truck slammed into him, splattering his body against the pavement in a gruesome display of otherworldly power.

Haruto Ishikawa, age 33, died in a violent crash today, as a gas tanker exploded, sending a transport truck into the air, before falling on him. No other pedestrians were harmed in the incident, but the remains of the deceased seemed to have been strewn across a large number of passersby.