01 - The Requisite Goddess Meeting

I'm still in the black void. But I'm no longer floating aimlessly. I'm standing on what feels like solid ground, even though there's nothing but empty space below me.

But most importantly, I'm no longer alone.

Before me, right in front of me, so close I can touch her, sitting in an ornate chair carved out of pure diamond, is one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen in my life. A living goddess. (… Quite literally, too, if my narrative intuition about what's about to come next is accurate.)

She either hasn't noticed me, or is pretending not to notice me. You know, for theatrical effect. She gazes out at nothing, runs her hand through her long, flowing golden locks, singing all the while. Her melody sounds the way a summer evening breeze feels. An ethereal glow radiates from her presence.

I watch her for a while, transfixed.

Eventually, her gaze drifts toward me. If she has just noticed me, she shows no surprise at my being here. She smiles, warmly.

"Greetings, traveler."

I nod at her. "… Yo."

"You've met with an untimely end," she says. "Haven't you?" Each word echoes softly in the abyss. "And life has been so unkind to you, has it not? But fret not, poor soul, for—"

"Yeah, yeah." I gesture for her to hurry up. "Overworked loser, heart attack at his desk. Very original, I know. Look, I'm sure we both know what's happening. So we don't have to let this whole thing play out. Let's just fast-forward this a bit. Second chance, reincarnation, new life, yadda yadda."

"I, uh—" The goddess is taken aback, unsure how to react.

I continue. "We can, you know … We can dispense with the formalities. After all, this template has been going strong for more than ten years at this point. Hey, don't look at me like that. Come on, I'm doing you a favor! I mean, how many times have you had to give this exact same fuckin' spiel?" I clap my hands. "Chop, chop, lady. Nobody likes unskippable cutscenes, you know. (And no, just because you wait until NG+ to offer me the option to skip, doesn't make it better. … Because my brain's dopamine receptors have been fried from terminal online use, don't ya know. I can't sit through a full-length anything these days.)"

She blinks at me.

I go on. "So let's just, uh …" I make a gesture with my hands, one that I'm not even sure I understand. "… move things along. So what's it gonna be? What kinda cookie-cutter watered-down fantasy-lite world you gonna send me to?"

The goddess clears her throat, trying to take back control as professionally as she can. "As it turns out, traveler, I offer you a glimpse into the realm of—"

… But I don't let her.

"—I mean, that's just it, isn't it? They're all 'fantasy-lite'. That's what bothers me the most." I run my hands through my hair, which just happens to be thinning at the top. (Yeah, yeah, oji-san problems, I know. Whatever. You'll get there one day, too.) "Every fuckin' cour, man … At least 1 out of every 5 shows. At the very least. Yeah, I've counted. The simulcast list, filled to the brim with key visuals of the same fuckin' color palettes, the same character designs. Long-ass titles that all run together. Ascendancy of a What-Have-You. Rising of a Something-Or-Other. Exiled from a Who-Gives-A-Shit. Summoned Into Another World With My Blah-Blah-Blah-Just-Shoot-Me-Please-End-My-Miserable-Fucking-Existence-Already."

"Traveler, please … If you would—"

"Thirty total shows airing this season? That's—" I pull out my phone, crunch the numbers. "That's six shows every season!"

"(… You couldn't do that in your head?)"

"That's … That's …" I crunch the numbers on my phone again. "That's twenty-four shows a year!"

"(Okay, come on. Six and four. … That's elementary-school level …)"

"That's twenty-four shows that's not about cute girls picking up hobbies whose commercial industries need a boost in the real world! That's twenty-four shows of derivative works where one (singular) aspect is modified from its predecessor. Like some kind of … evolutionary mutation principle at work in storytelling form. Yeah, oh look, the main character is an inanimate object now, so this is an original work! Totally sustainable for several volumes of in-depth narratives, and definitely not in any way more suited to a single punchline in a 4-koma. It's brilliant because you can never run out of inanimate objects! Never mind that we're still just working with cheat skills and stat screens and evil churches and demon lords and villainesses and guilds and hero parties, same as ever! More fuel for the isekai-industrial complex! Where the beauty is in the fungibility of its settings!"

She glares at me. "… Are you done, traveler? Can you let me—"

I snap my fingers, like I've just come up with a new recipe. "You know what a great term for it would be? 'Diet Fantasy'. It's like an imitation of fantasy. Zero calories. Not quite fantasy. But wearing its skin like a serial killer wearing the skin of his victims. But even classic Coke has some value—like in a hypoglycemic pinch, say. But this … this 'Diet Fantasy'? Its only defining factor is that it kinda-sorta-close-enough, 80%-of-the-way there, resembles the real thing!"

An awkward silence. The goddess isn't sure if I'm done, so she waits to see if I continue.

… I do.

"Ten years, man," I say. "More than ten fuckin' years. Even the zombies fad didn't last this long, and I thought that was going to go on forever. Remember that shit? We all had zombie fatigue and there sure as shit weren't twenty-four fucking zombies shows airing a year. And hey! Superheroes! Superheroes came and went in that time! That fad is dead and buried! Just go ask D****y! Ain't nobody watching those anymore!"

"(I don't know if four asterisks are enough for that one. You might wanna just blank out the entire name. They're very litigious.)"

"So why is this one genre seemingly immune to the passage of time? It doesn't evolve. It doesn't innovate. It just … exists. And this is what people eat up? Who are these people!? … It's like those movies, with the blue … cat-like aliens, on that planet. I've literally never met anyone who's an actual fan of those movies, but somehow it's the most profitable movie of all time??? What is this? What is reality? (… Okay, fine, I actually did see that one in theaters too, I'll admit. But that was when 3D movies were just starting to be a thing, so everyone saw it. For the novelty.)"

"If everyone saw it," she points out, "that's why it's the most profitable movie ever."

"…"

"…"

"Okay, look," I say, shaking my head. "This isn't about the adventures of J*ke S*lly. This is about—(By the way, getting a new body, set in a far-off fantastical land … Kinda isekai-ish too, no?)—this is about the over-representation of a particular genre in a medium that used to take storytelling risks. … Hey, yeah, so speaking of which—what kind of world am I going to? You still haven't told me. Come on, what kind of reincarnation goddess are you? You're just going to let me go on and on like this? Take control of the situation, lady. This is your realm."

A vein is visibly throbbing on her forehead. She forces a smile and says, with barely restrained anger, "… Traveler, imagine, if you will, the kingdom of Central Ataraxias. A land full of magic and wonder and possibilities."

I snort and roll my eyes. "Yeah, full of possibilities. I'm sure. I can already picture the circle cities and magical academies. And what's my role? Lemme guess … Son of a noble? Or maybe we're feeling a bit return-to-roots today and I'm just myself, but I've got a random power that has no explanation and is just there for whatever reason? Like an afterthought? Oh, wait, but it's either the most overpowered ability that trivializes every encounter, or it's a completely useless power, played for laughs? One joke that gets run into the ground in the first volume and then fades into the background, rendering the whole thing pointless? Yeah? Oh, and what else? I've also got game-inspired mechanics like save states and stat screens? Ahh, that's just so interesting! I'm so interested and invested right off the bat! Man, I just love gimmick-based hooks so much! Yeah! Inciting incidents! A hook on every page! I love feeling like I'm being elevator-pitched to in my fiction!" I start yelling out into the empty space around us, like I'm calling for some imaginary waiter in a restaurant. "… WAITER! WAITER! GARCON! MORE HOOKS, PLEASE! ANOTHER SIDE ORDER OF GIMMICKS! YEAH! NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL STORYTELLING!"

My hands are shaking. The goddess looks at me with pure disdain. I let out a frustrated yell, and kick the diamond chair.

I immediately feel a pop, followed by a wet crunch, as my big toe shatters.

I double over in pain, whimpering, snot running down my nose. (I have no idea how Arag*rn's actor managed to not break character all those years ago. Oh, by the way, I'm not crying. This is just a physiological response.)

"Yeah," says the goddess. "Yeah, I bet that hurt, huh? Don't kick my fucking chair, asshole."

Apparently the mask has slipped completely, along with any semblance of divine propriety.

Lying on my side, I hear the click of a lighter. Then an inhale, as well as the distinctive sound of embers crackling.

I look up, teary-eyed. (I'm still not crying, though. Definitely not. Let's make that perfectly clear.)

The goddess exhales, blowing out a plume of smoke. The cigarette between her fingers burns idly.

Looking down on me, she begins, "Now, listen here, you pretentious, contrarian, armchair-critic wannabe know-it-all twat …"