07 - The Waiting is ...

Each morning is the same.

Get up, leave the dorm, grab some coffee to-go from the cafeteria. Black, obviously. No sugar, no cream. I even hold off on the ranch dressing these days.

I never really liked eating a proper meal in the morning. Even in the old world, I rarely ever ate breakfast. I actually prefer an empty stomach as I go about my day. Makes me feel light. Keeps me on my feet.

Afterward, I usually make my way to the Isekai Waiting Room. Every time I enter, I do a quick scan for anybody sitting with their shoes up on the chairs.

Specifically, I look for people who sit with their feet up on the back of the seats in front of them. Or the ones huddled up with their knees to their chests, dirty-ass shoes perched on the edge of the seat.

The old world was full of these inconsiderate assholes. Especially on trains. Holy shit, were trains ever full of them. The worst was the trains with seats that faced each other, you know? People would stretch out at their leisure, and plant their sneakers or boots right on the seat across from them, using it as their own personal footrest like they were at home or something.

These were grown-ass adults, mind you. Absolutely shameless behavior. It's not like it's one or two isolated, rare instances. No. You get on any train during the morning commute and these people were everywhere.

I never spoke up back then. I mean, I could've asked them nicely, sure. But I feel like I shouldn't need to. These weren't children who didn't know any better. They knew what they were doing.

And it's not like, if I tell them not to do it, they'll suddenly have some big epiphany that they're inconveniencing the people who have to sit there next. They'll just nod, and say, in the best case scenario, "Sorry, sorry," and then go right back to doing it when I'm gone. (Worst case scenario is I get stabbed.)

… So it's like—what would've been the point? (That's the real reason I never did it, yup. Not because I was too afraid of confrontation, or anything.)

I mean, it's not so much that I wanted people to stop doing this one very specific thing. I just wanted people to be more considerate.

Like … If I have to live in a world where people choose to put their feet up on seats, then there's no sense in asking those same people to not do it. Because then it means we're living in a world—a society, if you will—where nothing means anything, where common sense is useless, and love is hopeless, and dreams mean nothing. NOTHING!

… However. With that being said.

I'm not in my old world anymore, am I?

I'm in Point Parallax.

Which means, I feel absolutely no hesitation in telling every shoe-resting son of a bitch I see to knock it the hell off.

"Take your fucking feet off the chair," I seethe, venomously, to some future villainess-in-waiting.

"Get your goddamn shoes off the seat. People have to sit there," I chide some smug-looking haircut waiting to be reborn as yet another guild adventurer.

Of course, it figures that none of these shoe-on-seat degenerates ever actually do as I say. All I get are some dirty looks in return.

(… Ah, they can glare at me all they want. When I am made emperor of Point Parallax by divine right, they will be second up against the wall …)

Aaaaanyway, drink in hand, next thing I'll do is take a seat, and wait for my name to get called.

While I wait, I like to slurp my coffee as loudly as possible, and yawn as obnoxiously as I can. Sometimes, when the Waiting Room is really packed, I like to play a game. I stand up, and shout: "Alright, show of hands! How many of you got Truck-kun'd?"

It pretty consistently ends up being about 85% of the protagonists, which I think sums up everything you need to know about the genre.

"Ten years," I sigh. "Fifteen fucking years you guys have been getting truck'd. And you all still find this entertaining, after two whole decades."

"No, but you don't get it," comes the usual defense, "we're all aware of how over-used the trope is! It's a staple of the genre! That's what makes it so funny! We like being told the same joke in a thousand different ways!"

And I fire back, maintaining my cool and handsome demeanor, at the top of my lungs, gesticulating wildly, "Are you really enjoying it? Or have you just been conditioned to produce a positive reaction? Is it funny to you because it's funny, or is it because you think you should laugh when you see Truck-kun do his thing for the millionth time? … On that same note, are you really enjoying it when you see another stat screen? The same guild registration scene? The exact same character progression—or non-progression, in the case of overpowered cheat skills—over and over again? You want another story about introducing Japanese food to medieval not-Europe? You want to see all these stories told again with one small thing changed between them? A derivative of a derivative of a derivative? Like a snake eating itself? THIS IS WHAT YOU WANT? I-I mean, we've even moved into Native Isekai, or Nisekai, territory now. We're taking the most boring, generic part of the genre—the setting—and skipping the only potentially interesting part of it—the actual reincarnation! WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE DOING ANYMORE EVEN."

"Aw, come on, man!" the crowd says. "Don't take it so seriously. Isekai does what it's meant to do. Twenty minutes of turn-off-your-brain fun and escapism. All those iyashi-kei and moe shows you like—don't tell me you watch them for the worldbuilding and deep lore and engaging philosophical discussions."

("Chocolate cornet …" I mutter, parenthetically.)

"I mean—You could apply your same 'formulaic' argument to those shows, too! Do we really need another slice of life set in a high school? Or about girls playing in a band!?"

"Th-that's different," I'll stammer. "I mean, I-I don't know how, but it just is, okay!?"

"Fine, motherfucker!" one guy usually shouts. "You have such unassailable, exquisite taste in anime, tell us your top number-one show of all time, then! Show everyone here what a 'refined connoisseur' of anime you are!"

"Oh, that's an easy one," I say. "It's T**-kyu."

The room goes silent, and then after a long pause, they begrudingly admit, "… Fuck. Alright fine, fair enough. … B-but still, that doesn't give you the right to—"

And so on. I keep arguing with the room. Usually at this point, I'll have to start dodging the inevitable balls of paper that fly at me from all directions. Sometimes axes and crossbows find their way in there, too. (… You're not even supposed to have weapons in the Waiting Room. People don't read the PSAs on the walls. Like I said: inconsiderate.)

After these debates go on long enough, usually one of the goddesses will have to step in, and tell me to behave myself. That is, if I'm lucky.

… If I'm not, then sometimes Jessica will show up to deal out my punishment herself.

Chat Reader, do you know how painful it is to have your flesh stripped away from every inch of your body? Apparently your skin is just chock-full of something called 'nerves', and when your skin is separated from your body, that causes excruciating pain that you feel in those very same 'nerves'. Fascinating stuff, right? I, for one, had no idea. But now I know.

You know, now that I think of it—ever since I ended up in Point Parallax, I've experienced lots of new, painful sensations.

For example, once, out of sheer boredom, I graffiti'd FUCK POINT PARALLAX and FUCK DIET FANTASY in red spray-paint all across the Waiting Room walls.

("What do you have against Diet F*nta?" one would-be protag asked me. "What kind of person rages against soda, to the point of vandalism?"

"N-no," I had to explain, "I ran out of space on the right. It's supposed to say … Er, never mind.")

It didn't take long for Jessica to show up after that, wielding a certain spiked bat.

"Odd-kun-chan … C'mere …"

"Jessica! … Is—is that the 'Bat That Can Do Anything', Escalib*lg!?"

"Ara—Is that what this is? I don't know, I just found it lying around. Now, then …" she said, windmilling the weapon like a baton, "… 'Pi-piru-piru-pi-pi-ru-pi'! …"

"You're singing the fuckin' theme song! How can you not know what it—"

Anyway, that one was pretty bad. It took a full day for the two halves of my body to assemble themselves back together again. Mainly because all that remained of the top half was a fine pink mist.

And of course, I'll never forget the time she drove over me with a bulldozer.

… I don't even remember what prompted that incident.

Anyway. What else?

… Oh, oh! There was also the time, when she, uh … Hmm, how do I describe this properly?

You know that Pun*sher movie they made, back before the whole cinematic universe thing? Well, there's this one scene with a popsicle, and a blowtorch, you see—but the funny thing about Point Parallax is that, we actually don't have any popsicles on the island, so—

Ding.

"Now calling: Protagonist Odd-kun. Last name Kun, first name Odd. Please make your way to goddess number 2 at the counter. Your isekai world awaits you."

Ah. Looks like my number's up. I almost don't notice, reminiscing about all the different ways Jessica has killed me.

I stand up.

I throw my empty coffee into the trash.

Then I walk over to the counter, to my assigned goddess.

I take a deep breath.

It's time for me to finally move on to the next world.

To the isekai life that awaits me.