My name’s Erik Thermos. Thirty years old, broke, single, and my grand finale on Earth was—drumroll please—getting blown up by my delivery bike. Yeah. A fireball of instant noodles and regret.
When I open my eyes again, I’m not in heaven. I’m in some wide-ass fantasy field with birds that look like Pokémon knockoffs. And just when I’m wondering if this is a dream or indigestion, a glowing blue box pops up in front of my face.
Congratulations! New Job: Detective.
…Detective? Seriously? Everyone else gets cool stuff like Hero or Swordsman and I get “that guy from CSI”? What am I supposed to do, fingerprint the orcs?
Still, the system insists. Solve mysteries, get rewards. First quest: help some girl find her missing stone. Prize: a whole house. A freaking house.
So yeah. Now I’m stuck in another world playing Sherlock Holmes without the brains, the pipe, or the paycheck. Just me, a sarcastic system, and a long list of problems I’m absolutely not trained to handle.