Chapter Text
Ah, Isekais.
Properly put, transmigration stories were mostly invented as a means for the mind to escape the redundant lifestyle we've trapped ourselves in.
There's nothing dreamy about living your typical 9 to 5 lifestyle, and if there's one thing fiction is any good for, it's making me forget about the five pending assignments I attempt to ignore as my fingers scroll away on Instagram, oblivious to the glaring light of my bedside alarm.
Isekais are awesome. Who wouldn't love getting lost in some good old trashy fantasy story, pretending to be some dreamy guy collecting hotties left and right instead of sleeping at the time God intended? College be damned, bedtime procrastination truly was the best time to indulge in self-gratifying fantasies.
I can't deny ever feeling the urge to throw myself in front of a well meaning truck, the magical realm of almighty reincarnation being far more favorable to the threat of yet another dreaded exam all the denial in the world couldn't erase.
Fortunately, I wasn't delusional enough to actually go through with it, the only fantasy I believed in being the possibility of buying myself a house in this God awful economy.
Point was, I didn't care much about fiction. Why should I, when the broccolinis were on sale at only $4,67 per bunch?
Which is why this had to be a dream.
"Muoviti, idiota!"
I jolted, muttering some half-assed excuses as I stumbled across the streets of Napoli— or Rome, or whatever kind of Italian hellscape I had landed in.
This wasn't how Isekais were supposed to go. I didn't fall asleep, holding my all-time favorite book or some kind of impossibly obscure game I had finally managed to beat. I didn't tragically fall down the stairs, pushed down by my evil step-father, or collapsing from some unexpected illness brought by fatigue.
I wasn't even outside, for Christ's sake.
Today was Thursday, and Thursdays meant 8:30 AM lectures on Quantitative Research, not meeting anime God!
But there I was, stuck in the middle of bloody nowhere, making my way through some tourist hot spot instead of taking notes on the ethics of questionnaires. Which I had been doing, or at least pretending to, until suddenly I wasn't. No magic circle, no truck-kun, no nothing. There was, however, a very nicely dressed man in a white suit, looking suspiciously like Morgan Freeman as I gawked at his face.
"I'll make it short for you: you died. Can't be bothered to remember how or why exactly, but you sure as hell ain't on Earth anymore." he spoke in this suspiciously smooth voice. "My money's on a school shooting, given the... Unfortunate state your country's in, but God know's the big man himself can't take a bet. Eh. See what I did there?"
"...I'm Australian?" I found myself awkwardly coughing out, my mind struggling to come to term with whatever nightmare was unfolding before my very eyes.
"Australians, Americans, Canadians, it's all the same where I'm from." Morgan Freeman shrugged, and oh my God why is Morgan Freeman God wasn't this the plot of that one movie-
"Yes, yes, Evan Almighty, you get the joke. Couldn't appear to you as GOD, you know? You would've lost your shit." Not-Morgan Freeman said, putting emphasis on the shit part. "You're dead. No, this isn't a dream, no I can't send you back, yes, I can read your thoughts, and yes, you did not have to study so hard for that stats exam, since you will not be going back on Earth anytime soon."
"...So who's right?" I stuttered, because how else can you talk when you're dead and talking to the big G. "I mean, you're God, and you're talking to me, so the atheists were wrong. But again, maybe this is all the work of my subconscious struggling to come to term with the fact that I'm dead, and I'm actually living in some make-belief product of my own imagination. Or maybe-"
"Is this really all you humans care about?" Not-Freeman sighed, and now was not a good time to remember how fickle most versions of "God" were said to be.
"No 'thank you for creating me, God'. Or, 'wow, did you redecorate? This white paint really brightens the room, God'. It's always all about am I right, is he wrong, who's God's favorite child and so on and so forth. Is it too much to ask for some recognition here?" he paused, clicking his tongue.
"Well, I like the suit-"
"I'm sure you do. It's custom made, after all." God smirked, and- wait, did I just compliment God on his suit?
"Yes, yes, but let's try to keep the ball going, shall we? As you can imagine, I am most definitely terribly busy, and there are more than 150, 000 people I must see after you, so..."
Shit, that's right. I am dead. Dead and currently talking to God. Right.
"Well, I'm sorry to say I wasn't much of a believer." I paused, reconsidering all life choices that led to this. "So does that mean you'll send me to Hell, or...?"
"Well, do you want to go to Hell?" Morgan Freeman asked as I choked on my own spit. "Do try not to throw up, we've just changed the carpet earlier."
I decided, for the sake of my own well being, to not dwell too long on whatever the hell that meant.
"HEAVEN! I mean, I'd rather go to Heaven, if possible." If Hell was anything like my vague recollection of the Christian faith, I would rather spend the rest of eternity gushing over God's suit than spending the foreseeable future roasting deep down below.
"Why do I ever bother asking..." Not-Freeman —oh God— Not-Freeman pouted, and I soon found myself earnestly praying to not be blinked next to a demon's pitchfork.
God instead shook his head, looking up to meet my eyes. "Can't say you were a model citizen, so Heaven’s not exactly gonna work for us here... But it's not like you were a real monster either, now were you?"
I gave an anxious nod. This was God, damn it, no use in lying to the literal embodiment of judgment.
"What am I going to do with you?" Not-Freeman sighed, rubbing his temples. "What was it I did with that other guy earlier? No, that wouldn't work either... How about that girl from before? If you would just lend me your memories for a sec..."
This was somehow worse than waiting for course registration to open, and God knew *quite literally* that I was describing an anxiety of unprecedented levels.
"Oh, I got it!" Not-Freeman's expression shifted, a cocky smirk crossing his lips as he slowly stepped forward. "You humans enjoy these, what was it again, otherworldly reincarnation stories, right?"
Oh shit.
"Oh, no need to curse, here!" God waved his hand dismissively. "I'm sure you will fit in just fine in these 'transmigration' tales of yours. You know a lot about these, don't you?"
"Well yes, but-"
"It's settled, then! Transmigration it is! Now, what world shall we pick..."
"Hold on a damn minute!" I squeaked, growing faint. "I know about transmigration, and I can't deny I've daydreamed about it, sure, but I've never read-"
"You will be more than fine, I can assure! Besides, it's not like you'll be stuck there forever, will you?" Morgan Freeman smirked, tugging at his sleeve. "I will even cut you a deal: go down there and repent for your sins, and you'll be allowed back into the Eden of your choice! reincarnation, Nirvana, Elysium... All ripe for the picking!"
"How can I even repent for sins I have no recollection of commiting?" I shouted. "And again, I'm not the one who read all those book about transmigration, I just-"
"Oh, you'll remember everything about your past life. I'll even throw in some bonus memories to keep things interesting!"
Who would've thought you'd ever see Morgan Freeman, never mind GOD, giggle. "Repenting's easy. You either suffer enough for your sins, or commit enough good deeds to get yourself redeemed. Are we all set?"
I swallowed hard, feeling my tongue go numb. "Not quite. As I keep trying to tell you, I don't read shit. Sure, I know plenty about Isekais and whatnot, but that's mostly due to my friend being an absolute nerd when it comes to anime shit."
I was a normie through and through, and my so-called "recollection of Earth's memory" would be pretty much useless unless God was planning on sending me flying inside my favorite shrimp documentary.
"Don't be such a downer!" Not-Freeman smirked, all- knowing. "There is one Japanese cartoon you do have an ungodly amount of knowledge on, don't you?"
I could practically hear my friend screaming at the mere mention of 'Japanese cartoon'.
"Well, it's been fun meeting you, unnamed extra # 8,273,336,103! Have fun!"
I didn't even have time to blink, or let out so much of a sound before I found myself being pushed around a crowd, standing in the busy streets of-
"Where the hell am I?" I screamed, earning a few skeptical glares from passersby. My voice feels strange, the sound warped in an unfamiliarly lighter accent as I reached for my throat, panting. My head felt like it had been smashed open, and for a second, I found myself wondering if I hadn't actually died from being shot, just as Not-Freeman suggested.
Unfamiliar memories were flooding through my brain as I groaned in pain, struggling to keep myself steady amidst the sea of people.
I needed out.
Leaning against the alleyway wall beside me, I limped away from the crowd, curses slipping past my lips as I tried to collect myself.
"Calm down, calm down, calm down."
Judging by the tone of my voice, I was now considerably younger, meaning I couldn't have stumbled into some eerie adult Seinen or some other traumatizing bulshit. I was also still a dude, which did help in calming my nerves. God knew what kind of story I ended up into.
Oh, that he sure did.
I was in Italy, or at least some imaginative version of it, judging by the various green-white-red flags hanging from balconies. Pangs of pain shot through my skull as I remembered more and more details about whoever's body I was inhibiting. The hurt of an entirely new language being crammed into my head made me wince with every thought.
Okay, so this wasn't any fantastical land with dragons or fairies and shit. I could work with that, at least. My current body also wasn't some kind of dangerous mafioso or deadly terrorist or any of the usual catastrophes my friend loved reading about. I really was nothing more than a typical, ordinary guy once again.
I sighed, finally letting my lungs fill properly for the first time since arriving.
An anime I had an 'ungodly' amount of knowledge on, uh?
My mind drifted back to those innumerable afternoons spent listening to my friend rant about whichever insanely bizarre show had caught his attention. Strangely enough, my memory felt unusually clear, and I could pinpoint every minute detail of his stories: the exact tone he used when pronouncing each character's name, or the endless list of attacks and strange power systems he seemed to gloat about.
"So this is what God meant when he said I'll remember everything, uh." I sighed, scratching my head. My hair felt unusually long and choppy, and I soon set my sight on finding myself a mirror to get a better look at what I'd be working with.
Mozzarella Gorgonzola
I stopped dead in my tracks, my breath hitching as I remembered the last of this body's memory.
No way.
There was no way I was named-
Rushing into a corner shop, I ran pass an upset customer as I made a beeline for the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind me.
My hands fumbled with the sink's faucet as I desperately splashed water over my face, a pained groan slipping past my lips as makeup began to run under the spray.
Shit. Shit. SHIT-
Ignoring the banging at the door, I rubbed my face against my shirt —if you could even call it that— the leather bands doing little to help with the soaking mess that was now my face.
Italian. Stupid Name. Makeup. Wearing a suspiciously high fashion outfit despite being such a "normie".
"...I swear to God, if I ever get back home, I'm gonna kill this cunt." I spat, shooting a dirty look at the strikingly handsome face staring right back at me from the mirror.
My friend's all time favorite show.
His number one ranting subject.
The weirdest, most illogical, wonderfully shitty story I had ever laid my ears upon.
"Good grief."
Not bloody JoJo's bizarre adventure.