One thousand souls.

  That’s how many people Kenji had to isekai to earn his reward.

  He’d done it all—hit teens, NEETs, suicidal salarymen, delinquents with tragic backstories, and the occasional girl with dead parents and glowing potential. If the gods marked them as “worthy,” he ran them down and sent them off to magical lands with dragons, swords, and overpowered cheat skills.

  Kenji? He got nothing but sore knees, back pain, and thirty-six years of service behind the wheel.

  Now, finally, it was over.

  He sat parked at the edge of the divine highway, cracked open a lukewarm beer, and watched the delivery counter flash:

  [SOUL DELIVERIES COMPLETE: 1000/1000]

  His last client had been a clumsy high school girl with big glasses and bigger dreams. She hadn’t even seen the truck coming.

  “Good for her,” Kenji muttered. “Hope she gets a harem of elven boys and a castle made of sparkles.”

  He leaned back in his seat with a groan.

  “Alright, gods. I did my job. Time for my reward.”

  The dashboard lit up.

  [CONGRATULATIONS, KENJI.]

  [YOU HAVE COMPLETED YOUR CONTRACT.]

  [REWARD: REBIRTH INTO PARADISE MODE.]

  [INITIALIZING TRANSFER…]

  Kenji grinned. “Beach. Drinks. Girls. Let’s go.”

  [ERROR.]

  [DESTINATION FILE MISSING.]

  [LOADING BACKUP: WORLD_147: NIVARIAS]

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  [WORLD STATUS: FROZEN. INFESTED. EXTREMELY UNFRIENDLY.]

  [RANDOM STARTER PACKAGE ISSUED.]

  [GOOD LUCK.]

  “…I don’t like how fast that escalated.”

  Meanwhile, Somewhere Above

  “Should we tell him we lost the paradise file on purpose?”

  “Nah. Let’s just watch.”

  “Do you think he’ll like the food truck?”

  “Only if he doesn’t read the sign.”

  laughter

  Some Time Later…

  Kenji woke up face-down in the snow.

  His jacket was half-frozen, his joints screamed, and something mechanical was humming behind him.

  He pushed himself up and turned.

  It was a truck. His truck. Big, armored, humming with energy, and somehow still idling perfectly in the middle of a snow-covered hellscape.

  Mounted on the roof: an auto-turret already scanning the horizon.

  Above the windshield, a glowing neon sign pulsed in soft blue:

  Kenji’s Post-Apoc Snack Shack

  Kenji squinted.

  Then squinted harder.

  “…No.”

  He climbed inside, still shivering, and hit the system panel.

  [WELCOME TO YOUR NEW LIFE.]

  [ASSET: SOUL-BOUND SURVIVAL TRUCK]

  [FOOD SYSTEM: CANNED ONLY]

  [TURRET: ONLINE]

  [ATTEMPT TO RENAME: BLOCKED]

  Kenji tapped the name field anyway.

  [REQUESTED NAME: Soul Canteen]

  [DENIED.]

  [NICE TRY.]

  “What kind of idiot names a food truck like that?”

  He caught his reflection in the screen. Same tired face. Same thinning hair. Same slightly overweight, 54-year-old body.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. They didn’t even give me a new body?”

  [PHYSICAL FORM PRESERVED FOR AUTHENTICITY.]

  “Authenticity? I was supposed to get abs. Or magic. Or at least a working knee!”

  The microwave beeped.

  A can of beef stew slid out.

  He opened it. The smell hit like a warm hug from a better timeline.

  He stared at it. Took a bite. Chewed slowly.

  “…Damn it. That’s actually good.”

  He slumped into the driver’s seat with a long sigh.

  “Fine. I’ll survive. But I’m not gonna smile about it.”

  Outside, the turret beeped once—then casually blasted something crawling out of the snow.

  The sign above the truck buzzed and flickered again:

  Kenji’s Post-Apoc Snack Shack

  Kenji cracked open another beer.

  “This is gonna suck.”