When I opened my eyes again, I was nearly blinded by pure, white light.

  "Ah, shit. Am I dead? Is this, like, the light at the end of the tunnel?" I muttered, squinting into the infinite white void swallowing everything around me.

  Pretty sure I’m dead. I mean, I got shot in the chest. That tends to do it. No tunnel, though. Bit of a letdown.

  I raised my voice a little, half joking, half hoping.

  "Is this heaven? 'Cause if so, it’s a little too bright. You mind turning it down a notch, God?"

  To my surprise, the blinding light dimmed into a soft, calming blue, like the sky before sunrise. A voice answered me, echoing from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Gentle. Soothing. Like a mother comforting her kid after a nightmare.

  "Is that a little better?"

  Okay. Yup. Definitely freaking out now.

  I mean, I want to believe I’d go to heaven. I wasn’t exactly a saint, but I wasn’t a monster either. Not a big church guy, God and I had more of a “nodding acquaintanceship” than anything, but I didn’t think I’d get front row tickets to the void, either.

  Guess I was wrong.

  And apparently... God’s a woman?

  Kinda progressive. Neat.

  "I’m not a god," the voice said, still calm, still somehow inside my head.

  "But yes, you are indeed dead, Oscar Guerra."

  The voice was... I don’t know. Gody? Is that a word?

  "No, it is not," she replied, amused.

  I froze.

  "Wait. Are you reading my mind?"

  "In a manner of speaking," she said, like she was breaking bad news to a child.

  "But you don’t need to worry. I’ve been assigned by the System to be your guide into your new existence. Your thoughts are safe with me. I cannot betray you."

  There was pride in her voice, like being assigned by this "System" was a big deal. Top tier cosmic Employee of the Month kind of thing.

  "It definitely is a 'big deal', Oscar Guerra," she added, and I swear I could hear the air quotes.

  "Riiight. And I’m guessing reading people’s minds without asking isn’t rude where you come from?"

  She laughed, not a giggle or a chuckle, but a full on melodic laugh that echoed like music through the void.

  "My apologies. It’s not on purpose. This space between dimensions doesn’t follow the rules of your physical universe. And since you are untrained in the manipulation of the abstract, you’re... projecting your thoughts very loudly. It is difficult not to hear you. You are, in effect, screaming your thoughts into the void."

  "So I’m thinking too loud?"

  "In a manner of speaking," she repeated.

  Before I could say anything else, the atmosphere shifted, like the moment before a thunderstorm. The scent of ozone filled the air, and a crackle of static rippled through the blue like a wave.

  Her voice grew stronger. Not louder, but heavier. Like it carried weight and purpose.

  "Oscar Guerra of Earth. You have been chosen by the System to receive its blessing. In recognition of your selfless act, giving your life to protect another, the System has deemed you worthy of rebirth. You will be granted new life, so that you may continue to protect those in need."

  Her next words hung in the air like the final line of a prophecy.

  "Do you accept this task, Oh Chosen One?"

  For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. The void had gone still again, expectant. I could feel it watching me somehow, holding its breath.

  Then the tension snapped like a rubber band.

  "Would you like me to explain further, Oscar Guerra?" she asked, a little softer now.

  "Yeah, that’d be nice," I replied, voice small. I tried to sound calm, but honestly? My heart was racing.

  Because somewhere beneath the fear and confusion, something else had started to bloom.

  Excitement.

  Like... a dangerous, giddy, anime watching part of my brain was waking up. The part that had always wondered what it would be like to get hit by Truck kun and wake up in another world with magic powers and a sword made of pure plot armor.

  Was this really happening? Am I getting isekai’d?

  "Very well," the voice said. "I am unfamiliar with this term... 'isekai'? In your Japanese language, it translates roughly to 'other world.' But I suspect there is more context."

  She paused.

  "From your surface thoughts, it appears to be a literary and animated genre. One in which a protagonist dies and is transported to a fantastical realm to begin anew?"

  "Yup," I said, nodding rapidly even though I wasn’t sure I still had a head.

  "That’s... basically it."

  I blinked a few times, trying to temper my nerd joy as I prepared to explain what anime was to... what, a cosmic guidance counselor?

  Because if I was getting isekai’d...

  I really needed to know the rules.

  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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  The mood inside the ambulance was cold and heavy with tension. That kind of silence that pressed down on your shoulders like a physical weight. The only sounds were the steady beeping of the heart monitor, the low rumble of the engine, and the sharp, measured breaths of the paramedic working over the man bleeding out on the stretcher.

  "Stay with me, buddy. Just... hang in there, alright?" the EMT muttered, voice tight as he adjusted the IV drip for the third time in two minutes. Sweat clung to his brow despite the chill blasting from the ambulance’s AC. He wasn’t just worried, he was panicking, and trying hard not to show it.

  The patient was a young guy, maybe mid to late twenties. Pretty tall. A little soft around the middle. His olive toned skin had gone waxy pale, lips turning that sickly gray that meant the fight was almost lost. Gunshot to the chest. Close range. 9mm round. The bullet had shattered against the sternum, but not before it tore through soft tissue and bone like a drunk with a fucking jackhammer. Collapsed lung. Maybe even a torn aorta judging by how fast his pressure was dropping.

  The EMT packed the wound tighter, praying it would hold, knowing it probably wouldn’t. Not unless the kid caught a miracle in the next five minutes.

  "Jesus Christ," he whispered, stealing another glance at the monitor. Then down at the guy’s face. "You just had to go full action hero, huh?"

  The kid looked like someone who’d just crawled out of a server room, shaggy hair, scruffy beard, dumb T shirt now soaked in blood. But then the medic remembered the woman at the scene. Screaming at the cops to do something. Dahlia Caine. The goddamn CEO of Halcyon Synthetics.

  His throat went dry.

  This wasn’t just any good Samaritan. This guy had saved her. The heir to Atlas Corp’s empire. Corporate royalty. Which meant this guy wasn’t just a nerd in the wrong place, he was the one who’d jumped in front of a bullet for her.

  Which meant he mattered now.

  And if he died on the EMT’s watch?

  His hands trembled for a second before he clenched them into fists. "If you flatline on me, I swear I’m gonna lose my job. Or worse."

  He tried to laugh. It came out like a cough. "Not that you can hear me. But hey... thanks for throwing yourself in front of a bullet for a billionaire. Real noble. Real inspiring. Definitely gonna get me fired."

  The monitor let out a warning blip. The EMT’s head snapped to it, pulse spiking.

  "No. No, no, no. Not yet. Not on me. You don’t get to die on me after all that."

  He reached for the crash kit again, voice breaking around the edges. "C’mon, man. Just hang in there. Hospital’s six minutes out. That’s two songs on the radio. You can make it through two songs, right?"

  Because now he wasn’t just fighting for a stranger’s life.

  He was fighting not to be the guy who let that stranger die.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  "So it is exactly like an isekai!" I exclaim, practically bouncing with excitement.

  "Well, I suppose so... though I’m still not entirely sure what that is," the voice replies, slightly exasperated. Fair enough, this was the fourth time I’d tried to explain it to her.

  "I told you! It’s when someone dies or gets transported to another world full of magic and monsters, usually with some kind of overpowered ability granted by a god. Then they fight a demon lord, go on epic quests, level up, get cool magic loot, maybe build a harem, y'know, classic hero stuff." I finish with a gleam in my eye.

  "As I’ve said before, if that is what an isekai is, then no. This is not exactly like that." She sighs. "The System will send you to a world that needs saving from a powerful threat. You will be granted a blessing to aid in that task."

  "That’s literally what I just said, but with fancier words!" I grin. Honestly, this all sounds like peak anime BS... but I’m not complaining. Who hasn’t daydreamed about getting isekai’d?

  "Alright. Yes. It’s like one of your isekai stories," she admits with a reluctant whine. "Shall we proceed? I need to integrate your soul with the System before I can safely send you into the other world."

  I nod vigorously.

  With a sharp snap, a semitransparent, floating blue screen materializes in front of me.

  "Oh yeah, this is definitely just like one of my Japanese animes."

  [SYSTEM MESSAGE: DIMENSIONAL TRANSFER PROTOCOL ENGAGED]

  USER: OSCAR GUERRA

  STATUS: DECEASED

  CAUSE OF TERMINATION: FATAL INJURY SUTAINED DURING HEROIC INTERVENTION

  KARMIC SCORE: ABOVE AVERAGE

  ELIGIBILITY: QUALIFIED FOR REASIGNMENT

  CONGRATULATIONS, OSCAR GUERRA.

  YOUR ACTIONS IN YOUR PREVIOUS LIFE HAVE MET THE REQUIREMENTS FOR REINCARNATION DUE TO A VOLUNTARY HEROIC SACRIFICE.

  YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED FOR REBIRTH, GRANTING YOU THE RIGHT TO:

  ? REINCARNATE INTO A WORLD OF YOUR CHOOSING

  ? PURCHASE AND CUSTOMIZE YOUR STARTING POWERSET

  ? RETAIN YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS AND CORE MEMORIES

  PLEASE NOTE: ONCE SELECTIONS ARE CONFIRMED, ALL DECISIONS ARE FINAL.

  YOU MAY NOW BEGIN CUSTOMIZATION.

  "Holy shit," I mutter, eyes glued to the screen.

  "Wait... I get to choose my powers? And the world I’m getting sent to?"

  "You do," the voice confirms. "Due to your heroic actions, you’ve accumulated a significant amount of Karmic Points. These can be used to purchase enhanced abilities or to enter specific parallel worlds."

  "You may, for example," she continues, "choose a fantasy world and become a hero who fights demons, as you described. Though there are many other worlds in need of a protector."

  As she speaks, a sharp snap echoes in my mind, and suddenly, dozens, no, hundreds of blue screens swirl into view around me. Each one shows a different world: classic sword and sorcery kingdoms, zombie wastelands, futuristic space battles, dystopian cyberpunk cities, and more. Each has a short title... and what looks like a price tag?

  I focus on one that looks like a generic fantasy setting.

  [VIRELIA: MAGIC BOUND KINGDOMS, DRAGONS, ANCIENT PROPHECY]

  THREAT LEVEL: LOW

  PLOT ARMOR: HIGH

  ENTRANCE FEE: 5200 KP

  “Huh... Not A Lot Of Detail. But I’M Guessing This One’S Your Classic Power Fantasy. Seems... Peaceful?”

  “Indeed,” my guide replies. Her tone is neutral, but I think I hear just a hint of judgment.

  I glance around at the other screens, then sigh. “So I’m guessing KP stands for Karmic Points. How many do I actually have?”

  As if on cue, another screen slides into view beside me.

  [AVAILABLE KP: 4820]

  "...Well, that’s slightly disappointing."

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  The operating room was chaos, contained only by protocol.

  "We're losing him!" the surgeon barked, voice slicing through the blaring monitors like a scalpel. The flatline alarm screamed in defiance, cold, merciless, final.

  Oscar Guerra had arrived at the hospital technically dead. No pulse. No respiration. He had been gone for over 5 minutes. And yet, somehow, they'd pulled him back. For a moment. For this moment.

  Now he was slipping again.

  And this time, it felt like the end.

  "Push another dose of epi!" the attending snapped.

  A nurse drove the syringe in with practiced precision, though her hands were shaking.

  "How the hell is he still bleeding out?" the surgeon growled.

  The answer was obvious, and no less grim. The bullet hadn’t just torn through muscle, it had shattered. Turned his chest cavity into a jagged battlefield of bone shards and metal fragments. His lungs looked like Swiss cheese. The aorta? Barely holding. Every time they sealed one rupture, another tore open. Like his body had decided it was done fighting.

  "Prep the paddles!" the scrub tech called out, already stepping forward with the defibrillator.

  "Charging!"

  The OR lights gleamed off sweat soaked brows. The air was thick, with heat, tension, and blood. They weren’t just losing a patient. They were losing him. The guy who took a bullet for Dahlia Caine. Half the staff had recognized her in the waiting room, pacing like a panther in a cage, fury and fear leaking through that flawless corporate armor.

  If this guy died?

  Heads would roll. Probably theirs first.

  "Clear!"

  They hit him with the first jolt. His body jumped, twitching like a puppet yanked by cruel strings.

  Nothing.

  "Again!"

  "Clear!"

  Another shock. Still no rhythm.

  "C’mon, dammit…" the surgeon hissed, his jaw clenched so tight it popped.

  They kept going. Hands flying. Hearts pounding harder than the patient’s ever could again. This was the part of medicine they didn’t teach in med school, the desperate refusal to let someone go. The sour taste of failure thick on the tongue. The whisper at the back of your mind, hissing, 'you’re too late.'

  One nurse whispered a prayer. Another quickly wiped away tears and kept suturing.

  The monitor held its piercing shriek.

  The surgeon glanced at the clock, face carved in stone.

  "Time of..."

  Beep.