I always figured that if I ever got into a car accident, I’d be the one behind the wheel. Not because I’m a particularly bad or careless driver or anything, but if I thought ‘car accident’, that was just what popped into my head.

For some reason, ‘car accident’ gave me a vivid mental image of me in a car, and me in an accident. I’d be driving, making a left somewhere, and BLAM some random dude would careen into me.

They’d always have a good reason. A wife at a hospital. A kid’s band practice.

“I’m so sorry,” someone would say. “First day of work and I overslept!”

In this weird fantasy, I was never bitter. I’d laugh it off and be very gracious about the whole affair.

“Wife, hospital,” I’d say, nodding with sympathy while holding a cloth to my head wound.

“What?” they’d reply.

What I didn’t expect was what actually happened.

I was walking if you haven't guessed.

Normally this would never happen, but I was back home for the holidays and nostalgia tastes better on foot.

I turned along one of the perfectly curved and immaculately sculpted corners of the cul de sac, and there it was, in front of me.

The scene. The isekai scene.

A kid, a ball, and a truck.

What such a large truck was doing in a residential neighborhood I was unable to take time to process. What was clear was that the truck was a supplier for a chip brand I decline to name, and what was also clear was the driver was snacking on his own supply.

The moment stretched.

Everything resolved comically slowly.

I saw the kid kick the ball into the street.

I took a weird half step towards the boy (this is important).

I saw the truck driver’s eyes widen in horror as his chip dusted fingers scrambled to get back on the wheel. I saw the driver go through the mental calculations as he struggled against what his years of driving intuition and his very eyes were telling him what was going to happen.

I saw grim acceptance settle in his eyes.

Then I saw shock, raw shock as something struck him across the face. It was the ball. Somehow, the ball had bounced off a nearby signpost and in through his open window.

His arms jerked, and I saw him involuntarily swerve, sending the weight of that giant chip carrying monstrosity directly into my person.

The last thing I saw, before the whole of the truck took up my entire frame of vision, was that kid, still walking stupidly forward in that way kids do. I’m pretty sure he never even saw me. His eyes were still tracking the ball.

The truck hit me.

I did not feel pain. I felt the oomph of force that directly precedes pain.

It was like I was a soccer ball and the truck was the foot of a vengeful god. All I could hear was the roar of air as I went tumbling all over the place, skipping along the floor like a stone across water.

When I finally came to a stop, I was surprised to find myself somewhere quite different than the residential area I had been.

I was in an enormous void of a room.

All around me was white marble. Impossibly high ceilings opened up to gorgeous blue skies and fluffy pillow clouds. It would have been totally pristine, if not for the trail of chips that I seemed to have tracked in through my passage.

The chips kinda went everywhere which I guess kinda makes sense considering the momentum of the truck that had sent me there.

Oh. She was there too, I guess.

The goddess.

“You tracked in...doritos,” she said, a curl of disgust on her face as she pushed some of the chips away with her sandaled foot.

Those were the first words that my personal isekai goddess uttered as filtered into my mortal ears. Though most of her words were filtered through some divine translating magic, I could hear the unmistakable tone of contempt as she clearly pronounced the syllables, “DOH-REE-TOHS”.

Apparently doritos did not warrant enough multiverse significance to be allowed its own word in the divine tongue. It was a loan word,and the goddess it seemed, did not consider it beneath her dignity to indulge in product placement.

“Sorry,” I found myself saying.

I felt personally offended on some level. It did not feel right that my entrance into this space between worlds be heralded by a spray of doritos. After all, I did not personally even like doritos.

I was more of a pringles man.

What did she look like?

Uh, I dunno. She looked like a goddess, I suppose. I don’t know what there is to say. Flowing golden hair, vaguely toga looking vestments, and the insinuation of fluffy tufted wings behind her. She looked like someone had meticulously gone through every single item to make sure it was on brand.

Yet there was undeniably a scuffed quality to her. Everything about her was as pristine as the goddess space around her, but she wore it with a slightly peeved edge, like an idol caught smoking backstage.

“Well let’s get this over with,” said the goddess.

The goddess waved a hand and the chips were all suctioned away by small holes that opened up all over the floor. It was more than a little disturbing to see some hundred odd holes appear and swallow up all the chips.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Let’s see here.”

In front of the goddess appeared a number of hexes all displaying what appeared to be different vantage points of my most recent truck related event. After a while she made a panning motion, and the screens darted to either side of her. The goddess regarded me with a thin smile.

I recognized that smile.

I had seen that smile just the other day on the face of a restaurant worker when I sheepishly made an order eight minutes before closing. It was not a kindly smile.

"Congratulations," she said. “It seems you have qualified by the most meager of margins to be isekai-ed."

I knew, even then, that it was better to say nothing.

What a stroke of luck!

I was about to embark on the kind of self indulgent dream nerds everywhere would salivate over, but couldn’t help but let the words slip out of my mouth. Call it a reflex, a penchant for telling truth to power. Whatever. I spoke.

“But, uh, I didn’t do anything?” I said.

The goddess gave me another half-smile.

“On the contrary.” She flicked one of the screens so it spun and hovered over to me. On it was a looping close up of my feet. I watched as the video rendered my stumbled half-step over and over again.

The goddess’s finger pointed at the looping frames.

“You see? You moved to try and save the boy. It wasn’t an involuntary step or anything too. Believe me, I cross referenced your soul against a couple of simulated scenarios just to be sure.”

The screen flickered. In front of me I saw a representation of myself making that same weird half step in the face of an icecream truck, a moving van, a bus, and even a giant unicycle of some kind.

“Why is it always vehicles?”

The goddess ignored the perfectly respectable question.

“You didn’t directly achieve anything, but hey.” The goddess shrugged. “If we based the system on what you mortals actually achieved we’d never get anywhere. What matters is the intent was there.”

I decided to take her at her word.

“Now, before we formally begin, do you have any questions?”

I considered. I had plenty of questions. I decided to start with something that had been bugging since I got transported.

“If the chips got transported along with me when the truck hit me, why weren’t they still in the little plastic bags?” I asked.

The goddess stared at me.

“Like, if they came from the truck, the chips would still be in the plastic bags, and the bags would have been in cardboard boxes or something, right? Why did only the loose chips get transported over when I got shunted over here but nothing else?”

As the words left my mouth, I could see the very moment the goddess decided she didn’t like me.

“That would take too long to explain,” she said. “And not particularly relevant to your fate at hand.”

I frowned. It was a decidedly unsatisfactory answer. I wondered if somewhere else there was a different goddess more tolerant of curiosity.

“Such kindly goddesses as you are imagining would not be in a position to accept lowly cases such as yours,” said the goddess in response to my thoughts. "Your silly situation is something of a hassle, and one with a low payout at that."

The goddess smiled at me again.

I decided to endeavor to avoid thoughts that would push this very powerful and very beautiful goddess to anger. Fully justified anger.

She sniffed.

“If there is nothing else, then it is time to determine your destination,” said the goddess. “First I must catalog your life.”

The goddess paged through thousands of wafer thin slices of hexagon screens. On each I could make out a scene played out in miniature. I saw my childhood. My first crush. That weird year where I only wore shorts. That month I brought orange juice in a thermos to school every day.

"Hmmm," hmmed the goddess, "It seems the most lacking area in your life is romance,” she pronounced.

I nodded. That was fair.

“Not surprising,” she muttered under her breath.

That seemed less fair.

"Well," said the goddess, clapping her hands together. “Unfortunately your little display does not provide you enough isekai points for, shall we say, a full package. We’re going to have to cut some corners.”

She said it with some relish.

An array appeared before her. From what I could see, it resembled the world generator options in a bunch of games. She unchecked a number of options.

“Non unique world, non-protagonist status, no special traits, and ah—” She turned to me. “Would you rather hold onto your past life’s memories or have a direct line to ask me for help at any time?”

I made the sane decision. “I would like my past memories please.”

“Really?" The goddess frowned. "These memories? Are you sure?"

She looked at the collection of hexes that represented my life like they were so much dirt.

I considered the options.

A direct line to the goddess was tempting. Especially since it looked like I was going to be thrown into a new world without any of the bells and whistles. But then again—

Who would I even be without my memories? Would I even be me?

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you’d still be you,” the goddess said. “Just less—” she wiggled her fingers vaguely in my general direction “You.”

Still.

“My memories, please,” I said to the goddess.

“I would be rather helpful, you know.” She looked rather put out. “Still no? Well, no matter. Less work for me I suppose.”

The goddess made a motion like closing a book and all of the hexes fluttered away between her hands. In retrospect, I wonder if it was that last slight that contributed to the world that goddess chose for me.

“When making a derivative world, we select from stories the transferee is familiar with,” said the goddess. Her eyes flicked through a number of titles panning by so fast they were invisible to me. I saw my entire media diet flicker past her eyes in the space of a few seconds.

She slowed as she approached something towards the end, her eyes widening in delight.

“Well, well well.” She smiled. “We’ll use...this as a base, shall we?”

A representation of my room appeared in the display hex closest to the goddess. She was going to use something from my room as a base? If I remembered correctly, I only owned one romance themed...anything in my whole collection.

My eyes widened in horror as the goddess reached into the hex and pulled out that unmistakable sickly, pink cover.

“Wait!” I called out. “Not that one! Choose something else!”

The goddess smiled, and for once it looked like a true smile.

But, before I could say anything else, she stabbed it with a strange gaudy knife, cleaving open a pink tinted portal that began to suction the air with a terrible force.

“Rest assured that we do try to hew as close to the original story as possible,” said the goddess. “All elements, from beginning to end.”

The goddess conjured another copy of the sickly pink book into her hands. Enormous spectacles appeared on her face just so she could push them up with one finger. It was clear she was enjoying channeling ara-ara energy.

“And my, what an ending this is.”

I shouted some kind of objection, but the howl of the portal wind drowned out my words.

The goddess conjured up a desk and made a show of being hard at work.

“I'm very sorry, but we are just out of time. Unfortunately an edge case such as yours requires a copious amount of goddess related paperwork. I am quite busy and unable to make any further adjustments. You understand, I’m sure.”

I scrambled for something to hold onto. But there was nothing around except for the endless flat plane and trace amounts of chip dust.

She gave me a little wave.

“Ta,” she said simply, as I was pulled into the pink abyss.

***

I woke up on my bed. I recognized the bed.

The door slammed open, and I recognized the door.

And finally, when I turned towards it, I recognized the image of perfect chadness before me.

He was, unmistakably, the protagonist of Harem, Harem, Oval Panic.

He was also, I knew intrinsically like how some flowers turn towards the sun, my best friend.

“Wakey, wakey,” said Deck. “We’re going to be late for school!”

He was the protagonist of Harem, Harem, Oval Panic and I was his best friend.

What this meant was simple.

I turned to the mirror. The sight confirmed what I already knew. A different face looked back at me. A face, which it hardly needs to be said, I recognized. And more than that, I recognized what it meant. The certainty settled in my gut.

My name was Hero, and sooner or later, I was going to die.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, then I felt it jerk back.

I turned to the sight of Deck bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking it. His good natured face settled into bemusement.

“Why are you covered in chip dust?” he asked.