Flames engulf all. Does my life flash before my eyes? No, but a question does. What the bleep was that?

Heavy pants slip out from between my lips. My body aches. I wobble. The air burns. Red light bleeds out from the gaps between the fingers of my right hand, my philosopher’s stone gripped tightly in said hand. My right knuckles are white, but I have survived. Clearly, I have survived. What the bleep was that? The question echoes again in my mind. The red light of my philosopher’s stone dies down.

Is Sweet Slime gone? Depends on one’s definition of gone really. I glance around. Flames bellow. The town has become one of burning death. Does that count as gone? Depends on one’s definition of gone really.

Did I get the magical equivalent of a nuke thrown at me over stepping on that slime? My eyes reach the pet shop, or more specifically, they reach the flaming death trap that remained of the pet shop. Smoke belches. Flames roar. Nothing but death remains in there. Not just human life, but slime life has been taken as well. I don’t think this is over that slime. That theory seems unlikely.

Was this over that skeevy shopkeeper? I turn away from the burning pet shop. My eyes now come to a smoldering figure in the dirt road. It’s the corpse of that little girl, the little girl who tipped me off to the impending disaster. The shopkeeper theory seems unlikely too. Flames reach up all around me. All buildings have been consumed. Death has taken the town.

Is this a common occurrence here? Do flaming balls of death just fall out of the sky? No, that does not make sense. Sweet Slime was too developed for such a thing to be a common occurrence here.

I blink. Something has caught my attention. Something that is both very much not me and very much not burned. It’s a man. He lies in the dirt road, a small crater beneath him. Was he in that fireball? Is he alive?

I slip my philosopher’s stone back into the brown pouch at my right hip and step up to the man. I scan over him. His hair is short and black, his skin cream. He wears a blue long-sleeved shirt and brown pants. Brown shoes display upon his feet. Was he really in that fireball? I prod him with my right foot. He jerks awake. His blue eyes flutter. They meet mine.

“Are you …” he scoots back, his bottom lip trembling. “Are you a demon? Is this hell?”

Hell? I blink. The inferno continues raging around us. Is this hell? “No,” I say, “this isn’t hell, and no, I’m not a demon.” I glance to the side. Yet more flames reflect in my red eyes. “I can see why one might think this is hell though. Anyway …” My eyes go back to the trembling man. “You can call me Philosopher. You are?”

“I’m”—the man stumbles to his feet—“Arc. You can call me Arc.” He is taller than I am—not that that is saying much. I mean, I am short. His eyes drift from me to the inferno. “Where are we? Why is everything burning?”

“This”—I gesture to our blazing surroundings—“is Sweet Slime, or what’s left of it anyway.” His eyes return to me. “It wasn’t so fiery before you showed up.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

He blinks. A confused expression settles into his face. He is actually kind of cute—not that I’m all that interested in that kind of thing. His confused expression does not last. One of horror supersedes it.

“Am I …” His face pales. His knees display a distinct wobble. “Am I somehow responsible for this hell?” He takes a shaky step back. “But how? I was just looking at …” He freezes. “Wait.” He glances around. “Where are the shoes? Are they burning too?”

Shoes? Was Arc shoe shopping before arriving here? Was he isekai’d while shoe shopping? How interesting. A smiled creeps across my lips. “So Arc, what were you doing before waking up here?”

Arc’s eyes go back to me. “I was looking at shoes at the mall when …” He stops talking for a moment before finally adding, “That can’t be right.”

“What can’t be right? That you were looking at shoes or something else?”

“Well”—Arc glances away for a moment, and then his eyes return to me—“there was a truck. But I was inside in a shoe aisle. How could I get run down by a truck in such a place?”

Truck-kun? All that time I spent trying to find that bleeping truck, and he isekai’s this guy at me? I glance at the raging inferno that still surrounds Arc and me. Is this typical for a Truck-kun isekai? I then glance down at myself. Did Truck-kun try to kill me? Perhaps I should be wary of that bleeping truck.

My eyes go back to Arc. “You were,” I say, “sent here from another world by an extra-worldly entity known as Truck-kun.”

“From another …” Arc blinks. His blue eyes shift from side to side. Then they go back to me. They widen. “Are you saying I got isekai’d? Those are real, not just fiction? I thought Truck-kun was just a meme.”

I gesture to the all-engulfing flames around us. “I assure you isekai’s are real phenomena. However”—I glance at the flames—“I don’t know if this inferno is just how Truck-kun works or something else.”

Arc peers into the flames too. “Maybe it is just an isekai thing.”

“Well”—I bring my right hand to my chin—“that is a theory, but I don’t recall such a phenomenon with my isekai.” I lower my right hand.

Arc blinks and then looks at me. Our eyes meet, his blue eyes and my red eyes. Finally, he says, “Truck-kun got you too, huh?”

I frown. “Truck-kun did not get me.” I take a step back. “Truck-kun interested me, so I tried to find him. Alas, I found no Truck-kun, so I isekai’d myself to see one of these fantasy worlds instead.” I lean closer to Arc. “You, though … Truck-kun found you.” I pull away. “All that time I spent trying unsuccessfully to find Truck-kun, and he just finds you.” My gaze centers on Arc’s face. “So what did you see of Truck-kun?”

“Well”—Arc gets an awkward smile—“I turned and saw a big white truck. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in this place.”

A big white truck? If only I could have been there to actually see Truck-kun. Alas, I think that truck may be both avoiding me and possibly trying to kill me. I mean he did kind of chuck a flaming ball of death at me.

“So”—I glance over Arc’s form—“want to party up?” Arc isn’t bad looking, and as someone who Truck-kun isekai’d, he may make for a good observational subject. If I can’t observe Truck-kun, why not observe someone he isekai’d? I give Arc my best smile. I do not want Arc to turn down my offer to party up. Observing him may prove difficult if he does.

“Sure,” Arc says. A smile spreads across his face, his eyes on me. “So I guess we have a two-person adventuring party now.”

“We do,” I say but then cough. He coughs too. The smoke is getting thicker. The flames still bellow. We should move on.

“Come,” I say. “Let’s head to the next town.”

He doesn’t argue and falls into step behind me. I feel his gaze on my back. I glance back, and my eyes meet his eyes. A goofy smile shows upon his face. I pout and then look away.

Finally, I say, “I am not your harem girl if that is what you’re thinking.” My words aren’t harsh, but I want to nip that idea in the bud. My research indicates that harems are a thing when it comes to isekai. I am not here to be his harem girl though.

An awkward laugh slips out of Arc. I don’t bother looking back at him. Instead, I just sigh. That laugh does not sound all that reassuring.