Chapter 01
Truck-Kun
Blood painted the earth beneath a mountain of corpses, a gruesome river of red carving through the shattered remains of what was once a battlefield.
The stench of death mingled with the acrid scent of sweat and the foul odor of decay filling the air with the unbearable reality of war's aftermath. The ground, filled with swords, lances, and various weapons of another time, was littered with implements of destruction, some still buried in the bodies of the fallen.
The sky, a dull grey canvas, empty even of scavenger birds, seemed to mourn the loss below, its cold light casting an eerie glow on the desolate scene. A chilling wind whispered through the field, it carried the faint cries of agony from the few who still managed to clung to life, their bodies mangled and broken beyond recognition.
At the center of this devastation stood a solitary figure, towering above the death mountain as if a monument to the carnage. Their seemingly once white robes were soaked in the blood and filth of the fallen, blending them into the landscape. Their eyes, a piercing scarlet, burned bright and their body radiated a fierce light that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the dead.
Jon, standing right below the human mountain and witnessing this hellish tableau, felt a creeping dread settle in his bones. The scene before him was way too vivid, too visceral to be a mere figment of imagination. He was there, amidst the horror, feeling the cold bite of the wind, the sticky warmth of blood underfoot, and the oppressive weight of death all around.
Suddenly, his heart hammered against his chest, a primal dread settling in as, from above, the figure’s gaze met his, a silent challenge, a promise of unspeakable horrors yet to unfold.
The figure spoke, their voice disturbingly familiar, cutting through the oppressive silence.
"Come on Barbie, let's go party."
Suddenly, Jon awoke, gasping for air, his bed soaked with sweat. The alarm on his phone blared the song "I'm a Barbie Girl", not the new one, the original by Aqua. Though, he liked both versions.
Jon's breaths slowly returned to normal, the manic tempo of the song still playing in the background. The familiar scent of coffee lingered in the air, grounding him in the reality of his usual, unremarkable surroundings. His room was a snapshot of everyday life.
He reached out, his hand grasping the phone, and with a half-amused, half-resigned smile, he found himself singing along, "...In a Barbie world, life in plastic, it's fantastic..."
Turning off the alarm, Jon swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting there for a moment.
He scratched his head, a smirk spreading across his face despite the lingering unease. Damn, third time this week. That psycho even looks at me now. Almost gave me a heart attack.
"Dick."
Jon flopped back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. The dream had been a nightly visitor, each iteration more vivid, more detailed.
This time, he couldn’t shake the surreal feeling that the figure had truly seen him, their gaze piercing through the veil of sleep into reality. "Am I losing my mind?" Jon wondered. Almost a month of this, and it's like a freakin' HD remaster every damn time, he thought.
He couldn't help but notice the eerie similarity of the corpses' attire to the cultivator garb from the webnovels of his younger days. Those novels really did a number on me. I've fried my brain with all that xianxia crap and now I'm dreaming in cultivator couture.
Jon sighed deeply, the absurdity of his situation not lost on him. "Guess I'm gonna need to find some shrink who specializes in exorcising batshit crazy nightmares," he mused, a tinge of annoyance lacing his words.
This was the last thing he needed, especially after convincing himself he didn’t need a therapist for his other issues, here he was, contemplating a visit for his midnight horror shows. "Great, just what I needed," he muttered, "another head trip to the psycho doc to figure out why I'm the guest star in Cultivator Chainsaw Massacre every night."
The morning light broke through the curtains, casting a warm glow across Jon's room. Today wasn’t just any day—it was his mom’s birthday. He, his best friend and business partner Eddy, and a few family members had orchestrated a surprise party for the evening. Jon had gone all out, planning to gift her a new car and a nice little house nestled in a vineyard by a river, with a cottage and a cherry blossom tree garden, exactly the kind of place she’d always dreamed of retiring in—a vintage sanctuary where she could enjoy peace and family time. Given that Jon was now her only immediate family.
His dad, bless his soul, had tried to stop a bank robbery with nothing but guts, good intentions and an apparent misunderstanding of his own combat skills. Needless to say, he was offed swiftly in front of his son, batman style. Leaving 8 years old Jon not just fatherless but also with a front-row seat to the kind of emotional mess not even Alfred could clean up.
Sometimes, he could still hear the screams, the thunderous unloading of guns. Bam! Once, twice, thrice then the smell of the gunpowder, and see the vein in Daddy's forehead throbbing as his last synapses feverishly tried to process exactly how he'd managed to fuck things up this royally. Exactly in that order.
Boy, talk about setting the bar high for irreversibly screwing up your kid before puberty had even hit...
Evidently, Jon's childhood psyche was shattered into a billion fragments before replacing it with a heaping slice of PTSD pie he never really recovered from.
Especially with what happened right after that, but that's another story for another time.
Jon rose from his bed, shaking off the remnants of dark thoughts and dreams. Today was not the day to dwell on the past; it was packed with celebrations and milestones. Beyond the birthday surprise for his mom, he was set to inaugurate the new premises of his startup in the heart of Chicago. Ditching Silicon Valley’s saturated markets had proven to be a stroke of genius.
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Life had been on an upswing for him. Post-breakup with Daeun, ah, Daeun, that was one tough damn time he'd like to Eternal Sunshine right out of his brain, but now he seemed to be on a winning streak: acing college as the top student, hitting a $100 million jackpot, starting a business with his best friend and watching it thrive. It was as if fortune, after years of dealing him a bad hand, had finally decided to throw him a bone.
Either that or Daeun really was just the ultimate, crampon-wearing, constantly nagging and nagging and nagging obstacle to his happiness and success this whole time. Some people are just toxic black holes like that, unfortunately. Can't live with them, can't successfully trap them in a cave for the greater good of society because that's illegal... or so they say.
Well, to be fair, Jon also had a pretty rough start at life, so, there's that too.
Everything's coming up roses, he mused internally with a smile. What could possibly go wrong? No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he winced. "Shit, never say that. It's like begging the universe to drop a piano on your head." Ah, the joys of tempting fate with a good old dose of Murphy's Law.
He always kicked off his day with a workout, because working out is good for you.
He stretched out the sleep, hit the pavement for a jog, and dove into some calisthenics, warming up for the main event. At the bench press, Jon pushed his limits, hoisting a personal best of 170 kg.
Fresh from his workout, he headed to cleanse the sweat of victory, then to the kitchen where breakfast awaited. In his penthouse, Jon's private chef, Carmen, was already orchestrating breakfast.
"Hey, Carmy!" Jon greeted as he sauntered into the kitchen.
"How’re you doing, cousin?" Carmen shot back with a grin. They weren't actually cousins, it was just a thing they did.
Jon chuckled at the banter. "You tell me, cousin. What's on the menu this morning?"
Carmen, with a flourish befitting a culinary maestro, laid out the feast: "For you, cousin, I’ve got your favorite—scrambled eggs with chives and smoked salmon, whole grain toast with avocado spread, a side of fresh berries, and Greek yogurt with honey and nuts. And, of course, your mandatory cup of black coffee, as dark and intense as your soul after leg day."
Jon chuckled, correcting with a hint of pride, "Chest day, actually. Hit 170 kg today."
"Good job, just try not to kill yourself lifting weights," Carmen joked, flipping a spatula in the air. "I’d hate to have to scout for a new millionaire client."
Breakfast was a symphony of flavors, which Jon savored while tuning into the morning news. The buzz was all about his startup, especially with the grand opening of their new location. The cameras loved Eddy, who was giving an interview, looking every bit the tech visionary.
Post-breakfast, his headphones and sunglasses on, Jon set out on foot to work.
The city air wasn’t exactly pristine, but the walk had a calming effect on him. Lost in thoughts about the day’s schedule, he passed an alley and noticed something amiss. Four men were cornering another, who was on the ground, beaten and with his mouth and limbs taped. In the shadowy confines of the alley, the violent scene was hidden from the morning's casual observers, but not from Jon.
His gaze locked with the victim's, the man's eyes screaming desperation, a silent plea for rescue etched in his bruised face. But the haunting image of his father's bloodied end flashed before him, a visceral reminder of the cost of heroism. He lived by a hard-learned lesson: playing the hero was a fool’s game.
It’s none of my business, Jon reasoned silently, his steps resuming their rhythm. Why gamble with his safety, especially now when life is finally on an upward swing? No, he wouldn't risk it all on a stranger's plight.
Determined to keep out of trouble, Jon quickened his pace, planning to call the police once he was safely away, ensuring help would come without dragging him into the fray. He would not put himself in danger, but that was the least he could do. This helped him think of himself as less of an asshole and more of a pragmatic gentleman.
In the alley, the man was mercilessly beaten, fists raining down on him like a brutal hailstorm, his muffled cries barely audible over the thuds of blows. Jon, haunted by his resurging memories, was so lost in thought that he mindlessly stepped onto the road, oblivious to the oncoming danger.
Suddenly, the blaring horn of a truck shattered his reverie. The massive vehicle bore down on him, its driver frantically pumping the brakes, but momentum was not on Jon's side. Time seemed to dilate, each second stretching out as he saw snippets of his life darting through his mind. So this is how it ends? he thought despairingly, bracing for the imminent impact.
But in that razor-thin margin between life and death, a forceful hand yanked him back, pulling him out of the truck's deadly path in a blur of motion, saving him from a tragic fate.
Jon was utterly speechless, his shock rendering him indifferent to the truck driver's furious tirade, the words lost in a haze of adrenaline. Onlookers swarmed around him, their voices a din of concern, querying if he was hurt or if anything was broken. He noted, with a detached sense of relief, that the truck hadn't collided with anything else, sparing him from a landslide of guilt and legal troubles.
But amid the commotion, Jon's thoughts fixated on the mysterious savior who had yanked him from death's jaws. It struck him then, the absurd notion of those stories he’d read, where a protagonist gets 'isekaied' to another realm after a noble act, often involving a truck.
Would I have ended up in some hellish realm for not helping that guy? he pondered, still shocked, making him even more indebted to the unseen hero who intervened.
Scanning the crowd of concerned faces, he searched for any sign of his rescuer. Yet, no one stepped forward to claim the deed,
Jon pondered the sheer strength of his unseen savior. At 194 cm and 88 kilos, he was no lightweight, yet he had been whisked away with ease, as if he were as light as a feather. After dusting himself off and offering an awkward apology to the still-fuming truck driver, Jon continued his walk to the office, now with heightened vigilance.
He slung his headphones around his neck, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts about the day's uncanny events and a nagging sense of having overlooked something important gnawed at him, but before he could pinpoint it, a peculiar sensation seized his attention, one of unease.
Approaching another alley—what was it with alleys today?—Jon's gaze landed on a solitary figure whose attire seemed to leap out of the pages of the fantasy novels he cherished. "No way..." Jon yanked off his sunglasses, blinking hard. The person's presence, so oddly out of place, piqued Jon's curiosity.
"Hey, you there, you alright?" Jon called out, keeping a safe distance from the alley's mouth. "If you're looking for the comic con, it's not for another month!" He figured it was just another cosplayer; after all, his nerdy inclinations had led him to many such events.
Yup, it was definitely a dude dressed up like an ancient cultivator, standing alone in the middle of an alley and giving him a look that could curdle milk. Jon squinted, trying to place the character they might be impersonating, but no answers came. "Oookay, that's weird," he muttered under his breath,
As the mysterious figure retreated further into the alley's shadowy depths, still holding Jon's gaze, a chill ran down his spine. When the stranger vanished into the darkness, Jon was left staring into the void they'd disappeared into. "Fuck that, I'm not following you in there," he declared. He had seen enough horror movies to know that venturing after a mysterious figure into a dark alley rarely ended well.
Jon turned to leave, a flicker of fear sparking within him, when suddenly a strange breeze caressed his back. With each step he took, the wind seemed to grow stronger, eerily blowing towards the alley he was so keen to avoid. Jon’s heart raced; he didn’t dare look back, even as the wind intensified, morphing into a force that seemed to pull him toward the shadowy passage.
Panic surged through him as he found himself helplessly drawn backwards. "Shit, shit, shit! What is this? Help!" Jon's cries for help were desperate, his voice rising in terror. It felt as if an invisible hand had latched onto him, dragging him inexorably back into the alley’s ominous embrace. "This is not happening, no, no, no!" Jon screamed, his body tensing as he was yanked into the darkness, the alley swallowing him whole.