The next morning arrived with something rare: silence.
No screaming boss calls. No truck alarms. Just Trevor, cocooned in blankets, blinking at the ceiling like a confused housecat.
"...Did I get fired?"
His eyes darted to the phone on the nightstand. No missed calls. No angry texts. Just a new notification:
[SYSTEM]: No deliveries today, Host. Please take time to calibrate mental and physical wellbeing.(Translation: Chill, bro.)
Trevor groaned. "You talk now too?"
[SYSTEM]: I always could. You were just too busy eating cup noodles to notice.
"Hey, those noodles were loyal," Trevor said, rolling out of bed. "Unlike my boss, who'd throw me under a forklift for five stars."
He stretched, expecting the usual crack-pop symphony of his spine—but… nothing?
His eyebrows twitched.
Weird.
An hour later, Trevor stood in front of his apartment's fridge like a man confronting an ancient relic.
"Might be time to stop living like a cave goblin," he muttered, nudging aside half-empty condiment packets and a suspiciously old milk carton.
Thanks to the unexpected $1,200 soul-reincarnation paycheck (still unbelievable), he had actual money now. For the first time in forever, he'd ordered groceries that weren't 90% sodium.
There were vegetables in his fridge. Honest-to-god produce. Eggs. Brown rice. Bottled water.
"I don't even recognize myself."
[SYSTEM]: Minor dopamine spike detected. Host's diet trending toward non-lethal. Keep going.
"You're weirdly invested in my lifestyle now."
[SYSTEM]: If you die, I have to find a new host. Don't make me do paperwork.
With surprising focus, Trevor cleaned the crusty countertop, played lo-fi beats from his phone, and put on his stained anime apron that read: "Don't Touch My Ramen."
He cracked eggs into a pan, chopped scallions like he saw in a cooking video, and stirred with an intensity that would've made Gordon Ramsay blink twice.
"Egg... fried... rice," he said, placing the steaming plate on the table. "My magnum opus."
He sat down, took a bite—and paused.
"…Holy crap. This doesn't taste like sadness."
[SYSTEM]: Health restored: +3. Blood pressure stabilizing. Depression -1 stack.
Trevor snorted. "Wait, are you actually patching my stats?"
**[SYSTEM]: You're a reincarnation emissary now. You need to live long enough to do your job."
"...You're becoming creepily parental."
[SYSTEM]: Eat your vegetables.
Notification: First Sprout!
Trevor was mid-bite when his HUD flickered.
[SOUL DEVELOPMENT UPDATE]Subject: Riku Toma (Status: Reborn)Progress: Field planted successfully.Mood: Peaceful. Fulfilled. Excited.System Integration: Farming System, Lv. 1 – Soil Attunement unlocked.First crops: Turnips, lettuce, medicinal grass.
Trevor's fork hovered in the air. His eyes lit up.
Images flashed across his vision—lush green hills, a small wooden hut, and Riku, the guy he had reincarnated, standing barefoot in tilled soil. His sleeves were rolled up, a straw hat tilted on his head, eyes bright with a sense of purpose.
He was smiling.
Actually smiling.
"Damn..." Trevor whispered. "He looks... happy."
It hit different—seeing someone get a second chance. It wasn't just some anime cutscene. This was real.
[SYSTEM]: You helped him start a new life. Results will continue to appear as he levels up.
"I thought I'd feel cool," Trevor said. "But this… this feels kind of warm."
[SYSTEM]: That's called emotional fulfillment. Most humans cry or write poetry afterward.
"I'm not crying. You're crying," he muttered, quickly stuffing more rice into his mouth.
ALERT: Field Under Threat!
The warm moment didn't last long.
His HUD blinked again, this time red.
[URGENT: SOUL WORLD INTERVENTION REQUESTED]Subject: Riku TomaThreat Level: Mild – Forest Creatures Breaching Crop ZoneResponse Requested: Repel Animals : Transport Initiation: 5… 4… 3…
Trevor dropped his spoon. "Wait, wait, wait—repel?! Like, me?!"
2… 1…
"System, I'm not even dressed—!"
[ENGAGING CROSS-REALITY TRANSFER]
New World, Same Awkward Trevor
FLASH.
Trevor blinked—and found himself standing in an open, moonlit field.
The wind carried the scent of soil and sap. Trees rustled on the edge of the farmland. Fireflies danced near the budding sprouts.
He looked down. Still in his hoodie and cargo pants. Flip-flops.
"Great," he muttered. "I look like I just got isekai'd at a Walmart."
A faint bark echoed through the field.
Rustling. Eyes gleamed in the underbrush.
[SYSTEM]: Targets approaching – three wild bush hounds, one rogue horned deer. Warning: crops at risk.
"Do I get weapons?! A stick? Something?!"
[SYSTEM]: Host may improvise. No lethal force allowed.
"Oh, fantastic," Trevor said, grabbing a nearby rake.
A furry shape lunged out of the darkness—fangs bared, eyes glowing.
Trevor yelped, swung the rake like a baseball bat, and accidentally smacked a tree branch instead. Leaves exploded everywhere. The bush hound paused mid-charge, covered in foliage.
"…Did I win?"
Another beast crept forward. Trevor shouted, "Shoo!" and tossed his shoe like a boomerang. It hit the horned deer squarely in the face. The deer blinked, looked offended, then ran.
The remaining hounds sniffed the air, decided he was either too chaotic or too weird to deal with, and slunk back into the trees.
[THREAT DEESCALATED]All creatures repelled. Crops unharmed. Soul remains asleep. Well done, Host.
Trevor wheezed. "I can't believe that worked."
[SYSTEM]: Efficiency Score: C+. Style Score: A- for flair.
"I'm basically a farming ninja," he muttered.
[SYSTEM]: More like chaotic neutral pest control.
Back to Base
With a shimmer of green light, Trevor was warped back to his apartment—now mid-clean from his earlier burst of energy. His rice was cold, but his heart was warm.
He collapsed on the couch.
"So that's my job now, huh? Hit people with trucks. Send them to fantasy farms. Defend lettuce from raccoons."
[SYSTEM]: You're oversimplifying, but not wrong.
"...Can I take a nap?"
[SYSTEM]: Power nap approved. Setting one-hour recovery timer.
Trevor closed his eyes, already halfway dreaming.
Maybe being Truck-kun wasn't just about sending people away.
Maybe it was about watching them bloom.
[TO BE CONTINUED…]