Survival Shenanigans With Elf Mistress

Man, suppose someone had told me yesterday that my biggest worry tomorrow wouldn't be dodging my boss's micromanaging emails, but figuring out how not to get cornholed by goblins.

I'd have laughed in their face, spitting mustard from my half-chewed Big Mac.

But here I am, suddenly playing the main character in my own crappy Isekai, and trying not to get cornholed by---never mind.

I am Akira Smith, your average twenty-year-old half-Japanese, half-white slacker chasing the American Dream.

The Isekai, reincarnation, and transmigration genres, brothers from the same mothers, are much too familiar, right?

There's the otaku kind, in which Truck-kun comes at you with road rage, followed by you waking up with god-tier powers in a world full of elves and dragons, and all that shit.

Then there's reincarnation or transmigration into the past or into new worlds with prior knowledge or cheat systems. So much cringe that my pickle needs a pickle.

Except in my case, there was no truck, no wisdom, and certainly no cheat skills popped up like a Skyrim mod. It was just me in my sweaty jogging gear, staring at a forest that looked like a psychedelic screensaver.

Let's back up a second, peeps. Don't you want to know my backstory so that you can develop a modicum of respect or pity towards me? To find me real and relatable? Don't worry, I'll give you a rundown.

My life was a total grind. Alarms from two different clocks blared every morning at six. I snoozed both of them once, then again, and again, until the noise trauma made me drag my ass out of bed for a quick Starbucks run.

Who has time for brewing coffee when you've got a soul-crushing office job waiting for you an hour of commute away? It wasn't anything fancy, but an entry-level data entry bullshit job.

I was constantly surrounded by dudes in ties who believed their prowess with Excel spreadsheets could get them girls. Not that I had any stupendous luck in that department, a fact supported by my lifetime subscription of Pornhub.

"Akira, did you update the quarterly report?" a bitch boss demanded, wearing a pantsuit that made her look like a fatter Dolores Umbridge. Why weren't there any hot girls in our office?

'Yeah, Karen,' I answered her in my head. 'I did update the crap out of the QR, right after I binge-watched the latest woke Marvel flick on N*****x to numb the pain caused by your existence.'

Anyway, with my mixed heritage, that is, Japanese mom and white American dad, I grew up bouncing between opposing cultures. Go on, you can spill the stereotypes. Sushi one night, burgers the next. One day, when I was hairy enough to be kicked out, I left home. I ultimately ended up in Jacksonville, chasing that corporate dream that has failed more Americans than Microsoft Zune.

Gaming and reading were my true escapes, although I played for only about an hour at night. After work, I'd fire up my PC and dive in. I was never much of a gamer, but I did indulge in a bit of real-time strategy games, such as Age of Empires and Civilization. Then I'd end the night with a light novel or a web novel—perfect combo for frying the brain.

As far as strategy games were concerned, I sank hundreds of hours of my life into them, building elaborate kingdoms from scratch, and surviving against all odds from barbarians, dictators, and imperialists.

NGL, this genre was therapeutic for me. That is, escaping the daily real-life grind by fake-grinding and managing imaginary resources in a virtual world. Was that a complex sentence? Trust me, that will be my last one.

Video games and novels are empowering, aren't they? Like they make you the hero of a story. You're not just another loser oiling the corporate machine.

Ah, another critical mention I almost forgot. I stayed fit. Night hours were for runs. They kept me sane, or so I liked to believe.

Pounding the syringe-riddled pavements under those flickering streetlights, dodging tech bros heading to breweries, and illegal aliens asking for money. All the while, music blasted in my ears from Kanye to K-pop. Daddy's gotta stay fit for the ladies, who were yet to arrive.

Last night was no different. The breeze from the open sewers was cool and asphyxiating as usual. Still, my legs were especially springy due to being overcaffeinated. I hit the sweet spot of my run. Ah, that moment when you think you've conquered everything.

My mind wandered to what-ifs. What if I won the lottery? What if I quit and backpacked across Europe like in those Eat, Pray, Love movies? What if every crush I ever had fell in love with me?

Then, BAM! The world glitched out. The air shimmered like it was bad CGI from a rushed superhero movie. The colors flipped abruptly as if I was hurtled into the Upside Down from Stranger Things.

The next thing I know, I face-planted into dirt that smelled like wet moss. There was no warning, no dramatic voice-over. I was just crudely isekai'd and awarded a bloody nose. Oh, God! Not my moneymaker!

I groaned like a bitch and pushed myself up, spitting out leaves that tasted suspiciously like licorice. Was this a vegan game?

"What the actual fuck?" I muttered, patting down my pockets. My smartphone was still there. The screen fritzed a bit. There were no bars, and the battery was draining as if the ghost of a Nigerian Prince possessed it.

My wallet still had a couple of hundred bucks. Well, that was useless, unless this place had a free trade agreement with the USA. I was still in my T-shirt, shorts, and Nikes, which were now caked in mud. Someone other than me had peed a bit in my pants. I swear on that.

Great, just great! My isekai was a hollow cartridge. I wasn't presented with a starter pack. No tutorial NPC popped up to explain the rules. If this was indeed an Isekai, it was the trial version for free roaming, and the real content opened up after you shared your credit card information. Nothing!