Prologue
I was hopelessly addicted to rerolling.
A tutorial reset marathon: hitting the emergency eject button to forcibly crack open the capsule, terminating the game, and booting it right back up from the start. The machine itself flashed warning prompts every single time about how a fatal error could kill you, and the news ran cautionary segments on it, but honestly, it all felt like a bluff. Why? Because I had already done it over ten thousand times.
"Hey, are you insane?! You're seriously going to die doing that!"
"I'm fine. I won't die."
"Ugh, you lunatic. When you finally kick the bucket, your tombstone is going to read 'I'm fine, won't die.'"
"Who cares?"
"If you were addicted to eroge, I'd at least understand, but risking your actual life to reroll in some RNG trash game?" My childhood friend clicked her tongue, spewing a barrage of genuine curses disguised as friendly banter.
I was totally fine, though.
"Fine, let's say the rerolling is whatever. But if you played female characters, at least you'd look like a healthy guy with a libido! Why are you always rolling those sweaty, bulky muscle-heads? Are you gay or something?"
"What the hell are you talking about? I'm not gay! I just get off on massive burst damage. As long as the DPS is top-tier, I don't give a damn if it's not a male character."
"Yet you only ever pick male characters."
"Because there's literally no build with better burst DPS than this."
"Is that sooooo? So as long as the damage numbers are good, you'd be totally fine with a female character? Even one with zero muscle, ridiculously short, pale as a ghost, and looking completely pitiful?"
"Hell yeah, obviously!"
Even after we emptied several bottles of liquor, the interrogation-style chatter didn't let up. True to her nature as a girl, she never ran out of things to say. Maybe it was the alcohol buzzing through my system, but a stray thought suddenly crossed my mind. Could it be? Is she worried because she actually likes me?
Just as that conceited thought puffed up my ego, she dropped a bomb.
"Hey. Sleep over tonight, and I'll let you off the hook!"
"Pass. Gotta game."
Like hell she liked me. What, just because people were childhood friends meant they had to fall for each other? Men and women could drink together in peace and just talk about games. That was nothing more than drunken rambling.
"Text me when you get home, Sia."
After putting her safely in a cab, I returned to my apartment and powered on the capsule. Sure, I recognized a green light when I saw one, but what good would it do? Even if we started dating, I didn't have the cash to take her out. Better to just play games.
BZZZZZT!
The moment I carelessly booted up the capsule, sparks violently erupted. The unthinkable had happened—an electrocution caused by a machine malfunction!
Ah... so this is how I die.
It was far too late for regret. Excruciating agony tore through my entire body as high-voltage current surged along my nerves.
"...You brought this on yourself. I definitely gave you a chance."
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, yet oddly enough, all I heard was Sia's voice. Maybe I really should have dated her? That fleeting regret barely had time to register before the switch on my consciousness flipped completely off.
And then, naturally, I woke up in another world like a complete dog.
A Father's Letter
Harboring grand ambitions to enter the Academy, you have embarked on your journey to the capital! A letter from your father has arrived at the inn room where you are staying.
What kind of gift has your father prepared for you? Open the letter and find out!
I wasn't particularly complaining. Dying while playing a game and waking up inside one? As a hardcore, bone-deep gamer, I was practically grateful for the transfer.
Squish.
The sensation when I pressed a finger into my forearm was soft and yielding. Flawless white skin that looked delicate even at a glance. Unbearably long hair that felt like a nuisance. Waking up in an unfamiliar girl's body was a bit annoying, sure, but entirely within my tolerance threshold.
Except for exactly one thing that really rubbed me the wrong way.
[To My Daughter, Orknodi]
The name written on the envelope was the problem.
In this world, it was pronounced Orknodi and spelled Oknodie.
At first, I hadn't caught on, but looking at it a second time, the realization hit me like a truck. That phrase that used to tumble out of my mouth like a second nature:
I'm fine, won't die.
Ok, no die.
For someone who had literally just died and opened their eyes inside a game, it was a profoundly aggravating name.