Tanishq Kaneki had the kind of childhood people wrote memoirs about—except his would sit in the "Tragedy" section wrapped in barbed wire and sarcasm.
Born to a world-renowned businessman father and a dazzling Hollywood actress mother, his early years in Tokyo were drenched in golden light. His parents adored him. He wasn't just their child—he was their entire universe. Every night was movie night. Every weekend, a lavish family trip. Every morning, a warm breakfast and warmer hugs.
Then came his ninth birthday.
The private plane crash was all over the news. "Business Tycoon and Starlet Killed in Tragic Jet Accident." That day, the universe snuffed out his stars.
What followed wasn't grief. Grief implies dignity.
No. What followed was a full-blown feeding frenzy.
His relatives descended like corporate vultures in designer suits. His father's trusted coworkers slithered out of boardrooms, wielding forged documents and fake concern. His inheritance? Gone. His estate? Liquidated. His home? Auctioned. Even his childhood plushie collection somehow ended up on eBay.
He was unceremoniously dumped into a rundown orphanage where the beds had more bugs than a beta app. The food was suspicious. The staff more so. But worst of all? No one cared that he was a genius.
From age nine, Tanishq was already smarter than most adults he met. He read quantum mechanics for fun and coded neural networks in school computer labs. But it didn't matter.
He was bullied mercilessly. Called names. Pushed around. Why? Because he was poor, quiet, smart—and worst of all—different. Despite ranking 1st in every exam, he never received a scholarship. Corruption saw to that. His file would magically "disappear" during reviews. Teachers dismissed his projects as "plagiarized" even though he was inventing things they didn't understand.
Still, he fought on. Tired, hungry, but relentless.
After clawing through a brutal education system with nothing but his own grit, he finally landed a job at a world-renowned tech company. Barely. And even then—it was like living inside a corporate horror show with Excel spreadsheets as jump scares.
Every project he led was "reassigned" at the last minute. His work was praised—by others who stole it. His supervisor smiled to his face and stabbed his back with memos. His coworkers nicknamed him "Ghost Dev" because he worked like hell but no one saw him credited.
Sleep became a luxury. He lived on coffee, energy drinks, and sheer spite. His apartment was a modern high-rise—a cage with a view. Sleek, cold, and more depressing than a silent Zoom meeting.
But even tragedy has a sense of humor.
Three years ago, he'd met her: his girlfriend-turned-wife. Beautiful, sweet, supportive—or so he thought. They married fast. She said she loved his "ambition." What she loved was his paycheck. Turns out "till death do us part" was just an investment strategy.
One morning, she said she was pregnant. For the first time in years, Tanishq smiled genuinely. He left work early, clutching flowers, and a small teddy bear. Maybe… finally… he had something to look forward to.
He entered quietly, wanting to surprise her.
The surprise was his.
He found her in bed. With his childhood best friend. A man he'd helped repeatedly—even when he had nothing himself. They were in the middle of… athletic cardio. His childhood bed frame squeaked in betrayal.
Then came the dagger.
Best friend: "Is the kid mine?"
Wife (laughing): "Of course. I take contraceptives every time I sleep with Tanishq. He's a meal ticket, nothing more."
She went on: "I'll fake a harassment complaint, take half his money, and we'll be free."
At that moment, Tanishq didn't rage. He didn't scream. He just stood there—soul quietly folding in on itself.
Then she saw him.
Panic. Guilt. An awkward silence.
They stammered. Tried to explain. He didn't speak. He couldn't. He was standing near the full-glass wall of the apartment, while they stood closer to the open-plan kitchen.
And then—fate clapped back with irony.
They'd forgotten the gas stove was on. The one she left burning while making "seduction pasta." The click… the spark…
BOOM.
The explosion was thunderous. His wife and best friend were vaporized mid-cheat.
Tanishq? He was blasted through the glass wall like a ragdoll, flying toward the street below, petals of shattered glass sparkling like confetti.
As he tumbled through the air, the world around him slowed.
He chuckled—actually chuckled.
"My life couldn't possibly get worse."
Then—HONK!
A blinding light. A truck. Going 200km/hr. The universe had one more middle finger left.
Truck-kun, the Isekai Express™, barreled down the street like it had a personal vendetta against unhappy protagonists.
It was almost poetic.
If anyone had been close enough to hear the divine transmission only meant for the chosen few, they might've caught the low, cosmic murmur from the heavens:
Truck-kun: "Challenge accepted."
Tanishq blinked once, dryly muttering with all the sarcasm he could muster in free-fall:
"I guess not."
To be continued...