My name is Hans Müller, and my life is a clock that never runs late or early. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Always the same. I'm a 38-year-old German businessman, and as I walk through this cold, grey underground toward the train platform, I can't help but feel that every step is a repetition of the last. The echo of my shoes against the worn tile floor mixes with the murmur of people around me, but all of it fades into the background. I'm not really here, not fully. My body moves by inertia, like a well-programmed machine: home, office, meetings, home again. Monotony in its purest form.
My parents… well, I don't hate them. It would be unfair to say that. But I don't carry them in my heart as if they were a treasure either. They're just… people. Two individuals who brought me into this world, raised me decently, and then stepped aside to let me go my own way. They fulfilled their role, I suppose. No resentment, but also none of that warm bond everyone talks about. They're names in my calendar, obligatory visits on Christmas and birthdays. Nothing more.
Friends… ha, that word sounds almost like a joke in my head. I had them, sure, in college, in my first jobs. But friends are temporary, like train stations: they come along, accompany you for a while, and then get off at their own stop. Now, my social circle is reduced to coworkers with whom I exchange polite phrases about the weather or the quarterly numbers. No genuine laughter, no beer-filled nights until dawn. Just quick hellos and even quicker goodbyes.
And a girlfriend… God, what I'd give for that. A beautiful woman who looks at me with those bright eyes, who gives me soft kisses on the cheek just because, who hugs me when the day feels too heavy. Someone to joke with, to tease with a flirtatious wink while she pretends to be annoyed, only to laugh with me afterward. But no. Here I am, an older adult —or at least that's how I feel— trapped in a routine so simple it doesn't even deserve to be called "life." Uncomplicated, yes, but also sparkless.
I reach the train platform and stop, adjusting the briefcase under my arm. The air smells of metal and dampness, and the distant hum of the rails tells me the train is about to arrive. I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out something that, to many, might seem out of place: a manga. Yes, a Japanese manga, one of those with colorful covers and letters I don't fully understand. Strange literature, some might say, but for me, it's an escape. I open it to the page where I left off yesterday, and for a moment, the underground disappears. There they are: protagonists with magical powers, worlds full of fantastic creatures, girls chasing the hero with smiles and promises. Epic battles, adventures that make the blood boil. An awesome, vibrant life, anything but monotonous.
The train approaches, and the wind tousles my hair. I lift my gaze from the manga and think, for a second, that I wish my story were like that. But it's not. I am Hans Müller, German businessman, and this is all I have.
...
The train's lights shine in the distance, cutting through the gloom of the underground like a lighthouse in the fog. It won't be long now. My fingers hold the manga halfheartedly, and my eyes lose themselves in the panels for an instant before returning to reality. The hum of the rails vibrates in my ears, a sound so familiar it almost lulls me to sleep. But then, I feel a shove. Hard, sudden, straight to the back. I stumble forward, and the manga slips from my hands, falling to the ground as I instinctively turn my head. There it is: a hooded figure, dark, with no discernible face beneath the shadow of the hood. It says nothing, doesn't move again. It just pushed me. It threw me.
I fall toward the rails, and my mind races. My life flashes before my eyes like a movie in fast-forward. My days at the office, signing contracts, reviewing balance sheets, drinking cold coffee because I never have time to drink it hot. The gray mornings in my small, tidy apartment, the sound of the alarm pulling me from dreams I forget instantly. My parents, their distant faces in my memory, sitting in the living room of their house in Munich, talking about trivial things while I nodded with disinterest. My friends, or what I once called friends: blurry faces from college, drinking buddies who faded away over the years. And what do I feel? Nothing. No regret, no sadness. It's strange. I should be screaming, crying, clinging to something, but my emotions seem to have shut off, like someone flipped a switch inside me.
I look up. The faces of the people on the platform are frozen in expressions of horror and surprise, mouths open, eyes wide. The train is approaching, its blinding lights just meters away, but I don't care. Everything narrows to a strange, almost comforting silence. And then, the world stops. Literally. The train is suspended in the air, inches from me. The people don't move, like wax statues. The dust in the air floats motionless. But I… I can move. I stand up, look around, and a dry laugh escapes my throat. I'm not scared. Not even surprised. I just laugh, because this is absurd. Am I dead already? Is this what comes after?
Then, a voice echoes in my head. Deep, masculine, like it comes from the bottom of a cavern.
—"Hans Müller. You're not dead. Not yet."
I look around, searching for the source, but there's no one. The laughter comes again, stronger this time.
—What are you? God? The devil? Or just a hallucination before the train crushes me? —I ask, crossing my arms like I'm chatting with a colleague at the office.
—"Neither God nor devil. I'm something else… more practical. Let's say I'm an observer with a certain authority over the flow of things. And you, Hans, interest me."
—Interest you? —I repeat, raising an eyebrow—. I'm no one special. A boring businessman with a life not worth telling. What do you want from me?
—"Exactly that. Your life is a blank canvas, no attachments, no passions to anchor you. You're perfect for what's coming."
—What's coming? —I laugh again, shaking my head—. Look, if you're going to kill me, just do it fast. If not, let me get on the train and get on with my day. I've got a meeting at nine.
—"There will be no more meetings, Hans. Your world, as you know it, ends here. But I offer you something different. A new beginning. A place where monotony doesn't exist."
I blink, and for the first time, I feel a tingle of curiosity.
—A new beginning? What, like in those mangas I read? Reincarnating in a world of magic and adventure? —My tone is sarcastic, but there's a spark of interest I can't hide.
—"Something like that. But it won't be easy. I won't give you ridiculous powers or a harem of girls chasing you. You'll have to earn everything. Do you accept?"
I stay silent for a moment, looking at the frozen train, the petrified faces, the manga lying on the ground with its pages open. Then I smile, a genuine smile for the first time in years.
—Hell, why not? My life here means nothing. If this is real, I want to see it. If it's a dream, at least it'll be fun. What do I have to do?
—"Just say 'yes'. I'll handle the rest."
I take a deep breath, look into the void, and let out one last laugh.
—Alright. Yes.
And then, everything goes black.
...
Aquí tienes la traducción al inglés, respetando todo el texto, sin fallas ortográficas ni cambios innecesarios:
I wake up suddenly, as if someone had turned on the light in a dark room. I'm standing, though I don't remember getting up. The air smells different—fresh, with a hint of earth and something I can't identify. I look around and freeze. There are people, but not like the ones from the train station. They're wearing strange clothes: long robes with bright embroidery, capes fluttering in the wind, worn leather boots. Some have belts with daggers or hanging pouches, others carry carved staffs with symbols I don't understand. There are no business suits, no briefcases, no Bluetooth headsets. This isn't my century. Where the hell am I?
I feel a weight in my right pocket, something tugging at the fabric of my jacket. I reach in, and my fingers brush against a rough surface, like old paper. I pull out a letter. It's elegant, with golden edges that shimmer under the sunlight—a sun that, by the way, seems larger and redder than usual. I open it carefully, and the writing inside is flawless, almost as if it had been engraved with fire on the paper:
"Hans Müller, welcome to your new story. This world is yours to shape, but don't expect it to be handed to you on a silver platter. I've given you a gift, a tool to help you survive and thrive. Its name is Raphael, the Supreme Wisdom. Listen to it, trust it, and maybe you'll become more than you ever imagined. The rest is up to you. Don't disappoint me."
Raphael. I know that name. In Tensei Shitara Slime Datta Ken, Raphael is an ultimate skill, an almost omnipotent intelligence that analyzes, calculates, and guides its user with terrifying precision. I smile, because this is both ridiculous and awesome. Do I really have something like that? The letter trembles in my hands, and before I can put it away, it dissolves into golden particles that rise and disappear with the breeze. Nothing remains, just the echo of those words in my mind.
Then, I hear it. A clear, calm, feminine voice, resonating inside my head as if it had always been there.
[Notice: I am Raphael, the Supreme Wisdom. I have been linked to you, Hans Müller, as your personal assistant in this world. Scanning environment… completed. Location: Kingdom of Eldria, border village of Luthar. Approximate population: 230 inhabitants. Current threat level: low. Would you like a detailed analysis?]
I stand still, processing what I just heard. The voice is cold, almost mechanical, but there's something comforting in its precision. I look at the strange people around me—a man with a braided beard watches me with curiosity, a woman with a basket of fruit murmurs something to another—and I let out a low chuckle.
—Raphael, is this real? Am I not dreaming? —I ask out loud, though I guess it's unnecessary.
[Notice: No signs of dream activity detected. Your vital signs are stable. This world operates under physical and magical laws different from your previous reality. Immediate adaptation is recommended.]
—Adaptation, huh? —I murmur, looking at the reddish sky and the stone and wood houses surrounding me—. I suppose I have no choice. Tell me, Raphael, what do I do now?
[Suggestion: Establish an initial objective. Available options: seek information in the village, find shelter, or investigate the source of magical energy detected 1.2 kilometers to the northeast. What is your instruction?]
People begin to approach, their eyes filled with distrust and curiosity. My German suit, gray jacket, and shiny shoes don't fit in here. I smile again. This is not the office. This is not monotony. This is the start of something big.
—What do you say, Raphael? Let's go for that magical energy. If I'm going to be here, let it be interesting.
[Instruction received. Head northeast. Probability of hostile encounter: 17%. Preparing real-time analysis.]
And with that, I take my first step in this new world, with Raphael as my guide and a spark of excitement I hadn't felt in years.