Tch, fine.
Here's the draft of my second novel:
Chapter 1: Truck-Kun At Its Finest
White
Everything was white and shiny.
That was the first thing the man saw as he slowly opened his eyes.
“Where am I?”
The question came naturally as he tried to make sense of the endless brightness surrounding him. It wasn’t just white—it was clean white. Polished. Almost divine.
He turned his head slightly.
There was something beside him. A tall object standing upright.
It read: Heaven.
His heart immediately began to pound.
Did he already die?
How?
When?
But more importantly… Heaven?
A slow smile formed on his lips.
“…Oh thank God.”
He squinted, trying to read the sign more clearly. The words then sharpened into focus.
Horse Heaven, Oregon.
The paint on the signpost was slightly faded.
“…Oh, dang it.” His smile vanished.
Still in the US.
“Why can’t I move?” he muttered.
He tried to shift his arms, only to feel resistance. When he looked, he quickly found the answer.
Chains.
His left hand was bound by a thick metal chain, extending outward to a parked truck. Its headlights were on, blasting directly into him.
He turned his head to the right.
Another chain. Another truck. Same position. Same blinding lights.
Then he looked forward.
A third truck stood directly in front of him, headlights on, completing the arrangement.
Three trucks. All pointed at him.
For a moment, he simply stared at them. Then the memory came back.
He had been running all day—from trucks. Not one, not two, but multiple trucks that had been trying very hard to kill him. The chase started from his home in Salem and didn’t stop until one of them finally caught up and completely totaled his car somewhere near this wonderfully named place.
Horse Heaven.
“…Right.”
And the reason those trucks had been trying to kill him…
…was now walking toward him.
The man approached at an unhurried pace, boots pressing against the ground with calm certainty. The headlights behind him stretched his shadow forward, obscuring his face in silhouette.
Only when he stopped right in front of Theo did the details become clear.
A rough-looking Mexican man with cowboy hat, thick mustache, and a goatee. The kind of presence that didn’t need to raise its voice to feel threatening.
“Theo Poliznev,” the man said coldly.
“Uh… hi there,” Theo replied, forcing a smile while sweat began forming along his temples.
“Hmph.” The man spat to the side. “I wonder if that’s even your real name… Master Obsidian Veil.”
Theo blinked, then gave a small, awkward chuckle.
“I’m pretty sure that’s the name my parents gave me, haha,” he said, holding onto the smile that he hoped might somehow fix the situation.
“…Nice to meet you.”
A brief pause.
“Do you think we can, uh… start over?”
“Like I said on the phone this morning,” the Mexican said coldly, “today will be your last day on earth, you fucking scam.”
Then he turned around and walked away toward the truck parked in front.
Scam.
Theo’s mind latched onto that word immediately.
It wasn’t wrong. His whole life was practically built on scams.
Not in a bad way—well, not for him. He had been the one doing the scamming, and he had built a pretty decent life out of it.
For his victims…
…well, that part was less great.
His thoughts drifted as memories began lining up neatly
His first successful scam came back to him—high school days. A neat little Ponzi scheme. Small town, small minds, very enthusiastic investors. He still remembered how easy it was to convince people when everyone wanted to believe they were getting ahead early.
Then came the Nigerian Prince phase.
Honestly, that one felt almost insulting in how well it worked. He barely had to try. A few emails, a tragic royal backstory, and suddenly people were wiring money out of sheer optimism.
He had been proud of that one.
But things truly escalated when he moved to Salem—the capital of paranormal activity.
Naturally, he pivoted.
Séance scams.
Pretending to channel the spirits of loved ones. Emotional, delicate work. Required timing, empathy, and just the right amount of theatrical pause. It was challenging and it was exciting.
And, more importantly, it paid very well.
Competition was fierce, though. Plenty of others were running the same act. So Theo improved the formula.
He hired actors.
Not just himself pretending to be possessed—but others, carefully staged, each performance rehearsed to perfection. The experience became immersive. Convincing.
His business exploded, and that was when Master Obsidian Veil was born.
All of it—every success, every client, every dollar—everything he built came from one thing he took very seriously: research.
Theo believed in preparation. Deep dives. Background checks. Social media stalking. Family history. Old posts. Archived forums. Anything that could be used.
There was a reason scammer is the only criminal that can be called scam artist.
There’s no burglar artist.
No pickpocket artist.
No blackmail artist.
There was a craft to scam, and Theo was proud of that craft.
Which made this current situation…
…deeply frustrating.
Because this time... he didn’t do enough research.
Mateo “El Abuela” Vargas.
For months, Theo had assumed the nickname “El Abuela”—The Grandma—came from a place of affection. A loving grandson, mourning his deceased grandmother, willing to spend generously just for one more conversation.
And to be fair, that part was true. Just… not the important part.
Apparently, Mateo earned that nickname because he had personally sent a significant number of his cartel enemies to meet their grandmothers in the afterlife.
In Theo’s defense, a cartel leader who specialized in trucking and smuggling didn’t exactly list that on social media.
So really, how was he supposed to know?
THUD.
Theo’s thoughts snapped back to the present as Mateo had entered his truck and shut the door.
Now Mateo sat behind the wheel, adjusting the position of a framed photo on the dashboard—his grandmother. He gave it a small, respectful smile before placing his hands on the steering wheel.
Then he looked forward at Theo. Still chained in the middle of the road, arms stretched out by the tension of the chains—almost like a cross. Mateo smile turned into a grin.
The engine started. A low, heavy rumble filled the air.
And so, here I am, Theo thought, watching as the truck came to life.
About to be executed by a trucking cartel leader.
By being rammed with a truck.
Mateo’s truck began to move. Theo watched it, mind oddly calm for someone in his current situation.
Wait…
He frowned slightly.
I think there’s a term for a truck that kills people…
The engine growled louder as the vehicle rolled forward.
Truck-kun, was it?
The truck picked up speed.
Yeah, Truck-kun. And then isekai. Theo almost smiled.
He remembered learning those terms while scamming amateur writers—fresh, hopeful, absolutely convinced their ideas were revolutionary. They were some of the easiest victims he’d ever had. He missed them a little.
The truck accelerated.
I wonder if I’ll get isekai’d because of this…
The headlights swallowed his vision as the distance closed rapidly. The world turned into blinding white.
Theo let out a small sigh.
“Sigh… I should’ve stuck with online scamming.”
And then—
everything went black.
A 11-ton semi truck, moving at 120 km/h, slammed directly into him.
Truly—
a Truck-kun moment at its finest.
---
Planet Civara
Mirecrest Kingdom
Far away from Oregon, on a planet where energy was powered by magic instead of electricity, where people flew using living organic creatures instead of organic fossil fuels, existed a world that every environmentalist on Earth would passionately approve of.
Admittedly, the transportation and energy sources here had a tendency to occasionally eat or kill their users.
Minor detail.
Inside the small kingdom of Mirecrest, King Godric paced back and forth in front of his throne.
His round figure and chubby cheeks did little to hide the tension on his face. Each step was heavy, uneven, worn down from repetition. Sweat had begun to form along his temples after nearly thirty minutes of pacing.
“Where is she…” he muttered under his breath.
Nearby, his advisor—Duke Lyrion, a frail and thin noble—watched with equal concern.
“Your Majesty… she will arrive today,” Duke Lyrion said carefully.
“You said the same thing yesterday!” King Godric snapped. “And the day before!”
The burst of anger only drained him further. With a tired exhale, he gave up pacing and sat down on the steps leading to his throne, lacking the energy to even climb back up properly.
He leaned forward, both hands gripping his head, voice weighed down with desperation.
“Is this because we’re poor?” King Godric said weakly. “Should we have given more tribute instead?”
“Your Majesty… we have no other options,” Duke Lyrion replied. “If we gave more… our kingdom would not recover financially. Not for the next forty years…”
“Screw forty years!” King Godric snapped again. “We’d be lucky if our neighbors don’t invade us next year! Or if we can even survive the famine this year!”
Then suddenly—
The hall doors burst open. A castle guard rushed in and dropped to one knee.
“Our guest from Lumia Church has arrived!” he declared.
King Godric’s entire face lit up. He immediately stood up, straightened his posture, and tried his best to look like a king who had not just been sitting on the stairs questioning his choices.
“Oh finally,” King Godric said, relief practically spilling out of his voice. “She’s here.”
“I still can’t believe it…” Duke Lyrion murmured, his expression equally brightened. “The beautiful Saintess Aurelia… stepping into our kingdom…”
The doors opened wider.
And from them, a woman walked in.
Graceful.
Dignified.
Dressed in pristine white priestess robes.
And very clearly around seventy years old.
A priestess who might have been breathtaking—
several decades ago.
King Godric blinked, Duke Lyrion blinked. They both stared.
“…Uh,” King Godric muttered, “and who are you?”
The woman stopped in front of them, lifting her chin slightly.
“I am Priestess Morwena Bristlewood,” she declared. “I am here to perform the hero summoning ritual as your kingdom has requested.”
King Godric and Duke Lyrion slowly turned to look at each other. Still processing.
“Ah… thank you for coming all this way, Priestess… Rowena,” Duke Lyrion said carefully. “We have been waiting for you for three days.”
“Hmph.” The priestess scoffed. “I didn’t realize this backwater kingdom would be such an inconvenience to reach.”
Duke Lyrion’s smile twitched slightly.
“But if I may ask…” he continued cautiously, “isn’t the summoning ritual usually conducted by… Saintess Aurelia?”
“Tch!”
Priestess Morwena clicked her tongue sharply.
“Your kingdom can only afford the lowest package of hero summoning,” she said bluntly. “And you expect the Church to send you our star saintess?!”
The words landed hard to both men.
“So?” Morwena continued impatiently. “Do you want me to perform the ritual or not? I still have several other kingdoms to visit.”
“Y-Yes! We want to do it!” King Godric said quickly. “Please forgive my advisor.”
Morwena scoffed again. “Then let’s get this over with.”
---
An hour later, the grand hall had been transformed.
A large magic circle covered the floor, glowing faintly as Priestess Morwena stood at its center, chanting steadily. Symbols layered upon symbols, lines weaving into complex patterns as the ritual neared completion.
At last, the circle stabilized, and the glow settled into something consistent. Morwena looked down at it, giving a small, satisfied nod.
Then she turned toward King Godric.
“Have you decided which hero class you wish to summon?” she asked.
“Yes!” King Godric answered without hesitation. “I choose the necromancer hero!”
Morwena blinked. While Duke Lyrion did more than blink.
“Y-Your Majesty?!” Duke Lyrion stammered. “A necromancer? Why?!”
“Hmm… Most kingdoms request a strong, conventional class,” Morwena said, frowning slightly. “A swordsman. A mage. If they prefer something less… public, perhaps an assassin.”
She paused.
“But a necromancer?”
Priestess Morwena then narrowed her eyes at King Godric.
“You do realize that necromancy is borderline demonic practice, right?” she said. “An enemy of the Church and the Goddess.”
“D-Don’t worry,” King Godric replied. He hesitated for a moment, “I don’t plan to do any demonic rituals or activities.”
He then forced himself to sound confident
“I have my own plan,” King Godric continued. “I’ve learned that necromancers may be weak at the beginning, but as they grow stronger, they can summon an army of undead.”
He paused, then added with emphasis:
“An army that doesn’t need to be fed, doesn't need to be paid.”
That part clearly meant something to him.
“That’s what our kingdom needs right now.”
He forced a grin. It didn’t fully convince anyone, including himself.
“Well, it’s not really our concern as long as you don’t plan to go against the Church,” Priestess Morwena said dismissively.
She turned back toward the magic circle.
“Very well. I shall begin the summoning.”
She raised her hands and began chanting.
Immediately, the magic circle flared to life, glowing intensely. The light grew brighter and brighter, forcing King Godric, Duke Lyrion, and the nearby guards to shield their eyes.
The chanting continued and the light intensified. For several long seconds, the entire hall was filled with nothing but blinding radiance and echoing prayer.
Then—
the glow began to shrink.
The light pulled inward, collapsing back into the circle before bursting outward into countless tiny particles. And in the center of it all—
a figure appeared.
A human.
Kneeling.
Priestess Morwena let out a small breath, slightly exhausted from the ritual, but she quickly composed herself. The protocol was not finished yet.
She stepped forward and cleared her throat.
“O hero… you have finally arrived,” she declared.
Silence.
Duke Lyrion leaned slightly toward the king.
“…Isn’t the welcoming phrase should be longer?” he whispered.
“This is the lowest summoning package, remember,” King Godric whispered back.
In the center of the circle, the summoned man slowly pushed himself up to his feet.
He looked down at his hands. Turned them, and flexed his fingers.
“I… I’m alive?” he muttered in disbelief.
“Tell me thy name, O hero from another world,” Priestess Morwena said.
The man looked up, now his face was clearly visible. Short brown hair, a little bit blemish. Not ugly but not particularly handsome either.
Just… a man.
A very normal man.
He hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“My name is Theo.”
)
