Chapter 1: Death, Regrets and Wishes

"I'm going to die all alone".

Sam sighed, resigning himself to the idea that he would meet his end in solitude. As he glanced down at his hand, he couldn't help but notice the presence of blood—his blood—bringing back memories of the day he inadvertently nicked his finger with a knife. The warmth of the crimson liquid served as a poignant reminder.

To gain a complete understanding of his predicament, we must begin from the very beginning.

Sam Carlson.

A baby with an exceptionally delicate physique was left abandoned in an undisclosed location by an unknown individual who gave birth to him. He was discovered by kind-hearted individuals who brought him to a nearby orphanage.

Living in the orphanage has posed considerable challenges for him, and it's no surprise that anyone in his shoes would find it difficult.

He endured contemptuous treatment and relentless pressure to exceed his limits, hindered further by his significantly weaker physique. Each day proved to be a constant struggle, compounded by the inadequate nourishment provided, as any funds or donations received by the orphanage were misappropriated by the caretakers.

The relentless torment inflicted upon him by numerous children at the orphanage pushed him to the brink of contemplating suicide. He endured frequent physical assaults, enduring a sleepless existence for days on end. His survival strategy involved refraining from provocation or retaliation, as self-defense was his only means of protection.

The civil servants displayed alarming indifference. He was perceived as nothing more than an additional burden they had to bear. Their preference leaned towards his demise rather than his survival.

Despite their work in an orphanage, individuals like this possess a deceptive facade of goodness while harboring malevolent intentions, willing to stoop to any depth for financial gain.

He believed that nobody would take notice if he were to pass away, but he refrained from contemplating such an outcome as he held onto hope for the prospects that lay ahead.

Regrettably, hope tends to be overrated.

At the age of thirteen, he was expelled from the orphanage, thrust into a hostile world with scarce resources, lacking any skills, and burdened by a frail physique.

Having landed a job as a shopkeeper, he was fortunate enough to receive food, clothing, and even accommodation in the shop, courtesy of the generous owner. He persevered in this role for an additional three years.

In his pursuit of a fresh start, he dared to believe he could leave his past behind, only to be met with the wrath of the gods once more.

After a devastating event, the owner met with tragedy as he lost his life in a fatal car accident. As a result, he found himself unemployed and had to resort to taking on various odd jobs for a year in order to make ends meet. These jobs included tasks like carrying luggage, participating in blood donation for research purposes, and offering sperm donations for financial compensation. Determined to survive, he left no stone unturned in his efforts to stay alive.

Due to his limited reading abilities, he could only grasp rudimentary-level texts. Although he possessed great enthusiasm for his studies, the orphanage lacked the resources to provide him with a formal education.

He exhibited hesitation and susceptibility to influence, facing demeaning treatment while searching for employment. They mercilessly showered him with insults, deeming him worthless, a burden to society, and even advocating for his demise.

His perception of himself as undeserving of such treatment solely due to his differences led to a profound transformation in his personality. Gradually, he became withdrawn, choosing silence unless prompted by others to engage in conversation. He isolated himself from the outside world and embraced a life dictated by the realms of imagination, losing touch with both people and the reality that surrounded him.

As he endured yet another disheartening day, he happened upon the words of a preacher: "God guides one's journey. Thus, who can truly fathom their destined path?"

"Why do I find myself consistently straying from the right path, despite believing that God is guiding my life? Why am I trapped in this distressing existence?"

"I cannot fathom what I have done to merit this anguish you refer to as life," he remarked, gazing up toward the heavens.

Despite the radiant summer sun casting its scorching beams all around him, he walked with an icy chill, as if he were a mere specter wandering aimlessly.

However, he made the decision to grant life a final opportunity, unaware that it would ultimately become the gravest error of his existence.

Continuing with his new job, he toiled as a delivery worker, struggling to make ends meet and afford basic necessities. Presently, he finds himself assigned to deliver an enormous brick-oven pizza to a notoriously gang-infested neighborhood.

The presence of gang members in the neighborhood is a major red flag for him.

Despite his reluctance, he was compelled to come here due to his condition. Failing to fulfill the order would have put his job at risk, so he opted to prioritize it.

With unwavering confidence, he anticipated his success, longing for divine mercy after enduring prolonged neglect.

As soon as he rang the doorbell, a burly figure covered in tattoos on his neck and shoulders opened the door, sporting a scruffy beard and long hair. Sam felt an immediate sense of intimidation from the man's appearance.

With perspiration trickling down his brow, he offered the pizza box to the burly gentleman and announced, "Here's your pizza delivery."

The man seized the box and swiftly pried it open. Sam noticed an immediate change in his demeanor, and it was evident that his reaction was far from favorable.

"What on earth is this?" The man asked firmly.

Sam's step back was swift as he retorted, "Not this garbage! We specifically ordered a colossal BBQ chicken pizza." In an instant, Sam found himself forcefully seized by the collar by the enraged man.

Three more men emerged from the mansion, their intimidating presence surpassing even the hefty man who had previously seized Sam's collar, prompting him to ask, "What's happening, Shans?"

"He brought us the wrong pizza". Shans expressed their displeasure by forcefully pushing Sam to the ground after realizing that he had delivered the incorrect pizza.

"Simply hand over the pizza we requested, and we'll allow you to depart unharmed, kid," one of the men sneered menacingly.

Sam nodded, then swiftly delved into his bag in search of the ill-fated BBQ chicken pizza. He rummaged through his suitcase meticulously, only to be met with disappointment as the bag proved to be completely empty.

"Kid, you're dead." Shans swiftly produced a firearm from his jacket and aimed it directly at Sam.

"Please wai-". His voice was drowned out by the boom of gunfire.

Thud!

He collapsed on the ground.

As he reached this moment, his entire life unfurled before his eyes, revealing a heartbreaking tapestry of sorrow and isolation.

"I'm going to die all alone". Sam sighed, resigning himself to the idea that he would meet his end in solitude. As he glanced down at his hand, he couldn't help but notice the presence of blood—his blood—bringing back memories of the day he inadvertently nicked his finger with a knife. The warmth of the crimson liquid served as a poignant reminder.

"hehe". A faint smile formed on his lips, even though he had tucked it away in the depths of his thoughts. He came to the realization that his dearest desire was on the verge of being fulfilled—his imminent death.

He wouldn't have to endure much longer, as he had reached a point where he no longer desired to be a part of this cursed world.

The gang members showed complete disregard for him as they entrusted their handyman to take care of Sam's body. With ease, the handyman lifted Sam like a sack of potatoes and casually tossed him into the trunk of his car.

For approximately five minutes, he steered the car, heading towards a dimly lit area that seemed vacant, reminiscent of a clandestine hideout often portrayed in movies where the hero confronts the antagonist in the final scene.

"You're a tough one, aren't you?" The handyman remarked as he glanced once more at Sam, who was still clinging on in the hole.

At this moment, Sam lacked sensation in his body and eyes, yet he remained able to perceive the man's words.

With great effort, Sam raised his hand, extending his middle finger in a feeble gesture toward the man.

"Fuck off"

The man's annoyance grew palpable as he mercilessly hurled a massive boulder directly into Sam's face, inflicting excruciating agony and ultimately ending his life.

...

**Sam Carlson**

Does this resemble the experience of being deceased? Well, to be candid, I am devoid of any sensation.

As I attempted to open my eyes, I seemed to have succeeded, yet I found myself greeted by an empty void. It was a frigid abyss cloaked in darkness. Could this be the afterlife, or perhaps hell? I also made an effort to stir my limbs, hoping to reconnect with my body, but alas, no sensation emerged.

I had always believed that after death, our minds would cease to exist, leaving us in a state of eternal emptiness. However, my current experience contradicts this assumption completely. I find myself perplexed as to how I can vividly recall every detail from my days at the orphanage up until the moment of my death. Previously, I had reasoned that without a functioning brain, remembering anything would be impossible. Clearly, my previous beliefs were mistaken.

When I mention memories, I'm not just referring to the pleasant ones; rather, the majority, around 90%, are deeply distressing, while the remaining few could be perceived as positive, albeit debatable, since they served as my sole means of distraction from suicidal thoughts, such as indulging in manga and books.

My life was plagued by unfortunate judgments, disastrous occurrences, and a series of relentless misfortunes. Regrets filled my heart as every aspect seemed to go awry.

Regrettably, my deepest sorrow lies in departing this world without any knowledge of my parents. Their identity, origin, and the reasons for their abandonment remain shrouded in utter mystery. My quest for answers, unaccompanied by a desire for parental presence, has been a poignant reminder of the relentless capriciousness of fate.

"God guides one's journey. Thus, who can truly fathom their destined path?". The words spoken by the priest came back to me.

Dude, stop talking. You're just full of nonsense. The god you preach of never directed my life, and if he did, he always directed it in the wrong direction. Take my advice and quit pushing an agenda around the world. That is worthless. Nothing good will ever emerge from this sham you're putting on. Not to you or the brainless idiots that listen to you.

Since my deceased state prevents me from exerting influence over your life, the decision is entirely yours to make.

So what now?

"Do I have the potential for reincarnation or the possibility of being isekai'd? If such an opportunity arises, I would express three wishes with no expectation of them being fulfilled. I merely wish to state them."

In my upcoming life, I desire your guidance to lead me toward the right path, different from the direction I have followed during my previous eighteen years.

In the event of my rebirth, I kindly request a vastly improved physical form. If, by any chance, you intend to transport me to an alternate realm, I humbly implore you to merge my essence with that of an individual of great might and ability.

My greatest wish is to have a loving family or, at the very least, someone special in my life. I yearn for companionship and wish not to endure solitude.

If you are unable to fulfill my wishes, please refrain from isekai-ing or reincarnating me; instead, kindly erase my existence entirely.

May my dear peers, devoted admirers, anime enthusiasts, and fellow weebs find abundant joy and fulfillment in their lives, transcending into the captivating realms of their beloved anime worlds. Throughout my existence, the unwavering support and companionship of the vibrant anime and novel communities nourished my spirit and kindled my determination.

As I bid my farewell, I sensed my consciousness fading away, gradually succumbing to oblivion until I ultimately lost all remnants of awareness.

...

[Author's Note: Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter. I would appreciate it if you could donate some Power Stone. Please share your thoughts in the comments section.]