"Urgh," I groaned, waking up feeling like absolute trash. My body was a wreck—lifting a finger felt like trying to bench a damn car. I blinked, head pounding, and muttered, "Guess I'm in the hospital. That truck must've screwed me up good."
Life's been a snooze fest lately. Same old grind: drag myself to work, stumble home, scarf down some cheap takeout, crash, wake up, repeat. Boring as hell—until that unplanned event decided to spice things up. Picture this: I'm trudging along, minding my own business, when I spot these milfs—yep, hot moms—chatting away, totally ignoring their kid. Little dude's waddling right into the street, straight into the path of a speeding truck. Me? I play hero, shove the kid out of the way, and—bam—truck-kun says hello. Eyes shut, lights out, goodnight me. Classic.
So yeah, I woke up—don't ask me when, time's a blur—hoping someone told my boss about this mess. Last thing I need is that petty jerk nagging me when I get back, or worse, slapping a pink slip on my desk. Trust me, that guy's evil incarnate—probably cackling over my hospital bill right now.
That's the short version of how I got here. The long version? Eh, skip it. Seventy percent's just me cussing out those milfs, the truck, my luck—you name it. Not worth the brain space.
I cracked my eyes open, praying for a silver lining. Come on, God, give me a hot nurse—let a guy dream, right? I'd settle for average, even. But nope! No sexy nurse, no plain Jane—nothing. My fantasies went up in smoke faster than a cheap candle. Those webnovels lied—where's my cliché hospital babe moment?
Instead, I'm stuck on a lumpy, cramped bed in a room so tiny it's basically a closet. My shitty apartment back home's a mansion compared to this dump. What kinda hospital squeezes you into a shoebox?
Then it hit me—foreign info flooding my brain like a busted dam. The more I processed, the uglier my face got. Great. Just freaking great. First off, this ain't my world anymore. Same name—Earth, same countries—but it's a whole different beast.
Reincarnation. Yep, I'm in a new body. Should be stoked, right? Every dude's dream—new life, fresh start, all that jazz. But hold up. The guy I'm stuck in? Ugly as a damn toad. Back home, I was a solid 6.5/10—maybe a 7 if stress didn't kick my ass. I'd take a 6, hell, even a 5, no complaints. But this dude? Negative territory. A 10? Ha, that's a pipe dream now.
Second problem—and yeah, the face thing's still the worst—this world's a zombie-infested hellhole. From the jumbled mess of this guy's memories—mostly him jerking off or gaming like a loser—the apocalypse kicked off a week ago. And get this: the idiot ate through his food stash before the zombies even showed up. Broke, ugly, and a nerd. How low can you sink?
I cursed up a storm, letting loose every foul word I knew. Minutes later, I finally dragged myself up, mustering every ounce of strength to haul my sorry ass off that creaky bed. My legs wobbled like a newborn deer—pathetic.
[Congratulations on your successful reincarnation!]
"System? Holy crap, it's you, right?" I croaked, joy bubbling up. Okay, it wasn't a scream—more like a wheeze, considering I'm half-dead here—but you get the vibe. "Finally, I get to live!"
"Status window!" I called out, grinning like a kid on Christmas. You might think I'm jumping the gun, but trust me—after binging webnovels for years, dreaming of this moment, you'd be hyped too. My heart's racing, palms sweaty—let's see the goods!
Status:
Name: Ray Graham (Jon - Orphan)
Strength: 2 (Dropping fast—hunger's a bitch)
Agility: 1 (You're basically dead, dude)
Intelligence: 3 (Not a total moron, I guess)
Charm: -5 (Ugliest soul I've ever seen—yikes)
Stamina: -3 (Don't croak on me, pal!)
Vitality: 1 (Yeah, he's toast)
Luck: -4 (Did you piss off the goddess of fate or what?)
"Pfft!" I burst out laughing, wheezing through it. I knew this body was garbage, but this? Trash of the year award goes to me! Negative stats? Who even gets that? I'm a walking disaster—hunger's tanking my strength, agility's shot, and charm? Negative five? System's roasting me harder than my old coworkers.
"So, System, what's your deal?" I asked, still buzzing despite the crap stats. "What's my golden finger? Military system? Nah, that's weak. Summoning? Can I call up some loli heroes? Or maybe a pickup system—bag some zombie-slaying hotties?" My mind's racing, lewd dreams already kicking in.
[For someone knocking on death's door, you've got a dirty mind. I'm none of those. I'm the Infinite Replication System. Anything you store in your dimensional space gets replicated infinitely.]
Dead silence. I stared at nothing, waiting. Was System expecting a parade or something? Come on, man, that's the lamest power ever! I legit considered dying again, just quitting this whole gig. But then—nah. Those fantasies of snagging tough apocalypse babes? That's the spark keeping me going.
[Wow, you're the worst host I've ever had.]
Ouch. System's feelings are hurt, but I don't care. "So, what's your ability?" I asked, just to check the box. Might as well know the full deal.
[Ha! Glad you asked, host. Here's the rundown:]
1. Anything you store in your dimensional space gets replicated forever. Touch it, will it in—bam, infinite copies. Want it back? Will it out, and it pops up within a 0.5-meter radius. That range levels up as you grow.
2. Kill zombies, earn EXP, level up. I toss you stat points to fix your garbage stats.
3. Hit higher levels, and you unlock the system shop. But I've got my tricks—you're not touching that yet.
"That's it?" I groaned, slumping back on the bed. "No badass guard? No instant power-up? Take me back to my old world!"
[Sure, if you wanna go back as a corpse. I'd be thrilled to grant that wish.]
"Fine, fine!" I waved it off, forcing a grin. "Changed my mind. Got ladies to win, right?" Hope's all I've got now—dreams of a future where I'm not a starving toad-man. But first, food. I'm fading fast, and dying before I even start? Not happening.