This is a work of fiction. No real-life events, injuries, or truck-related incidents occurred in the making of this story. Please do not chase after strangers, pick up random hairpins, or sacrifice yourself to any white truck expecting to be transported into another world. Truck-kun is a myth, and in reality, traffic safety is extremely important!
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Kaito’s exhausted footsteps echoed against the pavement, the rhythm of his worn-out dress shoes blending with the muted hum of city nightlife. Neon signs flickered overhead, their colors bleeding into the darkness like a distant dream.
Another long night. Another ten hours of unpaid overtime. Each step felt heavier, pushing him closer to the looming deadline of forty, a milestone he desperately hoped to meet with a wife by his side.
Then— like a sudden answer to a question he hadn't dared ask aloud, the world itself seemed to slow to honor her presence as she appeared.
A ripple of movement—a woman gliding through the crowd, her presence effortless, magnetic.
Her raven-black hair cascaded down her back, catching the neon reflections, turning each strand into shimmering liquid silk. The scent of jasmine followed her, delicate yet intoxicating, wrapping itself around the air like a whispered invitation.
Her amber eyes, gentle yet searching, flickered toward him. They carried something—a quiet longing, a fragile hope buried beneath their golden glow. As if, for just a moment, she believed she might find something—someone—worth reaching for.
For a fleeting second, those eyes met his.
Tick.
The curve of her lips, subtle and unassuming, hinted at a smile that could disarm even the most guarded soul. Her steps were light yet purposeful, as though she floated just above the ground.
The jade hairpin, nestled in her hair, gleamed faintly—a small but striking detail that completed her undeniable charm.
Her slender waist curved gently into soft, feminine hips, the embroidered silk of her robe flowing like water over smooth stone, accentuating her figure with an understated sensuality.
The fabric clung just enough to hint at the delicate contours of her body—a graceful form shaped by resilience and poise, a quiet allure that lingered without demanding attention. Even the way her robe shifted with each movement seemed intentional, catching the dim glow of neon lights, turning her into something almost ethereal.
Tock.
Kaito’s breath hitched. His mind scrambled for words, for thoughts, for anything—but all he could do was watch, entranced, as she drifted further away, leaving behind a trail of quiet wonder and the faint echo of her elegance.
Then—she dropped something.
The jade hairpin slipped from her hair, tumbling in slow motion, catching the neon glow as it fell—a fragile artifact, untouched, waiting.
Tick.
Kaito moved.
Tock.
His fingers closed around the cool jade, the delicate weight pressing against his palm.
His breath was uneven, pulse erratic—a surge of adrenaline, a quiet thrill.
“Excuse me! You dropped—”
HONK. SCREEEEEECH.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Blinding headlights erupted into his vision, the roar of an engine devouring the silence.
Tick.
His mind screamed. His body froze.
Tock.
A flash of white metal.
IMPACT.
Darkness.
> [SYSTEM MESSAGE] > Congratulations, you have been transported into the Martial World! > Initial Class: Weakest Human > Starting Item: Demon Empress’s Hairpin
Kaito’s mind rebooted. Wait. What?
He slowly opened his eyes.
Unfamiliar sunlight, harsh and unfiltered, stabbed at his vision.
A dull throb pulsed behind his temples, but it was instantly drowned out by a wave of pure sensory overload.
A cacophony of sounds crashed over him.
Rapid-fire haggling.
Sharp cries of vendors hawking exotic wares he couldn't identify.
The lowing of unseen livestock somewhere nearby.
The constant shuffle of countless feet on dusty ground.
The air hung thick—heavy with the scent of roasting meat, fragrant spices he'd never smelled before, cloying incense, and the earthy tang of packed dirt and sweat.
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Where... Where am I?
Not asphalt. He found himself standing on a wide, uneven street paved with rough stone, teeming with people dressed in... old-fashioned clothes?
Wooden stalls crammed the edges of the street, overflowing with colourful fabrics, gleaming pottery, strange fruits, and food sizzling over open flames. Paper lanterns swayed gently from awnings above.
It looked like... an ancient Chinese marketplace? Vibrant. Alive. Utterly overwhelming.
Then came the dawning, sickening horror.
He glanced down at himself.
No. No elegant robes.
Just... his suit. His rumpled, grey polyester salaryman suit, now somehow coated in a fine layer of grime.
The stark, modern lines of his jacket and trousers.
The slightly-too-tight knot of his cheap blue tie.
The scuffed black leather of his sensible dress shoes.
They screamed WRONG in this sea of flowing silks, roughspun tunics, wide sashes, and simple cloth shoes or sandals. He was a creature from another dimension.
He took a hesitant step forward, needing to move, to do something.
Crunch.
His work shoes sounded obscenely loud, grinding awkwardly on the stone.
That single, out-of-place sound seemed to be the signal.
A ripple of silence spread outward from him, like a stone dropped into a chattering pond. The constant market hubbub faltered, sputtered.
A nearby child, finger sticky with some unseen treat, pointed directly at him, tugging urgently at her mother's sleeve. Her eyes were huge, filled not with fear, but with pure, unabashed curiosity.
The mother gasped softly, quickly pulling the child behind her skirts. Her own gaze, fixed squarely on Kaito, was filled with wary apprehension.
Then, the heads started turning.
One by one at first, then in pairs, then in clusters.
Soon, it felt like everyone within sight was staring.
A sea of faces – curious, confused, suspicious, hostile – all swiveled towards him. He could feel the physical weight of their collective gaze, heavy and deeply unnerving.
Whispers erupted. A low, sibilant wave washing through the crowd.
"Look... look at his clothes..."
"Is he... a foreigner?"
"Madman?"
"Where did he even come from?"
Kaito tried to walk, tried desperately to somehow melt into the background, to become invisible.
Impossible.
He was a monochrome smudge on a vibrant, ancient tapestry. His stiff, desk-worker posture felt rigid and alien compared to the fluid movements around him. His steps felt clumsy, loud.
Vendors paused their sales pitches, their eyes tracking his every move. Some looked darkly amused. Others, openly hostile.
He passed a burly butcher, wiping greasy hands on a stained apron. The man simply stared holes through him, his thick hand resting ominously near a hefty cleaver lying on the chopping block. Don't look, don't look...
Further down the crowded street, two guards clad in simple leather armor had stopped their patrol. Their attention was locked entirely onto him, their expressions hardening visibly as they assessed the bizarrely dressed stranger disrupting the morning market.
He felt utterly, horrifyingly exposed. Like some strange insect pinned to a board for examination.
Every detail, from the synthetic sheen of his cheap suit fabric to the way he instinctively patted his pocket for a phone that wasn't there (and likely never would be again), marked him as other.
He wasn't just out of place.
He was a walking, breathing anomaly in this world.
And every single pair of eyes on the street knew it.
Just then, as if his body decided the current situation wasn't stressful enough—
GRRRROOOOOOWWWWL.
The sound ripped through the relatively quieter space his presence had created. It was obscenely loud, echoing slightly between the stalls. Kaito froze, his face flushing hot with embarrassment and rising panic.
No, no, no, not now!
His stomach, utterly betraying him, clenched with a sudden, sharp pang of hunger. The adrenaline dump must have burned through whatever meager breakfast he'd scarfed down hours—or was it a lifetime?—ago.
Instinct took over. His eyes, wide and desperate, darted around searching for sustenance. They landed on a nearby stall.
Steam rose invitingly from bamboo baskets stacked high. Inside, plump, white buns nestled together, promising warmth and relief from the gnawing emptiness in his gut. The smell—a simple, savoury aroma of cooked dough and maybe meat?—wafted towards him, making his mouth water uncontrollably.
He stared.
He couldn't help it. His hunger was a physical ache, overriding the social awkwardness, the fear, the sheer weirdness of it all. All rational thought momentarily fled, replaced by the primal urge to eat. He probably looked like a starving wolf eyeing a sheep.
The merchant behind the stall, a small, nervous man with wispy facial hair, had been watching Kaito with barely concealed anxiety. Now, seeing this strangely dressed lunatic staring intently, almost predatorily, at his precious buns, his nerve snapped.
His eyes went wide with terror.
"GUARDS!" the merchant shrieked, his voice cracking with fear. He scrambled backwards, nearly tripping over a stool. "GUARDS! HELP! This... this thing! It's going to attack!"
Kaito flinched back as if struck. Attack? What? No! I'm just hungry!
But the damage was done. The merchant's cry acted like a signal flare in the tense atmosphere.
The murmuring stopped instantly, replaced by startled gasps and a collective surge backwards from the surrounding crowd, clearing a space around Kaito and the bun stall.
And the two guards, who had been observing him with suspicion from down the street, now had their excuse.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The heavy, purposeful sound of booted feet on stone cut through the sudden silence. The guards were approaching, their expressions grim, hands now firmly gripping the hilts of the swords at their waists.
They were heading straight for him.
Kaito's heart hammered against his ribs. His blood ran cold.
Oh no.
Nononono, misunderstanding! I'm not dangerous! I'm just hungry! And lost! And possibly insane!
Instinctively, defensively, he threw his hands up in front of him, palms facing outwards. A universal gesture, he hoped. Peace! Don't hurt me! I surrender!
He braced himself for rough handling, for shouted accusations, for the sharp point of a spear or sword demanding answers he didn't have.
But the shouts didn't come. The rough grab never landed.
Instead... gasps.
Sharp, indrawn breaths. Not just from one person, but seemingly from everyone around him.
The guards stopped dead in their tracks, maybe ten feet away. Their grim expressions morphed into something else entirely – wide-eyed shock, confusion, maybe even... fear?
Their eyes weren't fixed on his face, or his strange clothes anymore. They were locked onto his raised right hand.
My hand? What's wrong with my hand?
The whispers that followed weren't suspicious murmurs this time. They were hushed, awe-struck, terrified. The crowd stared, pointing not at him, but at what he held.
Confused, Kaito slowly lowered his gaze to his own hand.
Nestled in his palm, forgotten in the chaos of his arrival and the sudden pang of hunger, lay the jade hairpin.
It gleamed softly in the sunlight, cool against his skin. The intricate carvings seemed even more detailed now, the jade a deep, mesmerizing green. It was beautiful, delicate... and apparently, the source of this sudden, intense reaction.
He'd picked it up just before... just before the truck...
He'd been holding it the whole time without realizing.
Before he could even begin to process what this meant, a voice cut through the stunned silence. It was thin, reedy, and trembling with disbelief.
An old merchant, peering out from behind a stall piled high with dusty scrolls, gasped loud enough for everyone to hear. His eyes were practically bulging from their sockets, fixed on the hairpin in Kaito's hand.
“You—!” the old man choked out, pointing a shaking finger. “You… you touched the Demon Empress’s hairpin!”
Demon Empress?
The name echoed in the sudden, deathly quiet of the marketplace.
Kaito stared down at the innocent-looking piece of jade in his hand, then back up at the sea of shocked and terrified faces surrounding him.
His earlier thought returned, colder and heavier this time.
