Chapter 1: I am not Gay

Chapter 1: I am not Gay

Rain fell like someone upstairs had finally given up on holding it together.

Leon stood near the rooftop edge, hoodie soaked, phone dead, hope long buried beneath six layers of sarcasm and emotional damage.

This was supposed to be his thinking spot. The high ground. A quiet place to question life, contemplate dropping out and maybe scream into the void like a normal emotionally repressed teenager.

But the void had other plans.

The rusted door creaked open behind him.

’Oh no.’

’Please not him.’

"Yo," Devon’s voice sang, smooth and stupid. "You always come up here when you’re brooding. Kinda hot, honestly."

Leon turned his head very slowly. The look on his face could kill crops.

There he was—Devon—his stepbrother of three months. Wearing an unbuttoned shirt that revealed more chest than decency allowed, and a smirk that belonged in a government watchlist.

Leon’s soul attempted to leave his body.

"You again?" he muttered.

Devon leaned on the railing beside him, way too close. "Don’t act like you’re not happy to see me."

"I’m happier when I have food poisoning."

Devon grinned. "You’ve got that ’traumatized main character’ vibe today. Real mysterious. I like it."

Leon stared at him like he was an unexpected final boss. "You know what I like? Personal space. Have you ever heard of that, or did your parents raise you inside someone else’s lap?"

Devon chuckled. "You’ve got such a sharp tongue, Leon. Bet it’d be fun if you used it properly."

Leon’s eye twitched.

"You’re flirting with me," he said, blinking slowly. "Again."

"I flirt with everyone," Devon said casually. "But you’re the only one that makes it interesting."

"I am your stepbrother."

"We’re not blood-related."

"I don’t care if we were raised in separate timelines. You came into this family the moment your dad married my mom. That makes this weird. You trying to make this weird-er is illegal in three countries and morally disgusting in all of them."

Devon sighed dramatically. "You say that now, but in all the best stories—"

Leon pointed at him. "Finish that sentence and I’m pushing you off this roof."

Thunder growled overhead as the universe agreed with him.

Leon turned back toward the city. Rain plastered his hair to his face. This was fine. He could pretend Devon didn’t exist. He could survive the apocalypse if needed. He just had to—

Crack.

Lightning split the sky.

His instincts screamed—too late.

The bolt slammed down like the judgment of a very done god.

Straight into Leon.

Pain exploded across every nerve like he’d been slapped by the heavens with interest. His feet left the ground. Everything turned blinding white.

Somewhere in the background, he heard Devon scream, "LEOOONNNN—!"

Of course, he lives, Leon thought bitterly. Because the pervert gets plot armor.

Then: nothing.

Just static.

And silence.

Darkness.

Not the poetic kind. Not the "stars-blinking-in-the-void, gentle-slumber-of-the-universe" kind.

Just... pitch black. Dry. Blank. Boring.

Leon existed—or something close to it—but his body didn’t. No hands, no legs, no sense of time, not even the comforting buzz of existential dread.

Only thoughts.

Which, as it turned out, was a horrible mistake on the universe’s part.

’So this is death?’ He thought. Feels like being put on hold by customer service... forever.

No pain. No noise. No weird tunnel of light.

Just a floating nothingness.

Oddly peaceful, if you ignored the fact that he might’ve peed himself during the lightning strike. Not that he could check. No body. No shame. Win-win?

A silence stretched.

Then, slowly, his mind clicked back into motion.

Wait.

’Did I seriously just died via lightning bolt?’

’That’s so lazy. At least give me a truck. A magical relic. An ancient vending machine. Something with flair!’

He tried to sigh, but again—no lungs. Just vibes.

Still, the more pressing realization floated up next.

’I’m free.’

’Free from Devon.’

No more hallway ambushes with shirtless attempts at seduction. No more hearing "We’re not blood related" as a conversation starter over cereal. No more being the unwilling object of a man who thought "boundaries" were a social construct.

Leon would’ve wept if he had tear glands.

’God. Thank you. Or Zeus. Or whoever fired that bolt. MVP.’

There was no real regret, surprisingly. No montage of family photos. No longing to finish school or hug his mom.

Honestly? He died doing what he loved most: avoiding people and roasting his enemies with sarcasm.

’I lived with a pervert and died with my dignity intact. That’s more than most get.’

Maybe this was it. Just an eternal void. A quiet, awkward afterlife, like being stuck at a party where you don’t know anyone and the music’s too loud to cry.

Well. At least it’s not Devon.

Pause.

Unless... wait. He didn’t die too, right?

Suddenly, panic.

’Oh god. What if he also got isekai’d? What if he shows up later with abs and a tragic backstory, calling me "darling" in elf language?’

Leon’s non-existent soul shuddered.

No. Please. Anything but that.

He would rather fight a demon lord with a spoon than share another timeline with that menace.

But the universe wasn’t answering. It was quiet. Almost like it was watching.

Plotting.

Or worse...

The void trembled.

Not visually, because there was still nothing to see. But something shifted. Like the entire black space just... flinched.

Leon’s thoughts paused mid-ramble.

’Wait. What was—’

A sound—not quite a voice, not quite a vibration—reached into the nothingness.

Something ’noticed’ him.

And then the pull began.

Not painful. Not gentle either. Just... absolute. Like a cosmic vacuum cleaner had decided, ’"Yup, this one’s mine."’

"HEY—!" Leon tried to yell, but all he managed was a thought-shaped scream.

The void shattered.

White light. Blinding. Warm. It peeled the dark away like old wallpaper. His senses—still fuzzy, still forming—registered... something enormous. Ancient. Vaguely humanoid. Like someone had wrapped a black hole in a ceremonial robe and slapped on a glowing mask for style.

The presence towered before him in a realm without horizon. Stars spiraled in the distance. Gravity did whatever it wanted. Reality was doing backflips.

Leon floated like a bug in the presence of a nuclear god-like entity.

"Ah," the being said, voice deep and oddly casual. "You’re the one I hit."

Leon’s thoughts tried to process that, failed, and defaulted to sarcasm.

’...Excuse me?’

"You weren’t supposed to die," the entity continued, matter-of-fact. "Bit of a misfire. Wrong angle. Wrong rooftop."

It waved a celestial hand. "The target was two buildings over. The guy was about to sacrifice his goldfish for demonic insurance. Messy business."

The actual reasons were something he couldn’t tell the mortal but it was a misfire on his side.

Leon stared.

’You hit me. With lightning. By accident.’

"Technically, yes."

’You—You uninstalled me from life like a software glitch.’

The being tilted its head, unbothered. "Well, when you put it like that, I sound careless."

’YOU THINK?’

The entity raised a glowing palm, a flicker of something resembling shame—or maybe it was indigestion. Hard to tell with cosmic beings.

"To compensate," it said grandly, "I’ll offer you what mortals crave most in the wake of untimely death."

Leon braced for the cliché.

"Isekai?"

"Correct."

’Of course.’

"You shall be reborn into a new world," the entity boomed. "A realm of swords, magic, monsters, and tragic backstories."

’Let me guess. Overpowered cheat? Broken bloodline? Mysterious destiny?’

"Possibly. Depends on your attitude. And narrative karma."

Leon groaned.

Even in death, there were catchphrases.

The entity’s voice softened slightly. "You were the only death on your planet today. That grants you... priority. A cleaner slate. A stronger start. Fate, as you know it, is offering you a reroll."

Leon’s thoughts paused.

No school.

No bills.

No Devon.

’...Okay. I’m listening.’

The godlike being’s eyes—or what passed for them—glinted with amusement.

"Then prepare yourself, Leon. Your new life awaits."

Leon floated in silence.

The grand cosmic proclamation still echoed: ’"Your new life awaits."’

Then, without warning—

"Wait, wait, wait," Leon said. Or thought. Whatever counted as shouting when you were a floating soul with no mouth.

The being paused, visibly annoyed. "Yes?"

"You’re just gonna throw me into some sword-and-magic death circus without gear? No tutorial? No bonus? No starter pack?"

The being raised an eyebrow—’or simulated the emotion of eyebrow-raising with divine particles, whatever.’ "You’re being reborn. Isn’t that enough?"

Leon folded his nonexistent arms. ’"I didn’t even sign up. You fried me like a leftover dumpling. At least give me hazard pay."’

There was a beat of silence.

Then the being sighed. "Humans."

"Reincarnated humans," Leon corrected. "We have standards now. Forums. Tier lists."

Another sigh. More celestial.

Leon pushed on. "Look, I’m not asking for a ’One-Punch God Slayer Physique’ or a ’Heaven-Defying Grandma Artifact.’ I’m just saying... throw me a bone. Or a bloodline. Or, you know, a modest world-breaking treasure."

The figure stared at him for a moment.

Then, to Leon’s surprise, it laughed. Low, amused, rumbling like a solar flare trying to chuckle.

"You’ve got nerve," it said. "I respect that."

"Good. Now translate that respect into loot."

The entity shook its head slowly, but the amusement lingered. "I can’t give you power outright. The laws don’t allow it. I’m not a god, kid. Just someone from the @%!@##$ Realm who happened to be—"

It made a vague gesture toward existence.

"—strolling. Through galaxies."

Leon blinked.

’Strolling. Through galaxies.’

Leon wasn’t able to comprehend what realm he said but he didn’t give it much thought.

"You’re telling me I got smoked by a divine tourist in cosmic pajamas?"

"Technically, yes."

Leon mentally screamed into the abyss for five seconds, then regrouped.

"Fine. If you can’t give me a cheat, then give me a chance."

The being’s mask tilted. "A chance?"

"Yeah. Seven. my Lucky number. Seven draws. Seven chances to pull something rare, strong, broken—whatever your realm’s equivalent of gacha is."

There was a long pause.

Then, slowly, the being extended a glowing finger.

"Done."

A shimmering circle appeared. Intricate. Rotating. Seven empty slots, waiting to be filled. It looked like a divine lottery wheel forged by bored immortals with too much time and too many aesthetics.

Leon whistled. "Now we’re talking."

"You get to spin this wheel seven times," the entity said. "Each draw will yield one reward—a trait, an item, a blessing, or... nothing, everything coming from my treasury."

Leon flinched. "Wait, ’nothing’ is on the table?"

"Of course. It’s luck-based. What did you expect—guaranteed SSR?"

He muttered under his breath, ’"Gacha hell follows me even in death."’

The being chuckled again. "Shall we begin?"

Leon stared at the spinning wheel, eyes gleaming like a degenerate gambler facing a divine slot machine.

"Spin it."