001 The Isekai Ghost

  I had always thought that if I were to die in a spectacularly tragic accident, I'd at least wake up in another world, sword in hand, some goddess explaining my overpowered skills to me. But no. The isekai trope had been a lie all along.

  I knew because I was looking at myself.

  Or, more specifically, at what was left of me.

  The scene was a mess. Flashing red and blue lights painted the slick asphalt, the sharp scent of burnt rubber and gasoline filling the air. Cars had come to a stop: some dented, others outright wrecked. Traffic enforcers were arguing with motorists, their frantic voices drowned out by the incessant honking from vehicles still trying to squeeze through the chaos. And in the middle of it all, there I was. Or what was left of me.

  The young man in the black jacket and trousers, sprawled out on the road, was none other than myself. The problem? My head was missing.

  "Holy shit," a cop muttered, standing near my decapitated corpse, covering his mouth with his hand as if trying to hold back his breakfast.

  "This is Commonwealth Avenue," another officer grumbled, rubbing his temple. "Of course, someone’s gonna get pancaked every damn day."

  "Yeah, but a guy getting his head knocked clean off? That’s a first for me."

  A small crowd had gathered, rubberneckers peering through the gaps between officers, some whispering, others recording with their phones. I recognized one of them. A young woman in a navy blue blazer, her long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She clutched a microphone in her right hand while her cameraman adjusted the angle.

  "This is Trina Morales, reporting live from Commonwealth Avenue, where a horrific accident has just taken place," she began, her voice steady despite the chaos around her. "Authorities have yet to confirm the identity of the victim, but witnesses claim he was riding a motorcycle when a large delivery truck ran a red light—"

  "—came out of nowhere," I finished for her, though of course, no one could hear me.

  I sighed. That damn truck. I’d been on my way to my nth job interview, barely awake but determined to give it my best shot. And then, just like that. BAM! Lights out.

  I wasn’t even sure where my head had landed.

  "You think it’s still around here?" a cop asked, mirroring my thoughts.

  "Probably rolled off somewhere. Maybe under another vehicle?"

  "Christ. Somebody’s gotta find it before—"

  A scream rang out from the other side of the intersection.

  Well. That answered that question.

  A commotion stirred at the far end of the street. Murmurs turned into gasps, then laughter, high-pitched and carefree. It was an odd contrast to the grim scene behind me.

  I turned toward the sound and spotted a group of street kids, no older than ten, huddled together near the curb. At first, I thought they were just goofing around, but then I saw what they were passing between them.

  My head.

  "Yo, check this out! It’s so heavy!" one of them said, holding it up with both hands like a trophy. Blood dripped onto his already-dirty shirt.

  "Put it down, gago! It’s cursed!" another boy warned, but he was grinning.

  "Not before I try these on." The smallest one, a scrawny kid with a shaved head, plucked my sunglasses from my lifeless face and slid them onto his own. "Damn, astig!" he said, adjusting them like he was the coolest guy in the world.

  I sighed. Those were my favorite pair.

  Then, one of the kids, different from the rest, stopped playing. He was staring directly at me. Not my body, not my severed head, but me.

  Ah. What was the word for it? Third eye?

  I walked closer, leaning in toward his round face. His pupils dilated. His mouth fell open.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  "Boo~!"

  The kid let out a shriek so loud it rivaled the sirens in the distance. He shoved my head away like it was on fire, and it hit the pavement with a sickening thud-thud-thump.

  The other kids screamed, scattering in all directions. My sunglasses-wearing thief bolted, forgetting to return my shades.

  "Hoy, where are you all going?!" one of the cops shouted after them, clearly annoyed. But the kids were gone, leaving my bloodied, rolling head behind.

  I yawned. Ghost or not, scaring little kids wasn’t exactly entertaining.

  My gaze drifted back toward the wreckage. The news reporter, Trina Morales, was still at it, her professional mask firmly in place despite the grotesque scene behind her.

  "The victim has been identified as twenty-four-year-old Nolan Cruz," she announced.

  I paused.

  Hearing my name said out loud like that felt… weird. Final.

  Nolan Cruz. That was me, wasn’t it? A fresh graduate, job-seeker extraordinaire, and now, apparently, a very dead guy.

  I didn’t bother staying to hear the rest. There was no point.

  Instead, I started walking. Or, well, floating.

  Commonwealth Avenue stretched endlessly ahead of me with neon signs flickering, headlights blinding, and vendors still pushing their carts like a man hadn’t just lost his head a few feet away. Life kept going, uncaring.

  I wanted to see as much as I could before… before what?

  Before I faded away?

  I would fade away, right?

  I had dreamt of a different life.

  A normal one. A stable job, a decent paycheck, maybe even my own condo in the city someday—far from the life my parents had led.

  Mom was a Mangkukulam. Dad was an Albularyo.

  Put otherwise, frauds.

  And if not frauds, then probably just scary people with strange beliefs.

  I still remembered the things they put me through.

  Dad would perform all sorts of rituals on me, muttering incantations while waving herbs and candles in my face. I lost count of the times he made me drink strange potions, each one more disgusting than the last.

  “This will protect you from evil spirits,” he’d say, handing me a murky, bitter concoction that smelled like rotten eggs.

  Mom, on the other hand, was worse. She didn’t just believe in magic. She practiced it. She made me learn strange symbols, recite prayers in languages I didn’t understand, and worst of all, she made me eat things.

  "Swallow it," she'd insist, holding up something black, shriveled, and vaguely insect-like. "This is an Agimat, an amulet. It will make you strong."

  And because I was a dumb kid who didn’t know better, I obeyed.

  Even now, as a ghost, I shuddered at the memory.

  I stretched a bit, feeling stiff for some reason.

  And then my head fell off.

  I sighed.

  Grumbling, I bent down, picked up my head, and reattached it with a practiced motion, like a ball-jointed doll putting itself back together. There was a faint click, a weird tingling sensation, and then everything was back to normal. Well, as normal as things could be when you were already dead.

  I rolled my shoulders. Still stiff. Death really wasn’t as relaxing as I had hoped.

  Then something strange happened.

  My feet started sinking into the ground.

  At first, I thought it was just my imagination. Maybe I had moved without realizing it. But no. There was a definite pull, like I had stepped into quicksand made of air.

  "Uuuhh…" I blinked, staring down as my sneakers disappeared into the pavement. It would be an understatement to say I was worried.

  Okay. Maybe I hadn’t been a devout believer or anything, but this was the Philippines. Catholicism ran deep here, so even an idiot like me—who rarely went to church unless my grandma dragged me—had some fear of God.

  And right now? That fear was escalating.

  I tried stepping back, but my legs wouldn’t budge. The sinking continued, slow but relentless, like I was being dragged into the underworld inch by inch.

  "Okay, okay, let’s not panic," I muttered to myself.

  Then I reached my waist, tried to push myself against the concrete ground.

  I panicked for real this time.

  "Hoy! Help! Somebody—!" I shouted at the officers still loitering around my crime scene. My crime scene? My accident scene? Either way, they were right there, mere feet away, completely unaware that I was being swallowed by the earth.

  "Excuse me, sir? Ma’am? Anyone?!" I waved frantically, but they didn’t so much as flinch.

  Nothing.

  No one could see me.

  I kept shouting anyway, because what else was I supposed to do? But as I sank further—chest, shoulders, neck—I realized something chilling.

  The deeper I went, the quieter everything became. The sounds of traffic, of honking cars, of officers grumbling about paperwork—it all faded.

  By the time my head slipped under, I heard nothing at all.

  No honking cars, no sirens, no horrified murmurs. Just… silence.

  And that was terrifying.

  So where was my destination? Underworld? Hell? It was going downwards, wasn’t it?

  I began imagining if there was an interview when I got there.

  It would probably go like this…

  “State your name.”

  "Nolan Cruz."

  “Cause of death?”

  "Hit by a truck."

  “Elaborate on the decapitation.”

  "Oh, that? The chain of my bike snapped and sawed my head clean off."

  Yeah. That’d probably raise a few eyebrows.

  I shivered, even though I didn’t have a body to shiver with.

  It was dark. Heavy. I felt like I was taking forever to get anywhere. How deep was I sinking?

  And then, for some reason, I felt scared.

  Not just scared. Terrified.

  Like something was waiting at the bottom.

  I tried to move. Struggle. Anything. But the pull remained relentless, dragging me deeper into the abyss.

  Ah.

  I was done for.

  This was it for me.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for whatever eternal damnation awaited me.

  And then… something strange happened.

  First, my head.

  It was like a bamboo shoot, pushing through soil in a matter of seconds.

  One moment, I was sinking into the earth and then, POP!

  My head broke through the surface like I was some cursed plant sprouting in the dark.

  What the…?

  I was phasing through the soil, rising instead of falling.

  It was night.

  I blinked up at the sky, breath catching at what I saw.

  Two moons hung above, bathing everything in an eerie, pale glow.

  Oh.

  That wasn’t normal.

  Thank You for Giving Isekai Ghost One More Chance!

  Dude gets hit by a truck, turns into a ghost, and starts possessing bodies across different worlds—gaining their skills, knowledge, and even carrying items from one world to another. While at it, he'd get to fulfill their wishes, because he was a sympathetic fellow. His ultimate goal? Finding the afterlife.

  Isekai Ghost another shot—I appreciate every single one of you!