The alarm clock shrieked, a metallic seagull piercing the pre-dawn calm. For most, it was a sound to be wrestled back into silence, a symbol of the encroaching work week. But for Leo, in his still-untarnished optimism, it was a fanfare. Today was the day. First day as Account Manager at Suds & Sensations, purveyors of premium soaps, the kind that promised not just cleanliness, but an experience. He hadn't truly grasped what "Account Manager" entailed, not yet. It sounded important. It sounded…grown-up. And that, for now, was enough.
He bounced out of bed, maybe a little too energetically, judging by the creak of the floorboards. His reflection in the mirror showed a bright, almost manic grin plastered across his face, the unblemished confidence of youth shining in his eyes. “Account Manager, Leo,” he whispered to himself, puffing out his chest. “Sounds…official.” He didn't yet know the weight that "official" could carry.
Downstairs, the kitchen was already a hive of orchestrated, familiar chaos. His sister, Maya, was juggling pancake batter and a phone call, somehow managing both with her usual effortless grace, a testament to the ease of their shared, predictable world. “Big day, big brother!” she chirped, flipping a pancake a little too enthusiastically, sending a dollop onto the counter, a minor mishap easily cleaned, easily forgotten. “Suds & Sensations, eh? Think you can get us a discount?” It was a joke, lighthearted, expected. Discounts, pancakes, family. These were the constants.
His dad, a man of few words but abundant smiles, clapped him on the back, nearly sending him stumbling forward with the playful force only a father allows. “Proud of you, son. Always knew you had it in you.” It was a simple affirmation, unquestioned, bathed in unwavering paternal belief. His mom, ever practical, fussed over his tie, straightening it for the fifth time, her concerns focused on the surface, the easily manageable details of his appearance. “Posture, Leo. First impressions count. And for heaven’s sake, remember to smile. You look like you’re going to a funeral.” She couldn’t see the tremor of genuine fear beneath the practiced grin, mistaking it for simple nerves.
He laughed, a high-pitched, slightly nervous sound, a sound that still held the echo of childhood lightness. “Funeral of my unemployment, Mom!” He had practiced that line, rehearsed the bravado, convinced of its cleverness. It sounded good in the mirror, in the safe space of his own mind.
Even Clara, his girlfriend, who was usually still half-asleep at this hour, was bright-eyed and buzzing, her energy infectious, uncomplicated. She’d come over especially early, armed with a travel mug of his favorite coffee and a kiss that tasted faintly of strawberry lip balm, a sweetness that felt both comforting and fleeting, like the bubble of youth itself. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” she’d murmured, squeezing his hand with the unquestioning faith of young love. “Suds and Sensations is lucky to have you.”
Lucky. That word echoed in his head, bouncing off the steel walls of his carefully constructed façade of enthusiasm. Inside, beneath the layers of practiced smiles and excited chatter, a cold knot of dread twisted in his stomach, a discordant note in the otherwise harmonious symphony of his youthful world. Account Manager. The words sounded impressive, responsible, adult. But they also sounded… terrifying, a whisper of a reality he couldn't yet fully articulate. He’d aced the interview, yes, fueled by youthful confidence and a quick wit, but the reality of managing accounts, of talking to clients, of being in charge of something… it felt like an impossible mountain he was expected to scale with his bare hands, a weight he couldn't yet truly comprehend.
He was good at pretending, always had been, gliding through life with the effortless grace afforded to the young, the consequences still abstract, the safety net assumed. The life of the party, the confident friend, the supportive boyfriend. It was a role he’d played so well, it had almost become him, a mask crafted from youthful optimism and inexperience. But sometimes, in the quiet moments before sleep, or now, in the frantic cheer of his first morning, the carefully constructed mask felt thin, fragile, about to shatter and reveal the anxious, uncertain boy beneath, a boy still shielded, unknowingly, by the very youth he was about to leave behind.
The smell of pancakes and coffee hung thick in the air, a comforting, domestic aroma, the very scent of his protected upbringing, now suddenly imbued with a bittersweet, almost alien quality. He was stepping out of this comfortable bubble, into the sharp, unfamiliar air of the working world, a world that operated by different rules, unspoken expectations, and genuine consequences. Everyone was excited for him, genuinely, and he loved them for it, their excitement mirroring his own carefully cultivated outward show. He wanted to be excited too. He really did, clinging to the fading echo of that youthful optimism.
He swallowed down a bite of pancake, the sweetness suddenly tasting metallic on his tongue, a first taste of the unexpected flavors that adulthood might hold. “Gotta go,” he announced, a little too abruptly, pushing back from the table, eager to escape the suffocating well-wishes and the growing tremor of fear they inadvertently amplified. “Don’t want to be late.” Late for what, he didn't yet fully know. Late for growing up?
“Break a bar, Leo!” Maya called after him, her voice laced with teasing affection, the playful encouragement of a shared youth, a world of inside jokes and easy camaraderie.
He forced another bright smile, the practiced, youthful grin, waving as he stepped out into the crisp morning air. The sun was just beginning to paint the sky with streaks of pink and orange, a beautiful, hopeful sunrise, a daily miracle he’d barely noticed before, a backdrop to a life lived in comfortable routine. Now, the beauty felt almost mocking, indifferent to the churning anxiety in his gut, the sunrise of a new phase, uncertain and daunting.
He adjusted his tie, the symbol of his impending adulthood, took a deep breath, and started walking. The Suds & Sensations building was only a few blocks away, a modern glass and steel structure that shimmered in the early morning light like a promise, a siren song of ambition and unknown challenges. He pictured himself walking through those doors, stepping into his new life, Account Manager Leo, the title echoing hollowly in his mind now, the weight of it beginning to press down.
He reached the intersection, the pedestrian light flashing green, a simple, automatic signal he’d obeyed without conscious thought his entire life, a symbol of the predictable order of his youth. He glanced left, right, then stepped off the curb, habits ingrained, reflexes unchallenged, the unconscious safety of a life lived under watchful eyes. Just a normal morning, a normal crossing, on the way to a normal, albeit terrifying, first day, he told himself, clinging to the illusion of normalcy.
Then, a horn blared, loud and insistent, ripping through the morning quiet, a sound that shattered not just the peace, but the very fabric of his youthful assumptions about the world. He barely registered the sound before the world exploded into a kaleidoscope of red and chrome, the illusion of safety utterly annihilated. A monstrous grille loomed, a silver maw rushing towards him with impossible speed, a brutal, indifferent force. He had a fleeting, absurd thought, a last vestige of youthful naivete clinging to the remnants of his former world: That’s a big truck, Truck Driver-kun.
And then, youth ended. Adulthood arrived. Isekai complete.
Welcome to a Different World, Courtesy of Truck Driver-kun
