Sleep, wake up, work.

Go home, sleep, repeat.

That had been my endless cycle. A gray, exhausting existence without joy or purpose; just another cog in the endless machine of corporate life. Overtime drained every bit of strength I had left, and my body—thin to the point of fragility—finally worried even my mother. One day, she called me with a tone that left no room for excuses:

“Come with us to your grandfather’s house by the sea.”

At first, I refused. My mechanical sense of responsibility stood in the way of… well, life itself. But when my mother showed up at my apartment door with the car running and the suitcases already packed, I had no choice.

And so, I ended up in Siesta Beach, Florida, surrounded by my parents, siblings, uncles, and grandparents, all in swimsuits, basking in the summer sun.

For the first time in years, I felt alive.

I felt like I still had a family.

I realized I had wasted far too much time chasing nothing.

What the hell had I been doing with my life?

Working until I dropped dead?

That summer I understood something: I wanted freedom. I wanted to live to enjoy, not just to survive.

And it was on that beach that I discovered something that changed me: diving.

The sun reflecting off the crystal-clear water, the feeling of sinking, floating, and exploring with no chains holding me down… it was pure freedom. My heart latched onto that experience, convinced I had found a purpose—a hobby I wanted to turn into a passion.

Too bad I realized it too late.

A week later, after signing up for a professional diving course and binge-watching hours of videos, I left home brimming with excitement. Like a kid again.

I crossed the avenue while the light was still red.

The screech of brakes echoed.

I didn’t even have time to react. Just the impact.

My body flew.

The asphalt welcomed me with brutal force.

The crowd’s screams blurred into the darkness closing in on me.

My last memory was the truck driver’s frozen face as blood pooled around me.

“Oh God… if there’s another life, let me be reborn as a fish.”

And then, I died.

Or at least… I thought I did.

What came next was sinking into a dark abyss.

Cold. Silent. Lonely.

“Am I dying again?”

I couldn’t tell if it was the afterlife or just a dream, but I knew one thing for certain: I was underwater. My consciousness returned first, hazy and confused, then my senses followed—blurry vision, muffled hearing, touch. Finally, my muscles obeyed… and with them came the crushing weight of suffocation.

I opened my mouth and water poured in, dragging the last bubbles of air upward.

“I’m drowning!”

Panic hit me. I kicked wildly, forgetting everything about swimming techniques. My body thrashed blindly, only sinking deeper. Above me, the sun shone like an unreachable promise.

And my consciousness faded again.

“Am I going to die… again?”

Then something broke through the darkness: a pair of huge greenish hands grabbed me firmly under the arms and hoisted me upward.

Light blinded me.

The blue sky and white clouds opened above.

I coughed, spat out water, and breathed like it was my first time ever. My lungs burned, swelling with oxygen, while I realized I was being held… in someone’s arms.

Yes. Muscular, solid arms carrying me bridal-style.

I had no strength to resist. No dignity either. I could barely keep my eyes open.

“Air… I need air…” I gasped, throat on fire.

Finally, relief. Finally, alive.

“Damn… diving isn’t exactly child’s play.”

My thoughts were a mess. I could still remember the accident, but here I was, breathing. Maybe it had all been a hallucination, the dying dream of someone crushed under a truck. I didn’t know. The only thing I was sure of was that I owed my savior thanks.

“Man, thank you so much. I don’t know what happened, I think I blacked out and—”

The words froze in my mouth. My eyes went wide.

Standing in front of me, muscles rippling, fangs peeking out, green skin gleaming, wearing nothing but a loincloth that left little to the imagination… was an orc.

Yes. An actual orc.

For a second, the scene looked straight out of an epic painting: the sun illuminating his silhouette, the heroic pose, his gaze fixed on the horizon. But then I caught the hesitation in his eyes, and the illusion shattered. Those weren’t the eyes of an invincible warrior—they were the eyes of someone awkward, maybe even a little clumsy.

“Uh… young master, are you alright?” he asked, with an innocence that killed any sense of grandeur.

If he weren’t holding me, I would’ve sworn he was scratching the back of his head like a confused kid.

“I-I’m fine…” I stammered, still in shock.

What the hell was an orc doing holding me bridal-style?

Was I still dreaming?

Did I hit my head harder than I thought?

I had no clue. Only one thing was clear:

My new life had begun.

Saved by a muscular orc… in a princess carry.

And no, let me be clear, this is not the beginning of a fang-filled romantic comedy. I still like girls. It’s just that… maybe I should start working out a little. Wouldn’t hurt to get abs like Zac Efron in Baywatch.