The Trope Assessment
"Whatever, keep your secrets. Moving on to question two," Malesh continued, completely ignoring the warrior's rising panic. "Did you miraculously receive some special, overpowered cheat powers when you were dropped into this world?"
The young warrior glared at them, highly defensive. "Yes... I got some powers when I was reincarnated. But how is this possible?! Are you reading my mind?!"
"No, we are just reading the genre tropes," Malesh sighed, shaking his head. "It is a massive statistical anomaly how many losers get reincarnated and are instantly handed premium magical assets for absolutely zero effort. It completely ruins the local labor market."
"Question three," Malesh pressed, his tone growing sharper. "Let me guess. Was your backstory in your previous universe really, really sad and highly traumatic? A deeply tragic narrative, and then you got reincarnated into this world just to seek some pathetic form of redemption?"
The young man's heart violently dropped into his stomach. The agonizing memory of the crowded streets, the deafening roar of the mob, and the horrific, bloody massacre of his family flashed vividly behind his eyes. The pain was still so raw, so real, that it physically hurt to breathe for a second. The warrior was unable to move and was illusioned in his thoughts for few seconds.
"Yeah..." the young warrior whispered, his voice trembling slightly before he forced his anger back to the surface. "But how the fuck do you know about my past?! Who told you that?!"
The Title Assignment
Malesh slowly clapped his hands together, the sound echoing hollowly across the radioactive glass. He pointed a sharp, victorious finger directly at the heavily armed warrior.
"Then it is mathematically and logically proven," Malesh declared with absolute, smug certainty. "With your extraordinary power, a tragically pathetic backstory, and the reincarnation event all combined... you are the main character of this story. Which means this entire narrative is completely centered around your personal growth. In simple terms, it's your story; we are just monopolizing it."
The young man stared at the executives, his brain actively melting under the sheer weight of their corporate absurdity. "What is that supposed to mean?! I don't understand! I am a living, breathing human being, not a fictional character!"
"Look, if you are from a modern universe, you definitely would have read those trashy, cliché light novels," Malesh explained, speaking to the legendary warrior like he was a particularly slow, incompetent intern on his very first day. "You know, the ones where there is a main character or a righteous protagonist who saves the day, gathers a diverse party of weirdos, and defeats the ultimate evil?"
Malesh gestured lazily toward the weeping elf, the trembling mage, and the heavy knight standing in the background. "I mean, look at your staff. You literally hired the standard demographic diversity quota for a fantasy adventure."
The young warrior blinked, the modern literary terminology clashing violently with his armored aesthetic. "Yeah, I have read those kind of novels back home. So why are you acting like I don't know the term? I just don't understand how I can be the main character of reality! This is real life! People are suffering!"
"That is exactly what a cliché protagonist in denial would say," Malesh sighed, heavily pinching the bridge of his nose. "Bro, these are the three universal, undeniable signs of being a fictional protagonist, and you literally tick every single box on the HR checklist. Tragic past. Reincarnation. Cheat powers. So yeah, you are the main character. You are a walking, breathing cliché."
Salesh frantically adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, pulling out a small leather-bound notepad. "Wait, if he is the main character, does that mean his actions are protected by plot armor?! Filoska, this is a massive liability! If he uses the 'power of friendship' to destroy our factories, he won't take any physical damage!"
"Plot armor only protects heroes from swords and magic, Salesh," Filoska replied coldly, glaring at the young warrior. "It doesn't protect you from the legal system. If he touches our infrastructure, we won't fight him with weapons. We will just sue him for property damage and legally garnish his adventuring wages for the rest of his life."
Malesh adjusted his pristine silk tie, aggressively cutting off the legal chatter and making a unilateral executive decision right then and there.
"So, yeah. From now on, to save us the administrative hassle of learning your actual, legally registered name, we are finally just going to refer to you as 'the Hero'. Okay? It saves time on the paperwork."
Kniya aggressively popped his mint gum, grinning widely as he looked the newly dubbed Hero up and down. "Yeah, yeah, definitely, Malesh. It fits the brand identity perfectly. We can even monetize his likeness if he signs a waiver!"
The Righteous Breaking Point
The young warrior's grip on his enchanted broadsword tightened so fiercely that the leather wrap groaned under the pressure. His chest heaved as the sheer, sociopathic absurdity of the executives' conversation finally pushed him past his breaking point. He couldn't take another second of their corporate banter.
"Can you please stop talking about this useless shit for one single second?!" the Hero finally snapped, his voice erupting with absolute, righteous fury, echoing across the radioactive glass.
Kniya, Malesh, Filoska, and Salesh all paused, turning their heads to look at the furious young man.
"Enough of this twisted, delusional nonsense!" the Hero roared, his voice finally erupting with absolute, righteous fury as it echoed across the radioactive glass. "I am not a box on your administrative checklist, and the lives you just erased are not a joke!"
Kniya, Malesh, Filoska, and Salesh all paused, turning their heads to look at the furious young man.
"I know exactly what you four are," the Hero snarled, stepping forward with his glowing blade lowered but ready. "You are just demons in human bodies. You just massacred millions of people today! Demons, humans, beasts—it didn't matter to you! Didn't they have lives?! Didn't they have families?! Why did you kill them?!"
The Hero threw his free hand out, gesturing to the dead, melted landscape. "You polluted this beautiful world! You stripped it of its magic! And you were completely willing to kill me and my party in the first place if I didn't agree to stand here and talk peacefully! There is absolutely zero difference between a bloodthirsty terrorist who slaughters innocents, and you guys who dropped weapons of mass destruction just to wipe out a single Demon Lord!"
Filoska rolled her eyes, while Salesh aggressively rubbed his temples, already anticipating a long, exhausting moral lecture.
"This is exactly what your capacity is," the Hero continued, his voice trembling with a deep, agonizing rage as the memories of his past life surged forward. "You guys are the exact same breed of corrupt, hollow people from my past world."
The Macroeconomic Rant
The Hero's eyes burned with a fierce, tragic intensity as he stared down the four billionaires.
"The government from the country I used to live in was exactly like you," the Hero spat, his voice laced with venom. "We had a pitifully small national budget. Our currency was facing catastrophic challenges. The streets were drowning in inflation, severe poverty, and mass hunger! Real people were starving to death in the alleys!"
He pointed the tip of his glowing broadsword directly at Malesh's chest, the enchanted blade trembling with theatrical outrage.
"But did they spend the money to help the people? No! The government wasted a massive, disgusting chunk of our military budget just to maintain a nuclear arsenal! Instead of feeding the hungry, they spent billions on weapons of mass destruction to flex their political power! And you guys are doing the exact same thing! You literally manufactured an entire intercontinental nuclear arsenal in a realm that was peacefully running on swords and horses, just so you could flex your unhinged corporate dominance and drop fifty warheads over a minor verbal dispute!"
The young warrior's voice echoed with desperate, raw emotion over the sterilized crater.
"You polluted this world! You chopped down the ancient forests, choked the rivers with chemicals, and developed nuclear bombs! And then you dropped them on this land just to satisfy your own fragile egos! This is what you are like! This is your actual reality!"
The Hero gripped the hilt of his broadsword, his voice cracking with desperate, raw emotion as he glared at the four executives.
"For what reason?!" the Hero demanded, his eyes flashing with absolute disgust. "Why did you kill so many people?! What is the ultimate goal behind all this destruction?!"
Kniya didn't even blink. He just casually popped a bubble with his mint gum and answered the question with a single, brutally simple word.
"Money."
The Hero let out a harsh, bitter laugh that held absolutely no joy.
"You are exactly the capitalist parasites from my previous world!" the Hero screamed. "Just money! You would slaughter anyone and everyone just for profit! That is your actual reality, you idiots! You absolute fuckers!"