My Narration Is Not Very Serious

Late at night, Tokyo, Shibuya District.

After finishing his shift at the convenience store, An He said goodbye, carrying the dessert gifted by the enthusiastic store owner in one hand while opening his umbrella with the other, stepping into the rain.

The rain wasn’t heavy, but in late November Tokyo, it brought a chilling dampness. Even at this hour, cars occasionally sped past on the road, their tires flinging up arcs of water that shot high into the air, forcing An He to stay alert.

He had no desire to avoid the rain only to end up splashed by filthy water.

“Maybe I should find a new job tomorrow. The boss’s wife is up to something—though she’s pretty and has a great figure, it’s a shame. I wouldn’t stand a chance against her husband…”

Just as An He was lost in thought, another car zoomed past, sending up a spray of water. Fortunately, he reacted quickly, swinging his umbrella in front of himself just in time to stay dry.

He glanced at the disappearing taillights, and before he could say a word, an exasperated voice rang out in his mind.

[Damn it all! You glare furiously at those fading taillights. Luckily, you noticed the driver was a young man with a ring on his left hand—a newlywed, obviously. Suddenly, a meticulous plan for revenge forms in your mind: with his license plate number, you could easily find his home. Before he returns from work, only his new wife would be there. All you’d need to do is disguise yourself as a deliveryman, and then…]

The voice kept rambling, but An He ignored it. Clearly, this wasn’t the fi