Impregnation No Jutsu

"DIE, SISTERFUCKER!"

An ugly-ass white wigga yelled at me from the other side of the marked crosswalk. His voice was so loud it probably scared the pigeons three blocks away.

He was glaring at me with those... what do they even call those eyes? I wondered in my head, completely unimpressed and uninterested in whatever drama he was trying to start.

Honestly, I was more focused on the fact that his face looked like it had lost a fight with a blender.

Ah, yeah—they call those eyes "burning with rage." But honestly? Dude just looked like a drug addict to me.

And not even the classy kind. Like, if you're gonna do drugs, at least go for the high-quality stuff, you know? You can find the best of the best on Vagina Street.

Don't ask why it's called Vagina Street, and don't ask how I know about it. Some things are better left unexplained. Let's just say I've seen things, and not all of them were worth seeing.

Anyway, this bargain-bin drug addict suddenly started charging at me like a rabid raccoon that just found out its trash can had been taken away.

He was still screaming, "SISTERFUCKER!" at the top of his lungs, which, by the way, was impressive considering how much he probably smoked.

I mean, seriously, what even is that insult? Is that supposed to hurt my feelings? Because all it's doing is making me wonder if he's projecting.

Like, buddy, are you okay? Do you need to talk about something? Maybe call your therapist? Or, I don't know, a priest?

My Uncle's priest... but he likes to touch people.

As the guy got closer, I could see the details of his face more clearly, and let me tell you, it wasn't doing him any favors.

His nose was crooked like it had been punched one too many times, and his teeth were the kind of yellow that made you wonder if he'd been chewing on highlighter pens.

His hair was greasy enough to fry an egg on, and his clothes looked like they'd been dragged through a mud puddle and then left to dry in the sun. All in all, he was the human equivalent of a dumpster fire.

Just as he was about 5 meters away from me—

Honk Honk Honk Honk Honk!

Truck-Chan hit him.

Like, bro was sent straight out flying... hmm, maybe about 15 washing machines. Why washing machines? I'm a proud 'Murican! RAWHHHH! And I love using the imperial system.

Lol... just kidding.

DING DONG CHING CHONG PING PONG!

As soon as the ugly-ass wigga was hit by the truck, my iPhone 43 Ultra Pro Max Galaxy Annihilator got a phone call. What a coincidence.

{Gold Digger 69}

"Ahhh... why is this bitch calling me?" I thought as I saw one of my few girlfriends calling me. To be honest, this 69th girlfriend of mine is a gold digger, unlike the others who spend money on me. So, yeah, she's basically a side chick.

"Yeah, babe?" I picked up the call and answered in the most loving tone one could hear in their entire life. Meanwhile, I was casually watching the crowd gather around the wigga who just got hit by a truck.

He was lying on the road, his blood starting to form a mini pond right in the middle of the street.

The scene was like something out of a low-budget action movie. People were gasping, pointing, and pulling out their phones to record the chaos.

One guy was even trying to sell popcorn, which, honestly, was kind of impressive. Capitalism finds a way, I guess.

"Hey, baby," Gold Digger 69 cooed on the other end of the line. "I was just thinking about you... and, you know, that new bag I saw at the mall. It's so cute! You should totally get it for me."

I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my brain. "Oh, really? That's all you were thinking about? Not, like, how much you miss me or how amazing I am? Just... the bag?"

She giggled, which sounded more like a hyena choking on a squeaky toy. "Well, duh. But also, you're amazing too, babe. So... about that bag?"

I sighed, glancing back at the wigga, who was now being poked by a curious bystander with a stick. "Listen, babe, I'm kind of in the middle of something. Can I call you back?"

"Ugh, fine," she huffed. "But don't forget about the bag!"

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, hanging up and shoving my phone back into my pocket.

By now, the crowd had grown even bigger, and someone had started a betting pool on whether the wigga was going to make it or not. I didn't have the heart to tell them he was already looking pretty dead.

His eyes were wide open, staring at the sky like he was trying to figure out why the universe had chosen him for this particular brand of chaos.

A paramedic finally showed up, pushing through the crowd with a stretcher. He took one look at the wigga, sighed, and pulled out a notepad. "Time of death... approximately whenever Truck-Chan decided to make him fly."

DING DONG CHING CHONG PING PONG!

Just as I was about to go get my coffee, my phone rang again. I pulled it out, and the screen lit up with:

{Wife Material 8}

"Oh... finally, someone I can talk to normally," I thought, feeling genuinely happy to get a call from this girlfriend of mine.

In short, she's very likable to talk to, doesn't make me spend millions every year, doesn't have high maintenance, and is really beautiful. Basically, she's the opposite of Gold Digger 69.

"Yes, baby?" I picked up the call, glancing at the crowd still making TikToks with the ugly-ass wigga dying in the background. Sigh... society.

"Ahh... Aster, look," Wife Material 8 started, her voice panicked and kind of worried, which made me a little uneasy.

"Did something happen?" I asked, already bracing myself for whatever chaos was about to unfold.

"Ehhh... no. But it's just that... I was here visiting my mentally ill brother," she continued, her tone shaky.

I raised an eyebrow. "Okay... and?"

"Well... somehow, he found out the password to my phone and saw some videos of the two of us. Then he ran away from the hospital yelling 'SISTERFUCKER!'"

I froze. My brain short-circuited for a solid three seconds as I processed what she just said. My eyes slowly drifted back to the wigga lying on the road, now surrounded by paramedics and TikTokers.

"Ahhh... that ugly-ass guy was your brother? Maybe? Hmm... lol."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Aster... what did you do?"

"Me? Nothing!" I said, trying to sound innocent. "I was just standing here, minding my own business, when this guy starts screaming 'SISTERFUCKER' at me like I stole his lunch money. Then Truck-Chan happened, and, well... you know how it goes."

"TRUCK-CHAN?!" she screeched, her voice hitting a pitch only dogs could hear. "Aster, tell me you're joking."

"I wish I was," I muttered, watching as the paramedics started zipping up a body bag. "But, uh... yeah. Your brother might've had a little... accident."

"Oh my God," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Is he...?"

"Yeah," I said, scratching the back of my head awkwardly. "He's, uh... not yelling 'sisterfucker' anymore, that's for sure."

As soon as I said that... everything went blank for me. I felt something really heavy fall on my head. Goddamn it.

....

When I opened my eyes, I found myself in the classic void I'd seen so many times in manga and manhwas. You know, the one with the endless darkness, the faint glow of nothingness, and the overwhelming sense of "what the hell just happened?"

I couldn't help but think, Am I the MC? The big wigga? The man of the universe?

Nah, that isn't possible, right? I mean, I'm just a guy who was trying to get coffee and ended up in the middle of a TikTok-worthy tragedy.

If I were the MC, my life would've been way cooler by now. Like, where's my epic backstory? My tragic past? My overpowered abilities?

But just as I was about to dismiss the idea, a golden scroll appeared in front of me, floating like it had been waiting for this moment its whole life. It unrolled itself dramatically, revealing bold, glowing text:

{Impregnation No Jutsu}

I blinked. Then I blinked again. Then I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Nope, still here. Still staring at a golden scroll that looked like it belonged in a bad fanfiction.

"What the actual hell?" I muttered, reaching out to touch the scroll. As soon as my fingers brushed against it, a wave of information flooded my brain.

Impregnation No Jutsu: A technique that allows the user to... uh... let's just say it involves creating life in the most unconventional way possible. Use it wisely... or don't. We're not your mom.