Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

I took a sip of the coffee, and the taste hit me like a slap to the face.

Bitter.

Awful.

Almost as bad as my life right now.

I couldn't help but shiver.

Stage four cancer.

The doctors said I only had days left.

Just days.

It was surreal, thinking that in such a short time, I'd be gone.

And honestly, I didn't know what to feel.

Scared? Relieved? Angry?

All of it mixed together like a storm I couldn't escape.

My family?

No I couldn't even call them that anymore.

Monsters, maybe.

They ditched me the moment the bills started piling up.

My treatment was too expensive for them, so they washed their hands of me.

Not a single call, not a word to check if I was okay.

They were probably glad to be rid of the problem.

I clenched my fists, the anger bubbling up, but it felt distant, like I was too tired to hold onto it.

Those damned bastards.

I pushed myself up from the chair and stepped outside the hospital.

The fresh air hit my face, but it didn't feel like it used to.

Everything seemed sharper, more real.

Maybe it was because I knew my time was running out.

The world felt like it was slipping through my fingers, and all I could do was watch.

I needed to take in as much of it as I could before I was gone.

The trees were alive with color, their leaves dancing in the breeze.

The sky was a brilliant blue, almost too perfect.

Kids ran past, full of energy, their laughter echoing in the air—hope and light shining from them.

It should've been beautiful.

But all I could do was squeeze the coffee cup tighter, the bitterness in my mouth matching the bitterness in my chest.

Rage built up inside me, and I couldn't keep it in anymore.

Why? Why did I have to be so unlucky? Why me?

Why did I have to die like this, with so much left I haven't done?

It wasn't fair.

I wanted to live.

I wanted more time.

I could't see the end of one piece.

I didn't shout it to anyone.

There was no one there to hear me.

But I couldn't stop myself from crying out, hoping that somehow, somewhere, someone might hear the desperation in my voice.

And then, out of nowhere, a scream pierced the air.

My head shot up, instinctively searching for the source.

What I saw made my blood run cold.

An emergency truck, swerving wildly, racing through the park, its tires screeching on the asphalt.

It was careening left and right, almost out of control.

The sight of it hurtled towards me faster than I could react, my heart skipping a beat.

 Maybe the driver was drunk, maybe they lost focus, but it was clear one thing: the truck was headed straight for me.

Panic clawed at my chest.

I shook my head, trying to reject the truth.

No, no... I wasn't going to die like this, not today. Not like this.

With all the strength I had left, I tried to push myself up from the ground.

But then, just as my body was about to respond, a wave of pain slammed into my skull.

A massive headache, like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my brain.

I gasped, clutching my head, my vision blurring, my body frozen in agony.

No way. This couldn't be happening.

Of all the times to get an headache.

Not now.

I forced my eyes open and looked up, but the world seemed to be moving in slow motion. The truck was still coming—faster now, like it was intent on finishing the job.

It wasn't stopping.

Of all the awful, unfair ways to die—this? To be hit by an emergency truck?

I couldn't believe it.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the tears mix with the cold sweat on my skin.

I fought to stay conscious, but the world around me was dimming.

I tried.

I really tried to live.

But this world, it seemed, hated me.

Maybe... maybe I'd get another shot in the next life.

Another life? Hell, probably.

Heaven? Nah, I wasn't that lucky.

I'd seen too much por... well, let's just say I wasn't exactly a saint.

It felt like an unnecessary thought, but what else was I supposed to think with death looming right in front of me?

I closed my eyes tightly, bracing for impact.

The truck was just a few feet away now, and I knew there was no escaping it.

And then—boom.

I was expecting pain.

The kind that would send me spiraling into darkness, but instead, there was nothing.

No searing agony, no crash of metal against bone.

It was... a relief.

I opened my eyes again, half-expecting to see my life flashing before my eyes or to feel the unbearable sting of death's embrace.

But nothing. Just... calm.

Then I heard a voice.

A deep, wise voice, like the kind of wizard you'd expect to guide a hero through an epic journey.

It sounded like Gandalf from Lord of the Rings, for crying out loud.

I would've preferred Optimus Prime.

At least then it would have been cool.

[You have been given a chance to start a life in another world as a goblin.]

[Do you accept?]

A goblin? Really? Why not a human, a hero, someone with powers and dignity?

I waited for a response, but nothing came.

Screw you, Gandalf.

But, I had to admit, the idea of being reincarnated, of having another shot at life, was a little tempting.

But... why goblin?

I mean, come on. Goblins were the punching bags in every fantasy story.

They were the nameless mobs that got slaughtered by heroes, the cannon fodder you ignored.

Easy kills.

The most basic, disposable enemies.

I thought about it for a second.

Just one second.

And then I made my decision.

If this was the way it was going to be—if I was going to get a second chance, no matter how crappy it seemed—then I'd take it.

Anything was better than nothing.

If goblins were considered weak, lame mobs, then I'd just have to be a cool goblin.

Maybe I could be the exception.

Who says I couldn't be more?

"I accept."