“Ahh, my head is killing me.”

I woke up, feeling a massive headache. It felt as if countless bells were ringing in my head, but the pain slowly started to subside. After a minute, the pain was almost gone.

I took notice of my surroundings—I was sitting in a car with my head on the steering wheel. There was blood on the steering wheel, and I touched my head, finding blood on it as well. Fortunately, I was no longer bleeding. Looking in front, I saw a tree against the car. It seemed I had been in an accident.

Getting out of the car, I surveyed the scene. Most of the car was off the road, surrounded by forest on both sides. Skid marks were visible on the road near the car. I had apparently lost control of the car and crashed into the tree.

But how was I in the driver’s seat? I remembered going for a walk—then how was I inside the crashed car in the middle of nowhere?

“Aah.”

The pain suddenly increased a bit as I remembered. I had been hit by a speeding truck while crossing the street during a red light. I should be in a hospital, not in a car able to walk around freely. After all, the truck hit me head-on; I should be dead. Yet, here I am, somehow alive in this strange situation.

I checked for any injuries. But other than my throbbing head, I could not feel any injuries in any other part of my body. Even the head injury feels more like due to banging my head on the steering wheel, and not banging my head on a speeding truck. I also didn’t feel pain in any other body part, reducing the chance of any internal injuries. Though, I will get a thorough checkup in a hospital later.

Even though it seemed unlikely, I entertained the thought that perhaps someone had pranked me. I checked my pockets for my phone, only to realize that my clothes were not mine. I don’t remember ever buying these clothes. I found a phone in one of the jeans pockets—an unfamiliar model. Despite it not being mine, I opened its lock with surprising familiarity, as if I had done so thousands of times before. Shrugging off the strangeness, I checked the call history—unfamiliar names filled the list. Then, I scrolled through the phonebook, but not a single name was recognizable to me.

I scrutinized the phone model again. I'd never heard of that phone company. Similarly, I examined the car, only to discover it belonged to a manufacturer I'd never heard of either.

Considering all the evidence before me, along with the unnerving ease with which I unlocked the phone as if it had already become muscle memory, I entertained the most unlikely but plausible possibility:

I died and I fcking reincarnated. Fck you truck-kun.

Oddly enough, I didn’t feel sad about it. There was no one I would miss, and no one who would miss me. I was an orphan in my previous life, just one of society's cogs, leading a mundane existence. Perhaps this new life would offer more excitement.

As if to affirm my hypothesis, my headache flared again, and memories—not mine, yet somehow mine—flooded into my mind.

The pain that had subsided suddenly returned, only to vanish again after a few seconds.

"So, your name was Drake Smith," I muttered to myself. Since it was my new life, I accepted this new identity. My old self died in the truck accident, along with my old name and identity.

Drake Smith, like me, was an orphan. The orphanage supported his schooling, but after graduating, he, too, had to bid farewell to its care. Despite his humble beginnings, he excelled academically and earned a small scholarship to a community college. Juggling multiple part-time jobs, he managed to complete his education.

With dreams of becoming a famous private investigator, Drake opened his agency. He envisioned solving high-profile cases for wealthy clients and amassing a fortune. However, reality proved harsher than his aspirations. In a bustling city filled with countless private investigators, gaining recognition was no easy feat. Most clients preferred established PIs with established reputations. As a newcomer, Drake struggled to attract clients.

For two years, he solved a mere five cases, all of which involved locating lost pets. These cases brought in little more than chump change. To make ends meet, Drake had to continue working part-time jobs, leading many to assume his main occupation was that of a pizza shop waiter.

But Drake's luck finally changed when he hit it big—though ironically, it was with a lottery win. On a whim, he purchased a ticket and struck gold, winning a staggering $200 million. After taxes, his bank account swelled by $135 million.

With this windfall, Drake decided to leave the bustling city behind and seek a fresh start in a small town. He believed that in a less competitive environment, he'd have better chances of landing lucrative cases. Unconcerned about the potentially smaller client base, he knew he could live comfortably with his newfound wealth. PI work would now be more of a pastime than a means of survival, though the prospect of fame still appealed to him.

After finalizing the purchase of a two-floor villa in Springwood town and tying up loose ends, Drake bid farewell to his agency and departed the city. Tragically, his journey was cut short by a fatal accident midway, claiming his life on the spot.

"Poor guy," I murmured. "Don’t worry, I'll take over for you. From now on, I am Drake Smith."

"I won't let your money rot in your bank account," I added with a smirk.

But I couldn't shake off my dissatisfaction with one glaring fact: protagonists in stories often reincarnate into thrilling worlds of cultivation, magic, or fantasy. So why was I reincarnated into a mundane world?

As I delved into my new memories, I discovered that while this world resembled my previous one, it wasn't a parallel dimension. It was vast, with a population exceeding 50 billion, and its countries were significantly larger. Even seemingly "small" towns like Springwood surpassed the size of some mid-sized cities from my previous life.

Despite my disappointment, I refused to dwell on it for long. After all, I was already grateful for the second chance at life I'd been given. Besides, I had no desire to confirm whether a third chance awaited me in a fantasy realm—I was content with what I had.

With my newfound wealth, I could fully embrace my new life. As a fan of anime, comics, and games, with a particular passion for mystery, I found myself drawn to the idea of becoming a private investigator.

"In this life, I will find joy," I declared with determination. "I'll carry on Drake's work as a private investigator, and who knows? Maybe I'll even become a renowned one."

A sudden alert interrupted my thoughts.

[Ding]

‘What the…’

[System Installation Complete]

[Welcome to the Private Investigator System]

‘fck?’

Then, like a surge of electricity, new information flooded my brain—a basic introduction to the system. It seemed that upon fully embracing my new identity, the system had been installed.

Its purpose was to help me become the best private investigator in the world.

Excitement coursed through me. Finally, something beyond the ordinary—though, of course, being reincarnated wasn't exactly normal to begin with.

What had initially been a mere interest transformed into a burning ambition. With the aid of the system, I had the opportunity to achieve worldwide recognition.

"Alright, let’s start with a modest goal: becoming a world-famous private investigator."

"System, show me my status."

[Name: Drake Smith

Title: None

Skills:

Investigation - Lv 5

Close-combat mastery - Lv 3

Light Firearms mastery - Lv 3]

The skill levels ranged from 0 to 100, with 0 indicating only superficial knowledge and 100 representing peak proficiency.

No wonder Drake had only landed cases involving missing pets. With a mere level 5 in Investigation, he was barely a rookie. His close-combat prowess likely stemmed from a few scuffles, while his proficiency with light firearms was probably the result of some basic shooting classes.

After reviewing my status, I closed the display and returned to the car. Thankfully, it started, albeit with some strange noises. I hoped it wouldn't break down before reaching town. Reversing the car, I maneuvered it back onto the road and set off toward Springwood, relying on my memory to guide me.

After the initial excitement of my reincarnation and the revelation of the system had faded, I found myself contemplating something crucial—something I should have considered earlier: how I died.

From my memories, I knew it was an accident, but the circumstances were peculiar. As the previous owner of my body drove the car, someone suddenly appeared in front of it. I initially dismissed the person as one of those individuals who, after failing to hitch a ride, would recklessly stand in front of any passing car to force it to stop.

But this person's sudden appearance startled Drake, causing him to swerve and lose control, ultimately crashing into a tree by the roadside. That individual should have been frightened and fled the scene, as technically, they were the catalyst for the accident. They likely didn't even bother to check if Drake was alive. Drake should have still been alive at that point; he likely succumbed to excessive blood loss. If that person had called an ambulance, Drake might have survived. If I ever encountered them in the future, they would undoubtedly face consequences—perhaps a few broken bones.

I also realized that the pain I experienced upon waking up was residual from the accident. The system had already healed my body before activation, leaving only a superficial wound on my head.

RING RING RING

As I drove, my phone began to ring incessantly. It was Tim from the packers and movers company I'd hired to handle my relocation.

"Mr. Drake, where are you? We've been waiting at your house for three hours; you should have arrived before us. I've called you multiple times."

I glanced at my phone and noticed 13 missed calls from Tim and 5 from Alicia, the lady from the property dealer company who facilitated the sale of my house. She would likely be there for the final handover.

I had seen these missed calls earlier, but lacking Drake's memories and context, I had dismissed them. Now, with his memories, I understood their significance.

"Sorry, Tim, but I was in an accident. I was unconscious for a while, but I've just regained consciousness and am on my way to town. I should arrive in about an hour."

"Mr. Drake, are you okay? You should have called for an ambulance or contacted me; I could have arranged one for you."

"Thank you, Tim, but I feel well enough to drive back myself. However, I'd appreciate it if I could stop by the hospital first to get patched up before heading to the house."

"Of course, take your time. We understand; I'll inform the team and Ms. Alicia."

"Thank you, Tim." With that, I ended the call.