Itsuki Hiroto had never imagined that a soul-crushing day at the office could culminate in interdimensional travel—but here he was, trapped in the body of a medieval warehouse clerk in a world where dragons and gods were as common in legends as overdue rent was in his former life. Unfortunately, destiny seemed to have a wicked sense of humor.
It all began on an otherwise typical morning in Glintveil Town. The modest warehouse, with its creaking wooden floors and stacks of crates bearing mysterious, ancient sigils, was meant to be a haven of mundanity. Here, Hiroto had resolved to live quietly, applying the same meticulous care to his inventory of enchanted tea leaves as he once did with quarterly reports back home. Now, armed with his newfound "Play Dead" skill—a strange ability that rendered him undetectable when immobile—he sought only to avoid trouble.
"Another day, another crate, another chance to be invisible," he murmured to himself, sliding behind a barrel in the dim light. His colleagues bustled about, oblivious to the fact that the quiet, unassuming clerk on the fringes was, in truth, a being of unmatchable strength—a fact he preferred to keep hidden.
The silence of the morning was abruptly shattered by a tremor—a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through the warehouse walls. Hiroto paused mid-arrangement of a stack of crates. His dry, deadpan eyes flickered toward the door as the tremors grew into a convulsive shaking. Before he could retreat further into his hiding place, an enormous shadow seeped into the light. The great green dragon, scales glistening and wings unfurled, had arrived over Glintveil Town.
Panic erupted outside as townsfolk spilled into the streets, fleeing with shrieks and disbelieving stares. The dragon's roar echoed off the buildings, mixing with the clatter of falling crates from the impact of its entrance. Hiroto sighed, wondering if he might catch a few minutes of solitude if the creature's rampage could be cut short. His instincts—refined through countless days of avoiding pointless office drama—suggested that this was an encounter best handled quickly and quietly.
Hiroto's plan had been as simple as his desire: hide. But fate, it seemed, did not appreciate his commitment to anonymity. As he observed from his safe haven behind a dusty shelving unit, the dragon's fiery gaze swept the town square. Its ambition, however, was thwarted by a sudden, inexplicable impulse: Hiroto, in his habitual nonchalance and with an almost reflexive motion to protect his cherished peace, rose from his hiding spot. In that fleeting moment of inadvertent alertness, his hand twitched, and a solitary punch—delivered with an effortless, almost bored precision—rocketed toward the beast.
A collective gasp rippled through the assembly of onlookers. The punch, infused with an absurd and unprecedented level of power, struck the dragon square in the snout. In an instant, the monstrous creature was sent spinning back into the sky, a cascade of fire and startled roars trailing in its wake. When the dust settled, the dragon had found its final resting place atop a distant hill—a lifeless heap where a fearsome terror once reigned.
Hiroto's internal monologue was as casual as ever: Well, that was inconvenient. He returned to his workbench as if nothing extraordinary had transpired—his thoughts already drifting back to the ease of reorganizing the shipment of enchanted tea. Yet, outside, the world's reaction was anything but mundane.
Within minutes, the warehouse doors were flung open. Townsfolk, wide-eyed and buzzing with excitement, stormed inside and out, clamoring to catch a glimpse of the so-called "hero." To them, his unintentional defiance of a dragon was nothing short of miraculous. The once-quiet warehouse had become the epicenter of jubilant chaos.
Local authority figures arrived almost as quickly as the rumors. Knights in polished armor and stern faces, along with a cadre of inquisitive noblemen, pressed forward with questions that ranged from reverence to righteous indignation. Among them was Lady Virelya Arkwright—an imposing noblewoman whose suspicious gaze lingered on Hiroto as she demanded explanations for the calamity that had befallen the beast.
"I—I was just in the warehouse, minding my own business," Hiroto stammered, each word measured and tinged with his trademark disinterest. "I prefer to be a background character. I was, uh, playing dead…" His explanation rang as hollow as the crates he diligently stacked moments before.
Lady Virelya's eyes narrowed, and the murmurs of the crowd morphed into a chorus of incredulous whispers. Clearly, no one would accept the quiet truth that a simple clerk had, by an act of unintended brilliance, altered the fate of the town. The sudden upsurge of adoration and confusion left him with a reputation too heavy to ignore—one that would quickly snowball into responsibilities he neither desired nor understood.
Before the day could settle into a semblance of peace, emissaries from the capital arrived at Glintveil Town. They bore the seal of the Holy Empire of Letrana and bore a mission: summon this "modest hero" to Solencia for an audience with the Emperor. As the crowd's fervor escalated, with some already crafting bizarre legends on the spot, Hiroto—now a reluctant celebrity—found himself cornered amidst a surge of conflicting duties.
In an ironic twist emblematic of his life in this absurd new realm, Hiroto's innate desire for solitude had unwittingly cast him as the center of a conflict he'd rather avoid. He shuffled through the throng, his internal exasperation mounting with every overzealous cheer. All he wanted was to return to the comforting monotony of inventory work, complete with the hum of fluorescent lights and the soothing clack of keyboards. Instead, destiny—sharp as his unintended punch—had other plans.
As he was gently but insistently escorted toward an awaiting carriage, Hiroto caught one last glimpse of the town—a mixture of awe and confusion painted across each face. Somewhere in that chaotic amalgam of fear and celebration, he realized, was the seed of a new legend: one born from the simplest desire to remain unseen.
And with that, the first chapter of his new life closed on a note of ironic finality. The reluctant hero, still barely believing the day's events, was now on a collision course with fate itself—a fate that would see him pulled inexorably from the background and thrust onto a stage he never auditioned for.