The boy lay broken in a narrow alley. His limbs were twisted at angles they shouldn't be. Blood soaked into the cracked concrete beneath him. His name was Knight Muetsukashi. Sixteen. Shut-in for most of his life. Now, nearly a corpse.
His father was abroad for work and never visited. His mother died by suicide when he was thirteen. Since then, it had just been him and his sister.
It would probably be better for her now that he was gone.
He'd been attacked by some men. Criminals. They had killed someone earlier and didn't want witnesses. That was all there was to it.
He didn't scream. He didn't fight. His body shut down slowly while his mind drifted. He wasn't surprised. It just seemed like something that was bound to happen.
One name floated to the surface of his thoughts.
Suzumi.
His one and only younger sister. The only person who'd treated him like a human being. The only one who cared about him.
Would she find out? Would anyone tell her?
His breathing slowed. His vision dimmed.
Then, pain.
Not the numb, dull kind he was used to. It was sharp. Like something was carving him from the inside. Fire in his veins. Pressure in his chest. His soul—if that's what it was—felt like it was being pulled in half.
Then it stopped.
Knight gasped and sat up.
Cold air rushed into his lungs. His heart pounded. His clothes were still bloody, but his body wasn't injured anymore. He was sweating. His limbs ached. He wiped his face and looked around.
Still an alley, but not the same one.
The walls were stone, not brick. The air smelled damp and earthy. Something sharp in it—spices?
He stood up slowly and walked to the edge of the alley. Just before reaching the light, he stopped. There was a pile of junk next to the wall. Rags, crates, some broken tools. Something metal caught his eye.
Knight crouched and pulled out an old helmet. Rusty, but intact. Beside it, a cracked sword. No armor, just some mismatched pieces that were too busted to be useful.
He grabbed the sword first. It was heavy, not in a fantasy way—just physically heavy. Not balanced, not elegant. But usable.
The helmet came next. It was a little too big, but it covered his head and face. That felt like enough.
He didn't bother with the armor.
The boots from earlier weren't a perfect fit, but he kept them on. Better than walking barefoot.
Sword at his side, helmet under his arm, Knight stepped out into the street.
Then he stopped.
The town wasn't normal. It wasn't Earth.
There were people with tails and ears walking past fruit stalls. A woman with horns was arguing over the price of a spear. The signs above the buildings were written in letters he couldn't read.
Knight stared.
He rubbed his eyes.
Still there.
He stood still for a while. Then, without thinking much about it, raised his hands.
"I got isekai'd," he said.
A few people turned. One person looked confused. He didn't care.
He looked around. No UI popped up. No game system. No voice in his head.
He muttered a few random chants under his breath just to check.
Nothing.
Then his stomach growled.
"…Food."
He checked his pockets. Empty. No money. No ID. Not even lint.
That meant work.
He looked down at himself—worn boots, beat-up helmet, and a chipped sword hanging at his side.
He couldn't build things. Couldn't talk to people. Couldn't cook.
That narrowed it down.
Manual labor, or adventuring.
Labor sounded miserable. Adventuring sounded dangerous.
But in a world like this, dangerous probably paid better.
He turned and started walking toward wherever the adventurers were supposed to be.
"Guess I'm becoming an adventurer."
It'd be his first job.
Might as well start somewhere.
His breathing slowed. His vision dimmed.
Then, pain.
Not the numb, dull kind he was used to. It was sharp. Like something was carving him from the inside. Fire in his veins. Pressure in his chest. His soul—if that's what it was—felt like it was being pulled in half.
Then it stopped.
Knight gasped and sat up.
Cold air rushed into his lungs. His heart pounded. His clothes were still bloody, but his body wasn't injured anymore. He was sweating. His limbs ached. He wiped his face and looked around.
Still an alley, but not the same one.
The walls were stone, not brick. The air smelled damp and earthy. Something sharp in it—spices?
He stood up slowly and walked to the edge of the alley. Just before reaching the light, he stopped. There was a pile of junk next to the wall. Rags, crates, some broken tools. Something metal caught his eye.
Knight crouched and pulled out an old helmet. Rusty, but intact. Beside it, a cracked sword. No armor, just some mismatched pieces that were too busted to be useful.
He grabbed the sword first. It was heavy, not in a fantasy way—just physically heavy. Not balanced, not elegant. But usable.
The helmet came next. It was a little too big, but it covered his head and face. That felt like enough.
He didn't bother with the armor.
The boots from earlier weren't a perfect fit, but he kept them on. Better than walking barefoot.
Sword at his side, helmet under his arm, Knight stepped out into the street.
Then he stopped.
What he saw was something straight out of a video game or a fairytale. The town wasn't normal. It wasn't Earth.
There were people with tails and ears walking past fruit stalls. A woman with horns was arguing over the price of a spear. The signs above the buildings were written in letters he couldn't read.
Knight stared.
He rubbed his eyes.
Still there.
He stood still for a while. Then, without thinking much about it, he raised his hands.
"I got isekai'd," he quietly said
A few people turned. One person looked confused. He didn't care.
He looked around. No UI popped up. No game system. No voice in his head.
He muttered a few random chants under his breath just to check.
Nothing.
It was a lot to take in.
Then his stomach growled.
"…Food."
He checked his pockets. Empty. No money. No ID. Not even lint.
That meant work.
He looked down at himself worn boots, beat-up helmet, and a chipped sword hanging at his side.
He couldn't build things. Couldn't talk to people well. Couldn't cook anything other than instant ramen.
That narrowed it down.
Manual labor, or adventuring.
Labor sounded miserable. Adventuring sounded dangerous.
But in a world like this, dangerous jobs probably paid better and would be more fun.
He turned and started walking toward wherever the adventurers were supposed to be.
"Guess I'm becoming an adventurer."
It'd be his first job.
Might as well start somewhere.