He—Honjou Masayuki—was called the Chosen Hero.
The strange part was… he had never once claimed to be one. He had never raised his voice, declared some grand title, or sought power or fame. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, people who met him began calling him "Hero." That single word traveled like a spark in dry grass. And in less than a year, the name Masayuki was spoken throughout the Western Nations with awe and expectation.
How had this happened?
Even now, Masayuki couldn't understand it. That question haunted him every day—like a whisper behind his ear.
To understand this strange fate, we have to go back one year in time…
───
Masayuki was walking home from school with a few friends. The sun was setting, the street was filled with the kind of lazy energy that only comes at the end of a long school day. That was when he saw her.
A woman.
Not just any woman—a nordic beauty, with long, silky blue hair that shimmered like starlight and skin paler than the moon. Her beauty was sharp enough to pierce the world around her. Even from a distance, she was mesmerizing.
"Hey, check out that babe—" Masayuki said, his voice casual, like any high school boy would.
But no one answered.
"Oi, guys? You see her, right?"
He turned back. And his heart skipped a beat.
The familiar road behind him was gone. The street. The buildings. The world he knew. All of it had vanished—replaced by an unfamiliar stone-paved street under a foreign sky.
"—W-what the hell…?" Masayuki stammered, his voice trembling.
This… this has to be a dream. Right?
He looked around desperately, but there were no signs of his friends. No school. No Japan.
His breath quickened. His thoughts were screaming.
Sensei… somebody…
But there was no one to answer his call.
───
He found himself at a stone fountain in a quiet town square, sitting with both hands gripping his knees. The sky was already beginning to shift into twilight. His uniform stuck out like a foreign flag, drawing a few strange looks from passing merchants.
He tried to breathe. Think. Retrace the steps.
The blue-haired woman—she was strange. No one else saw her. Or… maybe no one could.
Something inside him whispered that she was the reason he ended up here. But she was gone now. No matter where he turned, she had vanished like mist.
Is this… isekai?
Masayuki let out a weak laugh at the thought. In stories, this kind of situation always came with someone—some mysterious girl or grand king—who explained everything to the protagonist. But no one came. No god. No guild receptionist. Not even a sarcastic fairy.
And worst of all, his stomach growled.
"…Great. I'm starving."
He rubbed his temples and muttered to himself.
But at least he wasn't in the middle of a forest or face-to-face with a monster. That was… something, right? Even so, he had no idea where he was.
If this was a light novel, he thought bitterly, there'd be a king waiting to welcome me. Someone would say 'You're the chosen one' and hand me a sword.
But this wasn't a story. This was cold reality.
No one came.
───
His name was Honjou Masayuki, sixteen years old, first-year student at a prestigious high school.
He had Russian blood on his mother's side, which gave him striking features—clear skin, sharp cheekbones, and golden hair he had dyed a slightly darker shade for style. His looks turned heads back in Japan. But now, here in this unknown world, they only made him look more like an outsider.
The crowd glanced at him cautiously. He could feel the weight of unfamiliar eyes. His uniform was odd. His manner of walking was odd. Everything about him screamed, not from here.
He clenched his fists. Calm down. Think. First… find food. Then, figure out what's going on.
The faint chatter of the town blurred around him. Masayuki inhaled deeply. Somewhere inside, beneath the panic, a stubborn ember of resolve lit up.
He didn't know it yet, but this was the moment that would spiral into something far greater.
While it was nothing significant, dying his hair blonde had made him stand out. As a result, he was quite popular in school. In truth, he wasn't remarkable in any way, but people nonetheless treated him differently.
In addition, Masayuki had some secret hobbies—watching anime and reading manga. He never really showed it at school, but in reality, he was a closet otaku. So, despite the bizarre predicament he found himself in, he wasn't as panicked as most people would be.
As Masayuki pondered, he checked the pockets of his uniform and rummaged through his backpack. There was a wallet in his pocket. Inside were one Yukichi-sama (a ten-thousand yen note), three Noguchi-san (three one-thousand yen notes), and some change.
As for his textbooks—he had stowed them away at school. All he had in his backpack now was the magazine he had just bought, his smartphone, and gum. Ironically, his decision to travel light had backfired.
Sigh. Had I known things would've turned out this way, I would've prepared a bit more…
Masayuki lamented. He had an apocalypse kit at home—something he had prepared just for fun. If he'd brought it, he could've lasted at least three days.
At the very least, I should've brought a Swiss army knife.
Although that thought didn't give him much comfort. What could he really do with a single knife?
All in all, he had nothing useful at hand. If anything, maybe the gum counted. He unwrapped a piece and put it in his mouth. At least it could ease the gnawing in his stomach. And just like that, the only "useful" thing he had was gone.
A truly pathetic situation.
Hours passed, and one thing became painfully clear—he couldn't understand a single word anyone said. The language of this world was nothing like his own. Even something as simple as begging for food would be difficult.
This is just way too much… I can't continue like this. Worst case, I can use my phone and backpack as bargaining chips for food.
Steeling himself, Masayuki stood up from the fountain. He didn't understand the laws or customs of this world, but the best course of action was clear: find a public place, a government building, anything. Somewhere he could seek help.
But before that, he had to find a way to eat.
Not being able to talk to anyone was like being stranded on a deserted island. If he didn't act fast, he'd starve to death. Water was easy enough to find, but food… that was a problem.
He didn't want to resort to desperate measures, but if he had to, he'd scavenge for leftovers. High-traffic places—grocery stores, restaurants—those were his best shot.
He cast away what little dignity he had left. Survival came first.
After walking a few minutes, Masayuki spotted what looked like a banquet hall. The scent of food wafted from inside, making his stomach twist painfully.
Now I just gotta negotiate with them. Maybe ask if I can work here… Ah crap, that's not gonna happen. I don't even know their language.
The language barrier loomed over him like a wall.
He'd read plenty of isekai stories. For some reason, protagonists always magically understood the local language. Only now did he realize how absurdly lucky that was.
I don't expect to be some overpowered hero, but seriously… at least spare me on the language.
No matter how much he complained in his head, no one would answer.
Mustering his courage, Masayuki reached for the door.
Before he could push it open, it suddenly swung out from the inside. A flood of chatter hit his ears like a wave.
"?!"
Startled, he stepped back. His chest brushed against something soft—a petite young woman stood there, her timid eyes locking onto his.
Eh? Don't tell me I've just gotten caught up in some trouble…?
No way, he thought. But his prediction, of course, came true.
"OxA…!"
The woman blurted out a string of sounds that were complete gibberish to him. But Masayuki forced a warm, friendly smile and nodded anyway. The woman blinked in surprise, then her cheeks flushed red. She stared at him, a little dazed.
It would've been nice if it ended there. But luck wasn't on his side.
A fierce-looking man stormed out right after her, his sharp gaze fixed on the woman as if ready to drag her away.
Agh… if I slip up, I might just be a goner…
Masayuki's heartbeat quickened. One wrong move, and he had no idea what would happen next.