Chapter 0 – Prologue

Ah, names. Let’s get that out of the way—I’m Alfred von Schmidt. Sounds fancy, right? Trust me, the name’s the fanciest thing about me. In reality, I’m more like the universe’s janitor, cleaning up the cosmic vomit when some higher power has one too many existential cocktails.

Eldoria—that’s my charming little world—is currently experiencing an “Otherworlder” infestation. These kids call it “isekai,” which I think is foreign for “I’m the main character now.” They’re mostly 15-year-olds who stumble into our realm, armed with god-like powers and the emotional maturity of a teaspoon.

Imagine being 28, like me, and having to play babysitter to a bunch of overpowered teenagers who think they’re destined to save—or destroy—the world because someone swiped left on them. Yeah, it’s as fun as it sounds.

These Otherworlders get summoned here by all sorts—churches looking for a miracle, shady cults rolling the dice, or sometimes they just trip over their own egos and fall through a portal. The local goddess seems to have a soft spot for them. Don’t ask me why; maybe she enjoys the drama.

But here’s the kicker: give a hormonal teenager unlimited power, and they tend to go off the rails. Their childhood friend doesn’t return their undying love? Time to unleash a berserker rage that levels half a city. The tavern is out of their favorite ale? Cue the dark vengeance arc.

That’s where I come in—the cosmic garbage man, the drool wiper of the divine toddler throwing a tantrum. I infiltrate their little adventuring parties, laugh at their jokes, pretend to be impressed when they one-shot a goblin, and keep an eye out for any signs they’re about to flip the world’s table.

And when they do decide to embrace their inner villain? Well, let’s just say I take out the trash.

Recently, the job’s been getting trickier. The church started calling me in for the “special cases”—the ones too strong for the regular clean-up crew. So now I have to put on a whole song and dance, crafting elaborate scripts to get close to them. It’s like being in a play where everyone’s improvising except me.

But hey, someone’s got to do it. Might as well be the guy who’s already sold his soul for a decent night’s sleep and a stiff drink. So here’s to another day of saving the world from teenagers who think they’re gods. Cheers.