Chapter 1 – Isekai

Howdy, howdy. Look, we both know my name by now. I’m Alfred von Schmidt, same snazzy name, same illustrious role, different day. No need for introductions—let’s just skip to the good part, shall we?

As I mentioned before, my illustrious career involves greeting these hapless kids who tumble into our world from somewhere else. You know, the “Otherworlders” or “Isekai’d” folks who show up all starry-eyed and brimming with power like they’re about to single-handedly rewrite the hero’s journey. It’s become a steady gig for me. Just another day, another pair of overpowered brats popping in through a mystical rip in the fabric of reality.

Today is no different. Well, actually, maybe it is just a bit different. I’m scheduled—if you can call it that—to welcome not one, but two newcomers. That’s right, two. Double the trouble, double the fun. These teens are supposedly arriving from who-knows-where, with their fancy chosen-one backstories and secret cheat skills. My job? Greet them. Make them feel at home. Assess the risk that they might lose their marbles at a moment’s notice. You know, the usual.

I’ve got to set the stage properly. Teenagers love drama—give ’em some tear-jerking setup and they’ll fall right into your palms. Well, maybe not literally, but let’s just say if I can make them feel important and needed, they’re less likely to summon a dragon the first time someone steps on their toes. That’s the theory, anyway.

So, what kind of grand scenario should I cook up this time? In the olden days, I might’ve tried the “damsel in distress” act, but I don’t exactly have the bone structure to pull off a lost princess routine. I’m also not shaving my beard just to look younger and more “royal.” No, thank you.

Instead, I’ll try the classic “I’m just a poor, lost traveler” shtick. It’s a tried-and-true method: look helpless, pretend I’ve lost my way in the deep forest, maybe shed a fake tear or two—if I can manage it—and appeal to their heroic instincts. Teenagers with newly minted god powers love to feel like saviors, especially when saving a seemingly harmless local who can’t tie his shoelaces without divine intervention.

I can practically hear my future performance now: “Oh, good sirs and madams, I beg your pardon, but I appear to be hopelessly lost in these dreadful woods—could you kindly guide me to the nearest village?” They’ll eat it up. After all, I’m a charmer when I put my mind to it. If I could charm a rampaging berserker into taking a day off from city-smashing, I can charm a couple of green recruits who just fell out of the cosmic cradle.

Of course, this is all a delicate dance. The main point is to keep them stable. If they do go crazy—if their emotional Jenga tower comes tumbling down over some petty slight—I have to be prepared to kill them. Let’s not mince words here; it’s my job. It’s not pretty and it’s not fun, but when faced with a superpowered teenager who thinks razing villages is character development, I have to take out the trash. Or, at the very least, neutralize it.

But let’s not dwell on that scenario. Positive thinking, right? Maybe these two new arrivals will be well-adjusted individuals who understand that infinite power should be handled responsibly. Ha! And maybe I’ll sprout wings and dance a jig. Still, hope springs eternal.

Now, let’s set the scene. I’m standing in a little clearing by a crooked old tree. The area is calm and peaceful—birdsong, gentle breezes, sunlight filtering through the leaves, all that romantic stuff nature likes to show off. Perfect for a heroic entrance. I’ve got a prop walking stick I picked up, leaning on it like my ankles are made of sponge cake. My cloak is conveniently torn at the edges to give me that “I barely escaped a terrible incident” look. It’s all about the details, friend. The details sell the story.

I clear my throat. It’s nearly showtime. From my intel—which consists of cryptic rumors and a note from a nun who claims she can smell an Isekai arrival a mile away—these two are due any moment. Maybe they’ll pop in with a flash of light. Maybe a swirling portal. Maybe a puff of smoke. I’ve seen it all before. Once, a kid arrived riding a giant fish. Don’t ask.

I take a few steps around the clearing, practicing my lines under my breath. I try a couple of variations of “Oh, please help me!” and “I beg of thee, noble heroes!” before settling on something that doesn’t make me sound like a second-rate actor. I run a hand through my hair, ruffle it up a bit—gotta look disheveled. A steady persona of harmless confusion will do the trick.

“Alright, Alfred,” I murmur to myself, “showtime.” I stand at the ready, one hand on my walking stick, the other at my side, ready to clutch my chest dramatically at the first sign of their arrival. I imagine my face contorting into a mixture of relief and awe when I see them. Timing is everything.

Yet, as I stand there, waiting for my guests, I can’t help but let my mind wander. These isekai arrivals—why do they always come so young and so powerful? It’s like some divine being is picking them out of a hat, tossing cheat codes their way, and saying, “Go have fun, kid. Break something.” Maybe it’s a cosmic joke. Maybe the goddess of this world just loves the look of panic on my face when I realize I’m up against a pyromancer who can summon volcanoes because someone insulted their hairstyle.

Anyway, no time for brooding now. I shake my head, focusing on the moment. The wind picks up slightly, rustling the leaves. That’s often a sign. I take a deep breath. Anytime now…

◆　◇　◆

The world stills. I feel it, that subtle shift in the air. Like the universe just took a deep breath and is about to sneeze. I tighten my grip on the walking stick and adopt a suitably pitiful expression. If I had a mirror, I’d probably be proud of my handiwork—wide eyes, slightly quivering lip, hunched shoulders. It’s all very convincing.

Suddenly, a brilliant light appears, about ten paces in front of me. It’s a radiant, shimmering thing—like someone left a high-level spell on pause. I take a careful step back, holding a hand over my eyes as if I’ve just witnessed the sunrise for the first time. Inside, I’m dancing with glee. Perfect. Just perfect.

Then I hear it: a faint hum, the kind of noise that suggests magic is at work. The light intensifies, and for a moment I worry I might have to squint through the rest of this scene. But just as I’m about to mutter a complaint under my breath, the light dims, coalescing into a human shape.

This is it—the dramatic entrance of one of my new “friends.” I can barely contain my excitement. The hum fades, replaced by… silence. The figure stands there, still outlined in a soft glow that’s quickly dissipating. I move my eyes up and down, trying to gauge what I’m dealing with.

It looks like a teenage boy—typical. He’s got that dazed expression on his face, like he just woke up after a really long nap and can’t find his slippers. He’s dressed in strange clothes, not of this world—some kind of t-shirt and jeans combo, which is a dead giveaway he’s from elsewhere. His hair is messy, and he’s not holding any weapon that I can see. Not yet, anyway.

I resist the urge to sigh in relief. Unarmed is good. Unarmed might mean easy to handle. I begin my act, taking a shaky step forward, letting my walking stick slip a bit so it seems like I’m barely standing upright.

“O-Oh, kind stranger!” I say, voice trembling in a carefully rehearsed timbre. “Please, help me! I… I seem to have lost my way in these woods. Can you guide me to the nearest—”

I stop mid-sentence. Wait a minute. Something’s off. I was expecting two arrivals, remember? Two Isekai’d heroes, likely siblings or classmates or something with matching shiny foreheads and blinding optimism. But I only see one person here.

Is my information off? Did the second one get stuck in transit? Sometimes these spells can go awry. It’s not unheard of—maybe the other one will show up in the next minute or so. I glance around surreptitiously, pretending I’m just looking at the trees. Nothing. No second figure. No flashy entrance. No puff of smoke. Just one very confused teenager blinking at me.

Inside, I’m cursing up a storm. I spent all morning preparing for a duet, and now I’ve only got a solo act? That’s going to throw off my entire approach. Two isekai arrivals are easier to handle—you can play them off each other, use their personalities to create balance. With just one, I’m dealing with an unknown variable. Less opportunity for them to rely on each other and keep their emotional states in check. He might unravel faster than a cheaply made sweater.

Don’t panic, Alfred. Keep it cool. Maybe the other one is just running late. Could be stuck in some cosmic traffic jam, right?

I force a nervous smile and continue my performance. “Kind hero, I beg your pardon. I’m just a traveler who lost his way. Would you kindly… uhm… help me find shelter?” My voice trembles at the edges, the perfect image of a frightened local. The boy looks at me, bewildered. He opens his mouth, and for a moment I think I can see the gears turning in his head. He’s trying to piece together where he is and why some random hobo (that’s me) is begging him for guidance.

Still no sign of the second arrival. I steal another glance at the spot where the portal-like glow appeared. Nothing. Just an empty clearing. The birds have started chirping again, almost mockingly, as if to say, “Where’s your second hero, Alfred? Where’s the big grand entrance you wanted?”

This is going to make my life a whole lot harder. Managing one overpowered Otherworlder is doable, but I planned for two. I had a script. Well, not literally, but I had a mental script. Two distinct personalities to play off of, to distract and stabilize, to ensure neither got too crazy too fast. Now I might have to improvise, which is riskier. Improvisation often leads to messy outcomes.

I try to maintain my pitiful expression, but inside, I’m fuming. Maybe the second one is just fashionably late. Or maybe something went terribly wrong on their end. Not my fault, right? I can’t control interdimensional logistics.

The boy takes a cautious step toward me, probably about to say something—maybe introduce himself or ask me where we are. I brace myself to answer with some plausible half-truth. But as I do, I can’t help glancing around one last time. The grass is still, the air is calm, and there’s not a single sign that another isekai hero is on their way.

I swallow, letting my frustration simmer beneath my carefully crafted mask of helplessness. My mind races with contingency plans. If the other one doesn’t show up soon, I’ll have to figure out how to handle this single arrival. Alone, he might be more unpredictable. Or maybe he’ll be easier to manage. Hard to say.

Still, none of that changes the core fact: I was promised two, and I got one. I clear my throat, preparing to speak again, but I can’t shake the nagging feeling that something has gone horribly wrong.

I stare into the forest, expecting any second now to see another flash of light. Nothing. The boy tilts his head, probably confused by my silence. I can hardly blame him. He’s probably wondering if I’m a bandit, a lost villager, or maybe just a random weirdo in the woods.

I grit my teeth, forcing a smile and muttering under my breath so quietly that the newcomer can’t hear me:

“There’s only one, where’s the other?”