Chapter 3 – Norisa

Alright, Alfred, get your head in the game. One of your adorable little Otherworlders has gone M.I.A., and you’re the poor sap who has to play cosmic detective. Honestly, some days I wonder if there’s a sign taped to my back that reads, “Will babysit transmigrated teens for free.” First, I get shortchanged on the promised duo of arrivals—only one hero shows up, all “Where’s my buddy?” and I had to send the kid off on a merry goose chase. Now, here I am, rummaging through my mental files trying to figure out what went wrong.

“Think, Alfred, think,” I mutter under my breath, pacing through the lush forest. Dappled sunlight flickers over mossy roots, and birdsong drifts lazily on the breeze. It would be picturesque if I wasn’t on the clock. The Church gave me the right location, didn’t they? I mean, I have my own complaints about the Church—they can be a bit preachy, and their rosaries clash with my fashion sense—but hey, they’re not actually evil. Yes, you heard me right: the Church in Eldoria is not some sinister, backstabbing, power-hungry cult pulling the strings behind every atrocity. Shocking, I know. Don’t faint.

A lot of Otherworlders seem to think they’ve landed in a world of painfully cliché narratives—where the Church is always the final boss or the big bad lurking beneath the cathedral’s pews. Guys, this isn’t some cheap paperback where everyone with a holy staff secretly wants to dominate the continent. The Church here mostly just wants to keep the peace, hand out blessings, and ensure you say “thank you” to the goddess after dinner. I mean, sure, they wear funny hats and chant cryptic hymns sometimes, but that’s about as suspicious as a birthday clown making balloon animals. Okay, scratch that, birthday clowns are terrifying. But my point stands: the Church doesn’t have a motive to screw me over. They have more pressing matters, like making sure some insane Otherworlder doesn’t try to sacrifice a village to summon a giant flaming hamster or something.

Still, I can’t shake this nagging doubt. Why is one of my Outlanders missing? I had the coordinates, the cosmic GPS, the whole shebang. The Church said, “Look, Alfred, they’ll show up right here.” And I said, “Got it, no problem. I’ll handle both of them.” Then—poof!—I get only one. It’s like ordering a two-for-one deal on legendary heroes and receiving a single confused teenager with separation anxiety.

“Damn,” I mutter, running a hand through my vibrant red hair. “I can’t believe I let one slip through my net.” The net, by the way, is metaphorical—I don’t actually run around with a giant butterfly net capturing Otherworlders. Although, now that I think about it, maybe I should.

I try not to get too lost in self-recrimination. I’m Alfred von Schmidt, the world’s most overqualified babysitter for interdimensional teens. I’m supposed to be good at this. Maybe the missing kid fell into a temporal pothole. Maybe they got teleported into someone’s basement and are currently befriending a clan of sentient rats. These things happen, right?

“Alfred, focus,” I remind myself. “You have resources. You have allies.” Not many, I’ll admit. My job involves a lot of secrecy and a kill switch for anyone who loses their marbles. Let’s just say I don’t host many dinner parties. But I do have some connections. People (or beings) I trust enough to help track down this lost Otherworlder before he turns into a rampaging nightmare or, worse, an emotional ticking time bomb.

This brings me to the idea of calling in… Norisa. Ugh. Just the thought of it makes me wince. Norisa is an Otherworlder who’s been here for four years, integrated so thoroughly into Eldorian society that he’s basically naturalized. Got his Eldorian citizenship card and everything—he probably even knows which fork to use for salad and which for dessert at royal banquets. He’s that acclimated.

Why does involving Norisa bother me so much? Let’s just say we have… history. And no, I’m not going into it right now. You know those long-running television shows where a dark, brooding antihero references a tragic backstory that never quite makes it into the main plot arc until season seven? Yeah, that’s me and Norisa. The director’s yelling in my ear that it’s not time for that reveal yet. Sorry, folks, this arc isn’t about me—at least not entirely. Maybe in a future volume, we’ll have a nice Alfred flashback chapter, complete with tearful confessions and haunting violin music. For now, just know that Norisa and I have crossed paths, and it wasn’t all sunshine and daisies.

But I need help, and Norisa’s actually pretty good at tracking down Otherworlders. He’s got a knack for sniffing out trouble—don’t ask me how, maybe he’s got a magic nose or something—and he’s become a reliable source of intel on the do’s and don’ts of post-isekai life. Rumor has it he’s helped the Church on a few occasions, guiding newly arrived heroes toward stable jobs, pastoral retreats, or at least taverns that won’t overcharge them just because they’re dressed funny.

I can already imagine the conversation:

Me: “Hey Norisa, old buddy, old pal, I need a hand.”

Norisa: “Oh, Alfred, I was wondering when you’d show your handsome face. Need another favor, I take it?”

Me: (gritting teeth) “Yes, indeed, my dear friend. A tiny one, really. Just help me track down a rogue Otherworlder so they don’t commit mass murder or form a cult that worships their high school crush.”

Norisa: “Oh, you mean another Tuesday in Eldoria? Sure, no problem.”

And I’ll smile like we’re best friends reunited. Inside, I’ll be screaming. But hey, I’m a professional. Professionals smile through the pain.

To be fair, Norisa’s not that bad. He’s just… well, let’s call him a bit too chill for my taste. You know that one person who adjusts perfectly to every situation and makes you feel like a neurotic mess by comparison? That’s Norisa. While I’m over here stressing out about cosmic anomalies and the emotional stability of teenagers with god-level fireballs, he’s probably sipping tea on his porch, humming a jaunty tune, and accepting life’s absurdities with a philosophical shrug.

He’s been in Eldoria for four years, and he hasn’t tried to burn down a single hamlet, destabilize the monarchy, or punch a priest for giving a slightly boring sermon. That’s a better track record than half the natives. He’s even earned a reputation as a go-to guy for Outlanders in trouble—someone who can translate the weirdness of this world and help them find their footing. If he wasn’t so annoyingly well-adjusted, I’d admire him more openly. As it is, I give him a polite nod and keep my deep respect hidden under layers of sarcastic remarks.

I kick a stray pebble and watch it skid across the ground, thinking about the missing Outlander. If that kid was unlucky, he might’ve landed in some unsavory place—bandits’ den, slave market, or even just a hollow log infested with oversized spiders. I shudder. Oversized spiders are no joke in Eldoria. There’s a reason I carry anti-arachnid talismans. And if he’s lucky? Maybe he’s just lost in the woods, singing lullabies to chipmunks and thinking he’s in some enchanted video game tutorial zone.

But I can’t bank on luck. Luck is what got me into this predicament. I was expecting two heroes, and the gods gave me one and a half (the half being the second who’s currently MIA). So I have to rely on skill, cunning, and yes, the assistance of someone I’d rather not call upon. Because if this missing kid snaps under pressure and goes full berserker, guess who has to clean up the mess? Yours truly. And I’m not looking forward to that. Cleaning up emotional or literal bloodstains is not how I want to spend my afternoon.

So it’s decided. I’ll swallow my pride, straighten my cloak, and march over to Norisa’s place. He lives nearby, of course—everyone who can help me conveniently lives in reachable proximity, praise be to narrative convenience. It won’t take long to get there. Just a short walk through these verdant hills, past a creek that burbles mockingly, as if to say, “Having trouble, Alfred? Maybe if you were nicer to your allies, you wouldn’t be stuck like this.”

The worst part is, I know Norisa will help. He’s too good of a guy to say no. He’ll probably greet me with a knowing smile, offer me a cup of some exotic herbal tea he’s grown fond of, and ask how I’ve been holding up. Ugh, I can practically feel the warm hospitality radiating from him already. It’s going to make me look like the grumpy jerk in comparison.

Not that I’m a jerk—just… professional. Focused. Maybe a bit high-strung. But when your day job is preventing hormonally unstable super-teens from plunging the world into darkness because their crush didn’t share their dessert, you’d be high-strung too.

As I trudge along, I try to console myself: This is for the greater good, Alfred. The world is counting on you. Besides, it’s not like I can put up missing posters with a smiling portrait of the Otherworlder and the caption “If found, please return to Alfred von Schmidt, Will Pay In Sarcasm.” No, I need Norisa’s help. He’ll know what to do. He always does.

I sigh, cursing the fates that led me here. If only the second hero had shown up on schedule. If only the Church had warned me about dimensional delays. If only Otherworlders came with a return receipt so I could march to the cosmic customer service desk and demand a refund. But that’s not how Eldoria works. We play the hand we’re dealt.

Norisa lives just around the bend, a small cottage nestled among flowering shrubs. From here, I can’t see it yet, but I know it’s close. I’ll have to put on my game face soon—smile, be polite, pretend I’m overjoyed at the reunion. Then I’ll drop the bomb: “Hey, Norisa, my friend, I need your help finding a lost Outlander before he triggers a cataclysmic meltdown. No big deal, right?”

Yes, that’ll go over swell.

I square my shoulders and prepare myself to engage in small talk and subtle pleas for assistance. If I have to compliment his gardening skills or chuckle at his terrible jokes, I will. Because at the end of the day, I can’t let some poor kid become the next headline: “Otherworlder Destroys Capital Over Unrequited Puppy Love.” Not on my watch.

And so, with a resigned sigh, I trudge onward. Norisa’s waiting, and as much as it pains me, I need him right now. If anyone can track down this missing hero before things get messy, it’s him. Let’s just hope I can get through this with my dignity intact—if I had any left to begin with.

Norisa lives nearby, so it’s easy for me to go there. Just wonderful. Here I go, off to beg for help from the one person whose calm serenity makes me feel like a neurotic drama queen. Perfect. Just perfect.