As the blinding light fades, I gain a clearer view of my surroundings: a spacious, enclosed chamber with stonewall, adorned with dimly lit torches. Beneath me, a large summoning circle pulses faintly.

Looking around, I realize I'm not the only one here. Around twenty mysterious individuals, dressed in black hooded cloaks, stand surrounding me, holding wooden staves and chanting mystical words I cannot understand.

I see…

So they are the ones who summoned me.

And I'm not the only one.

A sharp, trembling voice cuts through the chanting.

"Wh-where am I?"

The shrill panic turns my attention to a girl standing nearby, her ink-black ponytail swaying as she trembles. The Sakura High badge on her chest glimmers under the torchlight—a school mere blocks away from my old apartment. She clutches the hem of her sailor uniform, her knuckles bone-white from the force of her grip.

Two other newcomers stand beside her, equally bewildered.

The first, a boy with wild, spiky red hair, gapes at the chamber, his plain white T-shirt and furrowed brows giving him a rebellious air.

The second, shorter with messy black hair and sun-kissed skin, wears a pizza delivery uniform that looks utterly absurd in this ominous setting.

Both boys look to be around the same age as the girl, their expressions flickering between confusion and outright panic.

"What the heck!?" the red-haired boy blurts out, his voice cracking. "You must be kidding me… Is this real!?"

"Holy shit! I'm still alive!" The pizza delivery boy stammers, his hands darting across his torso in frantic self-examination, as if he expects to find some terrible injury. His face has drained of all color, pale as death.

Their reactions are perfectly understandable. To be wrenched from one world and thrown into another—an experience so jarring, so violently unnatural—would leave anyone reeling in horror.

But I am different.

Where they tremble, I am steady.

Where they shrink back, I surge forward.

My heart pounds in my chest, not with fear, but with an almost maddening exhilaration.

Because after endless searching, after clawing through every obstacle fate threw my way…

I've finally made it.

I've arrived.

A name, reverent and sacred, slips from my lips, barely audible over the fading echoes of the summoning.

"Anna…"

The sound lingers, charged with yearning. Her name—etched into the fabric of my being—is all that matters now.

————————————-

Twenty years ago, in 2065, Tokyo.

Akihabara—the beating heart of otaku culture- is a sprawling labyrinth of neon lights, maid cafés, and endless rows of shops selling everything from anime figurines to retro video games. That summer morning, the air hummed with the familiar symphony of bustling crowds, distant arcade jingles, and the cheerful calls of café hostesses. It was a paradise for dreamers, collectors, and wide-eyed tourists alike.

And on that day, I was one of them—a twenty-year-old Canadian exploring the district with my twelve-year-old sister, Anna. It was part of our long-awaited vacation, a time to make memories, to escape reality, and most importantly, to enjoy each other's company.

Anna was electric with excitement, dragging me from one shop to the next, her enthusiasm infectious. We jumped between arcades and themed cafés, her eyes lighting up at every discovery. We bought souvenirs, sampled bizarre snacks, and laughed until our stomachs hurt.

It was, without a doubt, one of the happiest days of my life.

But happiness, as I would soon learn, was fleeting.

On our way home, everything changed.

The familiar hum of Akihabara's streets faltered.

At first, it was subtle. Conversations dulled. The distant chime of arcade music faded into a murmur. The ever-present neon glow dimmed, as if a shadow had passed over the entire district.

Then, without warning, a violent gust of wind howled through the streets—unnatural, frigid, and razor-sharp.

I shivered.

"Huh? It's… cold?" I muttered, my breath escaping in a ghostly plume.

It was the middle of summer. The air had been thick with heat and the scent of grilled street food just moments ago. But now, the temperature had plummeted, the atmosphere thick with an unnatural chill.

And then— snowflakes.

Snow.

Falling softly, silently, against the backdrop of flickering neon.

Something was wrong.

Before I could process what was happening—

"JACK! HELP!!!"

Anna's scream ripped through the frozen air, sharp with terror.

My heart lurched.

I spun around—and my blood ran cold.

Beneath Anna's feet, a circle of glowing runes had materialized, its intricate symbols searing into the pavement. The radiant markings pulsed with a golden light so intense it burned into my vision.

A magic circle.

No. No, no, no.

"Anna! ANNAAA!"

I dropped everything and lunged toward her.

SLAM.

An invisible force crashed into me, hurling me backward as if I'd hit a steel wall. I barely caught myself before scrambling forward, my hands slamming against the unseen barrier.

No. This isn't happening.

I pressed against the barrier, my palms flat, fingers splayed—trapped on the other side.

"NOOO!" I roared, pounding my fists, raw desperation surging through my veins. "ANNAAAA!!!"

But the barrier held firm. Unyielding. Indifferent.

I kicked, punched, clawed at it—every fiber of my being screaming to break through, to get to her—but I couldn't.

I couldn't reach her.

The light around Anna grew brighter, the runes igniting in fiery tendrils that coiled around her like golden chains.

Her body shuddered, flickering like a glitching hologram.

Her lips moved, forming desperate, silent screams—words stolen by the magic that was consuming her.

Her terrified gaze locked onto mine, a final plea shining in her eyes.

And then—

A blinding flash.

An explosion of light and wind and silence.

And she was gone.

The summoning circle vanished, leaving behind nothing—no trace of magic, no proof of what had happened.

Just empty pavement.

Just silence.

Just… loss.

And as I stood there—alone—the streets of Akihabara returned to normal, the neon lights flickering back to life, the distant chime of arcade music resuming as if the world hadn't just shattered around me.

As if Anna had never existed at all.

——————————————-

As the final echoes of the ritual dissolve into the chamber's shadowy recesses, a deep, resonant creak shudders through the stone walls. The massive wooden doors at the far end groan open, revealing a procession of figures filing into the grand hall. Their measured steps are muffled against the cold, polished floor.

At the head of the procession strides an elderly king, his bearing regal, his presence commanding despite his age. Silver hair, long and flowing like a river of moonlight, cascades over his shoulders. His crimson robe, embroidered with intricate gold thread, shimmers faintly in the flickering torchlight. A crown of polished gold rests upon his brow.

Beside him glides a woman of striking beauty, her silver gown adorned with crystals and gemstones that catch the light, scattering it like shattered stars. A delicate tiara rests upon her head, marking her as royalty—though whether queen or princess, I cannot yet tell.

Behind them trails a diverse retinue: nobles draped in velvet cloaks, warriors clad in sturdy armor, knights in gleaming plate mail, and robed scholars clutching ancient tomes. Their attire is a vivid tapestry of medieval grandeur, as though plucked from the pages of a fantasy epic. Despite their numbers—more than a hundred strong—the chamber remains eerily silent, the air thick with an unspoken reverence.

Then, his gaze finds us.

The king's sharp, eagle-like eyes lock onto the four of us, standing in the center of the now-fading summoning circle. A faint, almost courteous smile touches his lips, yet it does nothing to soften the intensity of his stare.

He steps forward, his voice resonating through the chamber like the toll of a great bell.

"Welcome to Valeria, noble heroes."

The words hang in the air, heavy with both majesty and solemnity.

"You have been summoned to our world in its darkest hour, to stand as beacons of hope against the encroaching shadow that threatens to devour all. I am King Alaric Froste, sovereign ruler of this Holy Kingdom, and it is my solemn duty to beseech your aid."

A ripple of unease washes over me.

The language—neither Japanese, English, nor French—should have been alien, incomprehensible. Yet, as he speaks, the meaning flows into my mind with effortless clarity, as though the words have been etched directly into my soul.

The realization is both wondrous and deeply unsettling.

"E-Ermm… is… is this a mistake?" The high school girl beside me stammers, her voice quivering. She clutches the hem of her sailor uniform, her wide, uncertain eyes darting between the king and the assembled nobles. "I-I'm sorry, but I don't think we're 'noble heroes' at all… Eh? Wait—what language am I even speaking? Why does it feel like it's my mother tongue?"

I get it.

The whole instant fluency thing is throwing me off too. It's like someone flipped a switch in my brain, and now I'm suddenly bilingual in "Fantasy Kingdom."

Fascinating? Yes. Terrifying? A little.

"Eh, I think you've got the wrong people," the pizza delivery guy chimes in, gripping the strap of his uniform cap nervously. "We're not heroes or anything."

"Yeah, and even if we were, why should we help you? We didn't ask to come here. This is kidnapping!" the red-haired boy crosses his arm.

I stay silent.

But deep down, I agree with them.

Titles and crowns don't change the fact that we were stolen from our world.

Summoned. Taken. Kidnapped.

King Alaric takes a long breath, as though he expected our doubts.

"I understand your confusion and your fear. Please believe that bringing you here against your will was never our desire. Yet, our kingdom—our entire world—stands at the brink of catastrophe. An evil force looms, a calamity that threatens to consume everything. There was no mistake. You are the Chosen Heroes. Only you possess the power to save us from the Demon God."

A heavy silence follows.

"Eh? Chosen… heroes?" the high school girl whispers, her hands tightening around the hem of her sailor uniform.

"Demon… God?" echoes the red-haired boy, almost at the same time.

For a moment, no one else speaks.

The three kids stand frozen, their expressions shifting between disbelief and dawning horror. They're grappling with the impossible reality of their situation—ripped from their world, thrown into another, and burdened with a destiny they never asked for.

The faint smell of incense and burnt herbs lingers in the chamber, a stark reminder of the magic that brought us here. The flickering torches cast elongated shadows against the stone walls, their dim glow unable to dispel the suffocating weight of uncertainty.

Then—

"Wait!" the pizza delivery guy suddenly exclaims, snapping his fingers. "Guys, is this some kind of light novel situation? Like isekai stories in anime?"

At that, the schoolgirl perks up, her eyes widening with recognition.

"Ah, right! I've read tons of those!" she says, a small spark of excitement creeping into her voice. "They're all the rage nowadays—people from Earth getting summoned or reincarnated into a new world to become heroes!!!"

She's not wrong.

Isekai is a massive genre in anime and manga, with new titles cropping up every month. The word itself literally means "another world," a trope built on the fantasy of ordinary people transported to realms of magic, adventure, and destiny.

And I know the formula well.

But here's the problem.

Reality isn't a light novel.

Comparing our predicament to a mere story feels dangerously naive—as if simplifying the situation might make it less terrifying. Those fictional worlds are filled with convenient plot twists, magical "plot armor," and guaranteed happy endings.

But here?

Here, there are no "save points." No "respawns."

Here, monstrous enemies don't wait their turn to fight. War doesn't come with a background soundtrack. The smell of blood won't fade away after a page flip.

Fighting isn't just swinging a sword until an enemy disappears in pixels.

War is brutal, unforgiving, and soul-crushing. And these three kids—none of them have ever experienced violence, death, or the horror of taking a life.

They don't realize it yet, but if they go down this path, they will have to kill.

And once they do, they will never be the same.

That thought seems to dawn on the schoolgirl first.

Her earlier excitement falters.

"Ermmm… but… can we really do that?" she murmurs, voice small. "Save the world? I mean… I don't even know how to fight."

"Ah… yeah, you're right," the pizza guy mutters. "I can't even kill a chicken, let alone a monster…"

Their initial enthusiasm flickers out, replaced by creeping uncertainty.

The red-haired boy exhales sharply, rubbing a hand through his spiky hair before facing the king head-on.

"Your Majesty," he says, his tone sharper now, "don't you have warriors in your own world? Your own armies? Why do you need us? We're just teenagers. We've never even held a sword. How are we supposed to defeat this… Demon God?"

He's right.

Aside from me, the others are practically children. Compared to the knights flanking the king, they look like fragile twigs, completely unfit for battle.

The logic doesn't add up. Why summon ordinary kids to fight? Why not their own trained warriors? Why not their strongest mages?

Yet—

"Please, do not be concerned," the king insists.

He speaks with the ease of a man who has rehearsed these words a thousand times before, his confidence unshaken, absolute.

"We will provide you with all the training and support you require."

Then, he pauses.

His gaze sweeps over us, lingering just long enough to make us feel seen, yet not quite enough to reveal his own thoughts.

And then—his next words fall like a declaration.

"And you may not be aware, but your presence here is no coincidence.

Being chosen means you possess hidden talents—untapped power.

You are the legendary heroes.

You may not look strong now, but that will change.

Each of you has the potential to become the strongest warriors this world has ever seen."

A chill runs through me.

He believes it.

His expression, his voice… there's no sign of him lying.

This isn't just diplomatic flattery or desperate hope. It's conviction.

He is certain—absolutely certain—that we, a group of untrained civilians, are destined for greatness.

Why?

Perhaps, as he says, people from Earth really do hold some kind of special potential…?

But conviction alone doesn't make something true.

A strange unease coils in my gut.

Something about this feels off.

His words…

They're carefully chosen.

Too careful.

As if there's something he's not telling us.

"Wait!" the pizza delivery guy suddenly blurts out, his excitement bubbling over. "By hidden powers, do you mean something like cheat skills and special abilities? Or maybe—maybe there's a hidden system or something!?"

His eyes practically sparkle, his earlier fear momentarily forgotten.

I see where he's coming from. In most isekai stories, the protagonist always gets a ridiculous cheat ability—something absolutely broken like gaining power from breathing, stealing other people's skills, or erasing enemies with a single thought.

If something like that exists here…

Then everything changes.

This wouldn't be a death sentence.

It would be an opportunity.

But the king's brow furrows, his expression genuinely puzzled.

"Cheat skills…?" he repeats, as though tasting the unfamiliar words. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with your terminology."

The pizza guy hesitates before quickly rewording his question.

"Ah, I mean… are you saying we have some kind of innate abilities, something that makes us far stronger than normal people?"

The king's face clears with understanding, and he nods.

"Yes, something like that. What you call 'cheat skills,' we refer to as 'blood talents.' These are the hidden potential within you—gifts embedded in your very being. Each of you possesses a unique talent, one that will allow your strength to grow exponentially—ten times, a hundred times faster than that of an ordinary individual."

Then, with a gesture as grand as his words, he adds:

"If you wish, we can awaken those talents for you right now."

The pizza guy's hand shoots up instantly, his voice a mixture of eagerness and desperation.

"Yes, please!"

But before anything happens—

"Wait."

My voice cuts through the room, sharp and unwavering.

The king turns his gaze toward me, as do the others.

I fold my arms.

"But what if we don't want to do any of that?" I interject. "What if we just want to go home? Is there a way to return?"

A heavy silence follows.

The others flinch slightly at the question, as if the thought hadn't even occurred to them until now.

For a moment, the king simply studies me.

Then, without so much as a pause, he nods.

"Absolutely."

His response is so immediate that I almost think I misheard.

"We fully understand the enormity of what we're asking," he continues smoothly, his voice woven with reassurance. "Battling demons and even gods is no small burden. Rest assured, we will provide you with every resource, privilege, and support to ease your journey."

Then, his golden eyes bore into mine, unwavering.

"However, if you decide that is not enough, we can reverse the summoning spell at any time and send you back."

A beat of silence follows.

Then—

"Oh, that's a relief!" The schoolgirl sighs, clutching her chest. "Honestly, I was scared there for a second."

"Same!" the red-haired boy exhales, his shoulders relaxing.

The king smiles gently, as though pleased by their relief.

And then, he makes his final move—

He lays out the rewards.

Titles. Power. Wealth. Prestige.

Noble status. Vast territories. Castles. Personal armies. The finest foods, clothing, and luxuries one could ever dream of.

A life far beyond anything Earth could offer.

A future where they wouldn't just survive… but rule.

It doesn't take long.

Their doubts crumble.

The teenage girl agrees first. Then the red-haired boy follows, nodding hesitantly at first, but with growing resolve.

The pizza guy, of course, is already sold.

As for me?

Of course, I'm staying.

I didn't come here for riches or glory. I came here for her.

I came here to find Anna.

But returning home?

The king's promise to "send us back" whenever we wish?

That is nothing but complete bullshit.