The bustling outer gates of Orario were alive with activity as the afternoon sun bathed the scene in a golden glow. Merchants shouted prices, adventurers exchanged tales, and common folk waited their turn to enter the labyrinthine city of heroes. Amid the crowd, a commotion broke out—a man lay sprawled on the ground, blood seeping from a gash on his forehead, unconscious.

A pair of Ganesha Familia guards, clad in polished armor adorned with their familia's emblem, rushed to the scene. The surrounding crowd murmured in confusion as the culprit, a scowling Level 1 adventurer, was swiftly restrained.

"He touched me!" the adventurer shouted, struggling against his captors. "Who gave a commoner the right to touch my armor?"

The guards ignored his protests, their faces stern. One knelt beside the injured man, carefully examining him.

"He's just a civilian," the guard muttered, glancing at a glowing crystal sphere on a stand nearby. The artifact, used to identify criminal histories, flickered faintly, confirming the man's clean record. "No crimes. Just bad luck."

"Take him in for treatment," the other guard ordered.

With efficiency born of routine, the Ganesha Familia guards carried the unconscious man inside Orario's towering walls. He was taken to a modest treatment station near the gates, where a healer began tending to his wounds.

The dim light of the treatment room flickered as the man stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing dark, confused eyes. He sat up abruptly, clutching his head as a sharp pain lanced through his skull.

Where am I?

He scanned the room—a plain wooden bench, a shelf stocked with potions, and a faint medicinal aroma wafting in the air. The unfamiliar setting made his heart race. He tried to stand but stumbled, steadying himself against the wall as memories crashed into his mind like a tidal wave.

His name was Mat—or was it? He recalled two lives. In this one, he was an orphan, constantly on the run from unknown pursuers after uncovering something important, though the details escaped him.

And then came the memories of his previous life.

A hospital room. Shouts. Gunfire. He remembered shielding his patients during a chaotic attack, the searing pain of bullets tearing into his body. His last memory was of blood pooling on the sterile white floor, the faint beeping of a monitor fading into silence.

I died… protecting them. That was supposed to be the end.

Mat slumped back onto the bench, his head in his hands, overwhelmed by the weight of two lives colliding. A quiet resolve settled over him as he steadied his breathing. I need to figure out what's happening. Panicking won't help.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. He looked up sharply to see a young woman stride into the room, her armored boots clicking against the stone floor. Her long, dark hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and her sharp eyes radiated authority.

Behind her stood another figure, a more familiar one—a member of the Ganesha Familia he'd seen earlier at the gates.

"You're awake," the woman said, her voice cool but curious.

Mat's breath caught in his throat. His mind raced as recognition dawned. The woman before him was unmistakably part of the Ganesha Familia. His pulse quickened further as he pieced things together, but he forced his expression to remain neutral.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Mat shook his head quickly. "N-no. Just… a bit disoriented."

She frowned but didn't press the issue. "Are you feeling well enough to answer some questions?"

He nodded cautiously.

The interrogation was brief but thorough.

"What happened to you at the gates?" she asked, her tone firm but not unkind.

Mat hesitated, his thoughts racing. I need to be careful. This world is dangerous.

"I... I slipped," he said finally, lowering his gaze. "I accidentally touched an adventurer's armor. He was angry and—well, he hit me. I fell and must've hit my head on a stone."

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the adventurer's actions. "Typical," she muttered under her breath before addressing him again. "You're lucky. Many wouldn't have survived a direct blow like that."

Mat offered a weak smile, unsure how to respond.

After a few more questions, she seemed satisfied. "You've been cleared to leave. But be careful next time. This city isn't kind to those who can't defend themselves."

He nodded, murmuring his thanks.

Back outside, Mat found himself wandering the crowded streets of Orario, clutching a small bag of provisions the guards had given him. The towering buildings and vibrant market stalls overwhelmed his senses. The air buzzed with the hum of conversations, the clinking of armor, and the faint melody of street performers.

As he walked, snippets of his past life resurfaced. His name, his profession as a doctor, and the sacrifices he'd made. Now, in this life, his name was Mat—just Mat. The enormity of his situation hit him like a thunderclap.

I'm in Orario. This is Danmachi… This world isn't just fiction anymore.

His steps faltered as the realization set in. The crowd swirled around him, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

Why me? And how?

Mat tightened his grip on the bag. No. I can't fall apart now. If this is my new life, I need to adapt. Find out why I'm here and what I'm supposed to do.

Lost in thought, he continued down the bustling streets, each step a tentative move toward an uncertain future.

---

Mat found himself at the edge of the large central fountain in Orario's bustling plaza. The sunlight reflected off the water's surface, casting shimmering patterns on his tired face. He sat hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, lost in thought. Around him, the lively chatter of adventurers, merchants, and common folk formed a vibrant backdrop, but his mind was far away.

The events of the day weighed heavily on him. He had spent the morning wandering the streets, asking questions to piece together where—and more importantly, when—he was in this unfamiliar world.

According to what he'd overheard and gathered, it had been a day since Bell Cranel, the plucky white-haired protagonist of this world, had miraculously defeated a rampaging minotaur as a mere Level 1. The tale was on everyone's lips—an underdog victory that had inspired awe and disbelief.

So, it's still Season 1, Mat thought grimly, recalling the timeline of events from the Danmachi series he had once read. The Loki Familia's expedition to the deeper floors of the dungeon was currently underway. That meant Orario was still in the relatively peaceful days before things would spiral into chaos.

He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "At least I have time," he murmured to himself.

Time, yes—but no money, no allies, and no clear path forward.

I can't rely on dumb luck. If I want to survive here, I need a way to earn money. Fast.

His stomach growled, breaking his train of thought. Hunger clawed at him, and Mat couldn't help but grimace. The taste of plain bread and watered-down soup he had earlier was a stark reminder of his limited resources.

Food costs money, shelter costs money, and gods help me if I need gear.

He leaned back, gazing at the fountain's spray. His mind raced through possibilities, and then a memory surfaced—a scene from the series where Hestia had worked at a food stall to support herself and Bell. The thought stirred something within him.

If even a goddess could work at a stall, why can't I?

Mat's lips curled into a faint smile. He suddenly remembered the potato croquette stand from the show—the one Hestia and Bell had frequented.

Potatoes... That's it.

He stood abruptly, a spark of determination lighting his weary features. "I need to find that stall."

After a bit of asking around, Mat arrived at a small food stall nestled in a corner of the bustling market. The stall's awning was tattered but colorful, and the smell of freshly fried food wafted through the air, teasing his empty stomach. Behind the counter stood the owner, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and her hair tied back in a kerchief. She was busy serving customers, her hands deftly moving between baskets of potatoes and bubbling oil.

Mat waited for the rush to die down before stepping forward. "Excuse me, ma'am," he began politely.

The woman glanced at him briefly, her expression neutral but wary. "What do you want, kid? If you're here for food, get in line."

"No, no," Mat said, shaking his head. "I'm here to ask if I can work for you. Just for a week."

The woman's brow furrowed as she leaned on the counter. "A week? Why only a week?"

Mat hesitated, trying to find the right words. "I... I'm new to Orario. I don't have any money, and I need to find a way to get back on my feet. I can help around the stall, clean, cook—whatever you need."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "And after a week? What then?"

"I'll move on," Mat said firmly. "I just need enough to get started."

The owner crossed her arms, unimpressed. "A lot of people are desperate, kid. What makes you think I should take a chance on you?"

Mat pursed his lips, thinking quickly. "Because I can bring you more customers. I have an idea that'll boost your sales."

Her eyebrow rose slightly, though skepticism remained. "Oh? And what would that be?"

"Potato chips," Mat said with a faint smile.

"Potato... chips?" she repeated, frowning.

"Yes. Thinly sliced potatoes, fried until crispy, and seasoned with a mix of spices. It's simple, but it's something new. I'm confident people will love it."

The woman didn't look convinced. "And what happens if it doesn't sell?"

Mat took a deep breath. "If it doesn't work, I'll compensate you for the ingredients I use. But if it does, you'll have something unique that no one else is selling."

She studied him for a long moment, then shrugged. "Fine. You've got one chance. If this 'potato chip' idea works, I'll let you work here for a week. If not, you'd better be ready to pay up."

Mat grinned. "Deal."

Mat wasted no time. The woman handed him a small batch of potatoes, and he got to work slicing them thinly with a sharp knife. His hands were steady, a skill honed from his previous life as a doctor. Once the slices were ready, he began preparing the oil, ensuring it was at the right temperature.

As the first batch sizzled in the pan, Mat rummaged through the stall's modest collection of spices. He mixed a few together, adding a pinch of salt and a dash of pepper, along with a hint of a local herb he thought might enhance the flavor.

The aroma was immediate and intoxicating. The sizzling potatoes released a rich, savory scent that wafted through the market, turning heads.

"What's that smell?" someone nearby murmured.

"Smells amazing," another voice chimed in.

Even the stall's owner, who had been watching skeptically, perked up. She leaned closer, her nose twitching as she inhaled deeply. "That's... not bad," she admitted grudgingly.

As Mat lifted the golden-brown chips from the oil and sprinkled his seasoning blend over them, a small crowd began to gather. Curious passersby, adventurers, and even a few gods strolling through the market stopped to investigate.

"What's he making?"

"Looks different from the usual fare."

Mat offered the first sample to the owner. She took a cautious bite, her eyes widening as the crisp texture and bold flavor hit her taste buds. "This... this is good," she said, sounding almost surprised.

"Can I try one?" a bystander asked eagerly.

"Me too!"

Before long, the stall was swarmed with people clamoring to try the new snack. Mat worked quickly, preparing batch after batch of chips, his movements efficient and precise. The buzz around the stall grew louder, drawing more attention from the market—and even a few gods passing by paused to investigate the source of the commotion.