I was sunk deep in the softest sleep of my life, the Hkou Inn's bed cradling me like a cheat-code power nap, when a sharp knock-knock jolted me from dreamland. I groaned, burrowing deeper into the blanket—five more minutes, universe, please—but the knocking didn't quit.
It grew louder, more insistent, a relentless tap-tap-tap that drilled into my skull. Who the hell's banging on my door at this hour? I thought, my brain still half-fogged with sleep. Grumbling, I hauled myself up, hair a wild mess of bedhead spikes, and shuffled to the door, rubbing crust from my eyes.
"Who is it?!" I barked, yanking the door open with all the grace of a zombie respawn. Masamato stood there, his obsidian armor glinting faintly in the hallway's dim light, looking annoyingly awake.
"Sorry," he said, tilting his head with a sheepish half-smile. "Is this a bad time?"
My face flushed hot—caught mid-snooze by the cool leader guy, great start, Kozuki—and I waved my hands frantically. "No, no, it's fine! Uh, so why're you here?" Wait, dumbass—he said he'd come back tomorrow. That's today. Congrats on the galaxy-brain question.
"I'm taking you to meet the Guild Master," he said, his golden eyes steady. "You remember, right? To teach you some sword skills."
"Of course I remember!" I blurted, flustered again, my voice cracking like a newbie VA. Smooth, real smooth. "Uh, wait a sec—I'll pack my stuff."
"Alright," he nodded. "I'll wait downstairs."
"Cool, I'll be down fast as the Flash!" I shot back, cringing internally at the cheesy line. He flashed me a warm smile—damn, he's got that protagonist charm on lock—and turned, his boots thudding softly as he headed down the stairs. I watched him go, then shut the door with a soft click.
Goddamn it, I thought, slumping against the frame. I just wanted to sleep more—isekai jetlag's no joke. But duty calls, I guess. Time to gear up. I grabbed the Sword of Absolute Death from the table, its blood-red gem winking like it was judging me, and slung it over my wrist—the weight awkward but kinda cool, like equipping a legendary item. The sack of gold coins went into my pocket, clinking with every move, and I scooped up Kuilan's and Marco's maps, their parchment edges crinkling in my hands. Was gonna study these today—dungeon routes, kingdom lore, the works. Eh, later. I gave the room a quick once-over—bed mussed, lantern dim, table bare now. Every isekai MC kicks off from an inn, right? Classic trope, check. With a shrug, I stepped out, locking the door behind me, and trudged downstairs.
The Hkou Inn's main room greeted me with the soft bustle of morning, a far cry from last night's eerie hush. Sunlight streamed through the rippled windows, spilling golden patches across the worn wooden floor, chasing away the shadows that'd clung to the corners. The air buzzed with a warm, lively hum—less tense than yesterday's gritty twilight vibe, more like a cozy hub waking up. The hearth crackled low, its embers glowing faintly, sending up thin curls of woodsmoke that mingled with the rich scent of sizzling fat and fresh bread wafting from a back kitchen. The aroma hit me hard—breakfast buffs incoming—and my stomach growled despite itself.
The crowd was sparse but varied, a morning shift of faces swapping out the night crew. The three leather-clad adventurers from yesterday were back, huddled at their usual table, tankards swapped for chipped mugs of steaming brew. One, the grizzled loudmouth, laughed mid-story, his voice a rough bark, while his buddies nodded, bleary-eyed but grinning, their armor scuffed from whatever they'd tangled with last night. The bartender stood at his post, that same graying grump, polishing a glass with his ancient rag—seriously, is that his class skill? Glass Polisher, level 99?—his hands moving in slow, hypnotic circles, the squeak of cloth on glass a steady beat beneath the chatter. New faces dotted the room: a wiry woman in a travel cloak nibbled at a crust of bread near the bar, her pack slung over a chair; a burly guy with a smith's apron shoveled stew from a bowl, his spoon clinking loudly; and a hooded figure lingered by the door, sipping something dark, their eyes darting like they were casing the joint. Guess this doubles as a restaurant—makes sense, every inn's a multi-purpose hub in these worlds.
I spotted Masamato at a small table near the hearth, his dark armor a stark contrast to the worn oak. He waved me over, and I plopped into the seat across from him, the chair creaking under me. "Finished already?" he asked, eyebrow quirking.
"Well, I don't have much stuff anyway," I said, dropping the two maps onto the table with a soft thud. His gaze flicked to them, sharpening with interest.
"Are those maps?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.
"Uh, yeah," I nodded, scratching my neck."So which one'd you pick?"
"What do you mean?" I blinked, brain still half-asleep.
"There's Kuilan, Marco, and Case who drew the maps," he explained, like it was obvious.
"Oh, right—got it. I snagged Kuilan's and Marco's," I said, tapping the rolls.
"Good choice," he said, a faint approval in his tone. "By the way, you haven't had breakfast yet, right?"
"Uh, nope," I admitted, my stomach rumbling on cue.
"Well, let's eat now," he said, gesturing to the table.
"Thanks," I blurted, then cursed internally. Dammit, Kozuki—should've played it cool, acted reluctant! Too late now.
Just then, a tray clattered down in front of us—two plates, each with a fluffy omelet, golden and steaming, flecked with herbs. A wiry server in a stained apron scurried off before I could blink.
"When'd you order this?" I asked, staring at Masamato as he dug into his with a fork.
"When you were upstairs," he said casually, slicing through the egg like it was nothing. Wait, what? I thought, gaping at the food. So even if I'd said no, this was already locked and loaded? Sneaky bastard. I grabbed my fork, eyeing the omelet—simple, no fancy garnishes, just honest egg.
"What's this made from?" I asked, poking it.
"Chicken," Masamato said, mid-bite.
"What, you think it's something else?" he added, smirking.
"No, 'course not," I shot back, blunt as a dull blade, and shoveled a bite in. The taste hit—decent, warm, a little salty, but flat compared to the Bromùët's gold-tier feast yesterday. Maybe my palate's spoiled now, I thought, chewing.
Mom's omelets flashed in my mind—light, fluffy, packed with love and secret spices, the kind that'd dominate any fantasy food stall. Man, she'd crush it here. Wonder what she's up to back home…
"Is it good?" Masamato asked, his plate already clean—damn, he's fast.
"Well, it's not bad," I said, still working through mine, fork scraping the plate. Average, but it'll do—gotta fuel up for sword lessons anyway.
I shoveled the last bite of omelet into my mouth, the taste still hovering at "meh" compared to Mom's, and leaned back with a satisfied grunt.
"Let's go," I said, wiping my hands on my pants.
"Alright," Masamato replied, fishing two copper coins from his pouch and dropping them onto the table with a soft clink. He rose, his obsidian armor catching the morning light filtering through the Hkou's windows, and I scrambled to grab my maps—Kuilan's and Marco's, crinkling under my fingers—before trailing him out.
We stepped into Solva's morning bustle, the inn's door groaning shut behind us. A horse-drawn cart waited curbside, its wood weathered but sturdy, the horse snorting as Masamato climbed aboard.
"Hop on," he said, taking the reins. I clambered up beside him, clutching my maps and the Sword of Absolute Death, its weight still weirdly reassuring on my wrist.
"You ready?" he asked, glancing my way with a half-smile.
"Hell yeah," I said, trying to sound cooler than I felt. Swordsmanship lessons, here I come—hope I don't trip over my own feet.
"Then let's roll." He flicked the reins, and the cart lurched forward, wheels rattling over Solva's cobblestones.
The streets of Solva thrummed with life, a vibrant pulse under the morning sun. Vendors hawked steaming buns and polished trinkets from stalls, their shouts mingling with the clop of hooves and chatter of passersby—merchants in bright cloaks, kids darting through gaps, a guard or two scanning the crowd. Stone buildings loomed on either side, their facades a mix of weathered gray and painted plaster, banners flapping in the breeze. The air carried a lively tang of fresh bread, horse dung, and river mist, the city awake and unapologetic. I leaned back, gripping the cart's edge as we wove through the flow. Can't believe I'm about to learn swordsmanship, I thought, a grin creeping up. Like, actual anime-style blade work. Please, laziness, don't screw me over. My mind raced—What's the Guild Master like? Grizzled sensei? Buff shonen mentor? Hope he's not a total hardass.
"Yo, where's Lance and the others?" I asked, turning to Masamato. He kept his eyes on the road, guiding the horse around a fruit cart.
"No missions today, so they're off—Lance is probably shopping, Suzuki's at home, Gild… who knows, maybe sharpening his axe again."
"Cool, cool," I nodded.
"So, uh, what's the Guild Master like?"
Masamato chuckled, low and warm. "He's strict with students—runs a tight ship. But don't worry, he's not out to break you."
"Does he, like, beat them?" I asked, half-joking, my high school teacher's scolding flashing back—two marks on that English test, Kozuki, pathetic!
"Nah, nothing like that," Masamato said, shooting me a reassuring look.
"He's tough on the outside—big guy, all scars and glares—but softer than you'd think. Got a heart under all that steel." He continued
"I sure hope so," I muttered under my breath, picturing a hulking drill sergeant with a secret teddy-bear side.
"What?" he asked, eyebrow quirking.
"Nothing!" I chirped, faking a grin as the cart rattled on.
Solva's streets stayed relentless—busy as yesterday, a chaotic symphony of life that hadn't dimmed since I'd first stumbled in. I clutched my maps tighter, hyped but nervous, the guild drawing closer with every turn.
After what felt like a small eternity, the cart slowed, halting before a familiar sight—the guild hall, its stone façade towering over us like a raid boss's castle. I groaned inwardly, staring up at the long staircase snaking to the entrance. Not these again. What is it with this world and stairs? Daily cardio from hell if I enroll?
"What're you waiting for? Let's move," Masamato said, clapping me on the back with a firm hand that nearly sent me sprawling. He started up the steps, and I trudged behind, legs already whining. Stairs, my eternal nemesis—even isekai can't save me. It felt like eons, each step a mini-boss, but we finally hit the top, the guild's double doors looming.
Masamato pushed them open with a grunt, and a wave of noise and warmth hit me like a critical hit. The guild hall's atmosphere was a living beast—lively, chaotic, everything I'd glimpsed yesterday cranked to eleven. The vast chamber sprawled before us, its high ceiling vaulted with dark beams that arched like ribs, strung with banners bearing crests—swords, shields, mythical beasts faded but proud. Sunlight poured through tall, arched windows, their stained glass casting kaleidoscopic flecks across the stone floor, polished smooth by years of boots yet scarred with faint scratches from dropped blades or rowdy brawls. The air thrummed with energy, thick with the mingled scents of sweat, oiled leather, and the sharp tang of ale spilling from overturned mugs. Lanterns hung from iron hooks, unlit in the daylight but swaying gently, their chains clinking above the din.
Tables dotted the hall, packed with adventurers in every flavor—scarred veterans in dented plate, rogues in sleek cloaks, mages clutching staves that hummed faintly with arcane buzz. At one, a burly man with a braided beard roared with laughter, slamming a tankard down as he recounted slaying a wyrm, his mates cheering, their chainmail clinking like applause. Nearby, a lithe woman with twin daggers strapped to her thighs haggled with a nervous recruit, her voice sharp as she laid out terms—"No splits unless you pull your weight, kid." Across the room, a trio of archers swapped arrows, their quivers bristling, arguing over fletching techniques with heated gestures.
A bulletin board loomed against one wall, plastered with bounties—sketches of bandits, beasts, and shadowy figures, some marked Dead or Alive in bold ink, fluttering as a passing warrior pinned a new flyer. The clatter of dice rolled from a corner, where a grizzled dwarf cursed his luck, coins scattering as his opponent—a smirking elf—raked them in.
Recruiters prowled the edges, their eyes scanning for talent. One, a stern woman in polished steel, barked orders to a ragtag group signing up, her clipboard snapping shut like a guillotine. Another, a weaselly man with a gold chain, whispered promises of riches to a hesitant swordsman, his grin too wide to trust.
Laughter, shouts, and the occasional mock-spar rang out—clang of practice blades, thud of a wrestler pinning a friend to test a move—blending into a cacophony that screamed this is where heroes are born. It was a tavern, a barracks, a marketplace, all at once—Sao vibes, DanMachi energy, pure isekai fuel.
We wove through the crowd, Masamato's stride steady as he nodded to a few familiar faces. I clutched my maps and sword, trying not to gawk like a total noob. Ahead, the King's Statue rose from the hall's heart—a towering marble figure, crown glinting, sword aloft, every bit as epic as yesterday. Duh, Kozuki—what'd you expect, it turning into a golem overnight? I thought, smirking at my own dumbness. Still, its shadow felt heavier today, like it was sizing me up for the grind ahead.
I trailed beside Masamato, the guild's massive hall humming around us—adventurers boasting, tankards clinking, a bard's lute strumming faintly near the hearth. My arms clutched two crinkly maps from Jouki, their parchment edges poking my ribs like a taunting reminder of my empty inventory. No bag, no cool adventurer satchel. Rookie mistake, Kozuki.
"Don't you have a bag?" Masamato asked, glancing at my awkward grip, his golden eyes glinting with faint amusement.
"Nope," I said, shrugging like it was no big deal. "What, you offering to carry these for me?"
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Never mind."
We wove through the guild's chaos, past the towering marble statue of the First King, his sword stabbing the sky like he was flexing for the gods. The reception desk loomed ahead, and there was Jessie—raven hair gleaming under chandelier light, emerald eyes sharp enough to cut through my otaku daydreams. She looked up, her rose-painted lips curving into a professional smile.
"Kozuki! Here for your evaluation results?" she asked, her voice a melodic ripple that hit like an anime OP's opening note. My brain screeched to a halt. Evaluation? Oh, right—the Sphere of Revelation thing yesterday! I'd been so caught up in Solva's vibe—fountains, feasts, shady map shops—I'd blanked on it. "Uh, yeah, totally meant to check on that," I said, scratching my neck, hoping I didn't sound like a forgetful NPC.
Masamato smirked, leaning against the counter. "Forgot you had a rank evaluation, didn't you?"
I shot him a mock glare. "Says the guy who probably schedules his sword-polishing sessions."
Jessie stifled a giggle, then straightened. "One moment, sir." She glided into the passageway behind the desk, her guild uniform swishing like a cape in a cutscene. Masamato nudged me, his grin turning sly. "So, what rank you betting on? F-rank, or are you secretly gunning for SSS?"
"F-rank, obviously," I said, playing it cool, but my inner otaku was screaming, SSS or bust, baby! I'm the Second God of Death—gimme the broken stats! "Though, y'know, after that lizard chase, maybe I've got a shot at something higher."
He laughed, clapping my shoulder. "That's the spirit! Who knows—maybe you'll blow the Sphere's circuits. You did help us with that drakewyrm, even if it was mostly yelling and running."
"Hey, tactical yelling's a skill," I shot back, grinning despite the butterflies doing flips in my gut. Come on, universe, don't shaft me with a trash rank. Jessie reemerged, holding a small card between her delicate fingers, her expression unreadable. My heart did a shonen jump, pounding like I was about to face a boss fight. She glanced at the card, then met my eyes.
"Congratulations, Kozuki. Your rank is—"Here it comes. Main character moment. SSS, SSS, SSS—"F-rank."
The word hit like a critical fail, my excitement cratering faster than a noob in a high-level dungeon. "F-rank?" I echoed, voice flat. My isekai dreams—chosen one, OP powers, epic montages—flashed before my eyes and crumbled. This can't be right. I'm supposed to be Kirito, not some background villager!
Jessie handed me the card, its surface plain, the "F" stamped in dull black ink mocking me. "Here you go," she said, her tone gentle but firm, like she'd delivered this blow a hundred times.
"To rank up, you'll need to hunt monsters and bring proof—crowns or heads are best, but any part works, even whole corpses. Once we confirm the kill, you'll earn coins and points based on the monster's type. More points, higher rank." I stared at the card, my face blank as her words washed over me. Coins, points, monster parts—great, I'd been isekai'd into a grind-heavy MMO. Why didn't the Goddess toss me a cheat skill or two, huh? Stingy old hag.
"You get all that?" Jessie asked, tilting her head, those emerald eyes scanning me for signs of life.
"Yeah, thanks," I mumbled, disappointment sinking into my bones like a status debuff. F-rank. Bottom of the barrel. My Sword of Absolute Death felt heavier at my hip, like it was laughing at me too.Masamato clapped my back, his grin infuriatingly cheerful.
"Hey, F-rank's a start! You'll be carving up wyverns in no time."
"Ha, sure," I said, forcing a smirk to hide the sting. Climb the ranks, Kozuki. You've seen enough anime to know this is just the tutorial arc.
"By the way, Jessie," Masamato said, shifting gears, "is the Guild Master around? I need to see him."
"He's upstairs," she replied, nodding toward the grand staircase across the hall, its marble steps gleaming under lantern light.
"Thanks." Masamato turned to me, giving another pat—dude, ease up on the backslaps. "Let's go, Kozuki."
"Right," I said, pocketing the card with a sigh. F-rank's not the end, it's the spark. Time to grind, level up, and show this world what a real MC can do. I straightened, shaking off the gloom.
"Let's do this." As we headed for the stairs, my maps crinkled under my arm, and a spark of defiance lit inside me. Guild Master, monsters, whatever—Solva wasn't ready for Kozuki's comeback arc.
We left Jessie at the reception desk, a S-tier Waifu my F-rank card burning a hole in my pocket like a cursed item I couldn't unequip.
Masamato led the way across the guild's bustling hall, weaving past adventurers swapping boasts and a bard whose lute was now hitting a suspiciously familiar riff—wait, was that Guren no Yumiya? Nah, just my otaku brain projecting. The grand staircase loomed ahead, its marble steps curving upward in a tight spiral, like a dragon's spine coiling toward some epic loot stash. I gripped my crinkly Jouki maps tighter, my boots echoing faintly as we started climbing.
The staircase was a work of art, each step hewn from smooth, pale marble veined with silver streaks that caught the chandelier light filtering up from below. Iron balustrades flanked us, their surfaces etched with serpentine runes that pulsed faintly—probably some low-key enchantment to keep clumsy newbies like me from tripping to their doom. The guild's central atrium yawned open to our right, a vast cylindrical void that let the second floor peer down into the main hall. From here, the chaos below softened to a lively hum—adventurers' laughter, tankards clinking, someone yelling about a botched wyvern hunt. It was like standing on a balcony overlooking a fantasy anime convention, minus the cosplay swords.
We hit the top, and I froze, my jaw dropping an inch. "Whoa," I breathed, taking in the second floor. Masamato glanced back, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Welcome to the guild's library."
This wasn't a library—it was a sanctuary ripped straight from a JRPG's mage academy. The space sprawled wide, wrapping around the atrium's edge like a crescent moon, its outer walls soaring up to a vaulted ceiling of dark timber beams. Those beams crisscrossed overhead, carved with coiling serpents and faded runes that glowed a soft indigo when the light hit just right—definitely magical, probably anti-dust or something practical yet badass. The atrium's open railing ran along the inner curve, a low balustrade of polished oak banded with iron, letting you lean over and spy on the hall below if you dared. I caught a glimpse of a grizzled veteran waving a tankard, oblivious to my F-rank existential crisis. Bookshelves dominated the room, towering like sentinels, their dark walnut frames stretching from floor to ceiling—easily ten feet high, some leaning slightly under the weight of their bounty. Each was packed with tomes, their spines a riot of colors: crimson leather stamped with gold, faded green cloth fraying at the edges, black covers etched with silver glyphs that shimmered faintly. Scrolls peeked from cubbies, their parchment ends curling like ancient secrets begging to be unrolled. Smaller shelves jutted out at angles, forming cozy alcoves stuffed with oddities—crystal orbs pulsing with misty light, a cracked dragon skull grinning from one corner, and what looked like a petrified wyrm claw clutching a dusty codex. The air carried a heavy scent of old paper, ink, and a faint tang of ozone, like a spell had gone off hours ago and lingered.
Tables dotted the floor, sturdy slabs of oak scarred with knife marks and ink stains, each surrounded by mismatched chairs—some cushioned with worn velvet, others hard-backed and creaky. A handful of readers hunched over their work, adding to the library's quiet buzz. At one table, a wiry elf in a green cloak pored over a map, her silver braid glinting as she muttered about "eastern ruins." Nearby, a burly dwarf with a braided beard flipped through a tome thicker than my arm, grumbling under his breath about "bloody goblin tactics."
A young human in mismatched armor—probably another F-rank chump like me—scribbled notes from a yellowed bestiary, pausing to rub his eyes like he'd been at it for hours. Their focus was intense, broken only by the occasional page rustle or stifled curse when a quill snapped.
Library staff glided through the chaos, silent as wraiths but twice as efficient. A lanky woman with gray-streaked hair pushed a cart piled with books, her guild badge glinting as she shelved a tome with surgical precision. Another worker, a freckled youth in a blue tunic, balanced on a rolling ladder, retrieving a scroll from a high shelf while dodging a precariously tilted stack. At a corner desk, an older man with spectacles and a permanent scowl cataloged manuscripts, his quill scratching furiously, pausing only to shush a reader who coughed too loudly. The staff's presence kept the library's pulse steady, a quiet machine fueling Solva's adventurers with knowledge—or at least enough trivia to avoid dying stupidly.
"This is the guild's library," Masamato said, his voice low but proud, like he was unveiling a hidden dungeon. "Since you're an official adventurer now, it's free to use. Maps, histories, monster guides—whatever you need to stop swinging that sword like a paperweight.
"I blinked, still gawking at the shelves. "Free? Even for an F-rank scrub like me?" My inner nerd was doing backflips. I'd only ever seen dinky school libraries—rows of outdated textbooks and one sad fantasy novel missing its last chapter. This? This was the Library of Alexandria meets Hogwarts, stuffed with lootable lore. What other perks does adventuring unlock? A mount? A secret guild sauna?
"Yep," Masamato said, grinning at my wide-eyed stare.
"Rank doesn't matter here. Just don't dog-ear the pages, or old Scowly over there might hex you."
He nodded toward the spectacled cataloger, who shot us a glare sharp enough to cut through plate armor.
"Got it," I said, clutching my maps tighter. Note to self: library's a goldmine. Grab a monster manual ASAP and figure out what doesn't eat F-ranks for breakfast. Masamato jerked his chin toward the far side of the library, where an open archway led to a hallway.
"Come on, Guild Master's this way." I followed, weaving past a table where the elf was now arguing with the dwarf over 'optimal troll-baiting ranges.' The library's energy thrummed around us, a mix of scholarly hush and adventurer grit, like a calm before a quest board raid.
The hallway stretched long and narrow, its stone walls smoother than the guild's rugged façade, polished to a faint sheen and lit by iron sconces cradling orbs that glowed a steady amber—no flickering candles here, just arcane flexing. Doors lined both sides, heavy oak panels carved with Solva's serpent crest, each shut tight. Muffled voices leaked from one—something about "wyvern migration patterns"—while another emitted a faint hum, like a spell being tested. My otaku senses tingled. Training rooms? Secret archives? Bet one's hiding a legendary artifact or a cranky sage.
At the hall's end, a double door loomed, its oak darker and thicker than the others, banded with iron straps that gleamed like they'd been forged yesterday. A bronze plaque sat at eye level, etched with "Guild Master" in angular script, the letters glinting faintly as if daring you to knock. Masamato stepped up, raising a fist.
"It's Masamato. May I come in?" he called, all proper and polite, like he was auditioning for a knightly drama. Then, without missing a beat, he shoved the doors open like he owned the damn guild, the hinges groaning as they swung wide. I stifled a snort. Classic Masamato—manners one second, barging in like a shonen hero the next.
I hurried after him, my maps crinkling, heart pounding with a mix of F-rank dread and main-character hype. Guild Master, here we come. Time to kick this isekai arc into high gear.