(Nanahoshi POV)
This world is an unhygienic dump full of fantasy novel weirdness—overpowered magic, monsters, even Mana Disasters.
I hate it here. Nothing makes sense. It's medieval, chaotic, and nowhere near the modern stability I took for granted—sanitation, processed food, and real medicine.
Proper medical care is nonexistent. Sure, there's Healing Magic—fast, efficient—but because of that, herbal medicine barely exists. A bruise? Just a healing, and it's done—no immune system training. People here rely too much on Magic.
Me? I lived a normal life that involved relying on modern medicine. And if I were to get some disease here, I could ask several people for help, like Ryuta, Orsted, or Perugius.
But then Ryuta showed me the red notebook, written by the masked man who claims to know how we were summoned. Inside it: a note about me.
"{Dryne Syndrome. That already sounds bad.}"
I muttered it under my breath, eyes scanning the first few pages. It mainly revolves around how the masked man has control over him and how he knows about our summoning into this world. However, in the next part, it's about an ancient disease that befell people with a low mana pool.
Ryuta stood nearby, arms crossed, leaning against the wall with that unreadable expression he always wore when he was trying to act serious.
"{What do you think?}" he asked. "{This guy might say he knows how we got here, but—}"
"{You mean how I got here,}" I cut him off.
I still couldn't believe it—he'd been that guy. The fat idiot who tried to save us when the summoning happened. Learning his real name had been one thing. But finding out that he got pulled into this world because of me? It left a weird taste in my mouth. Guilty, maybe. Confused, definitely.
"{Should I start calling you by your real name or—}"
"{No.}"
His reply was immediate, sharp, almost like a blade. His brows knit together, silver slit-pupils flashing with irritation or pain. I flinched; it was the first time I'd seen him raw, unfiltered.
"{That guy died that night from the impact with the truck,}" he said coldly. "{And I don't want to be called by that name ever again.}" His eyes darkened as he looked away. "{There's nothing left for me in that world. Just the remains of someone I'm trying to leave behind.}"
Silence. The kind that closes doors. The kind that says, 'Don't ask me again.' And so I didn't.
The weight between us lingered for a moment longer before he finally broke it.
"{…Anyway, the disease. That's what matters right now.}"
He stepped forward and pointed at the page I was holding.
"{This Dryne Syndrome thing—does anything about it sound plausible? Familiar? Like a real disease or at least one based on something that exists in your world?}"
I wanted to comment on his outburst. But if that part of his past is off-limits, I'll respect that.
"{For what it's worth, yeah… it reads like something that could exist. Something neurodegenerative, maybe. Progressive fatigue, mana sensitivity, eventual paralysis… definitely not good. But… a cure on the Demon Continent?}"
That part felt like fiction. Too convenient. Too dangerous.
"{The Demon Continent is a dangerous terrain,}" I added. "{It's not being called the most dangerous continent in the world for nothing. And the whole 'Demon King' thing doesn't help that.}"
"{I've been to the Demon Continent a few times already. And if it comes to a fight against someone, I should be able to handle myself,}" Ryuta said, his voice softening, trying to reassure me.
"{The better question is whether I should get the herb before you start showing symptoms.}"
"{But can you, really?}" I shot back. "{According to this, a confrontation is inevitable. That masked freak is practically daring you to go.}"
"{They can't be worse than Orsted. And if they think I'm just a magician who punches things, they'll regret underestimating me.}"
That confidence of his… it bothers me. He's strong, yes. But overconfidence kills—even the strongest bleed.
Still… I understood what he was doing.
He wasn't boasting. He was trying to keep me from panicking.
"{Could you go to Perugius first?}" I asked. "{Just to confirm this disease is real? If anyone knows ancient or obscure conditions, it's him.}"
"{I'd rather not,}" he said with a grimace. "{Orsted and Perugius already suspect the masked man was the culprit who attacked [Chaos Breaker]. If they find out I'm being manipulated—or worse, that I've been acting under his influence—I might get shut out.}"
"{...Wait. Manipulated?}"
He hesitated. His expression got grim.
"{He made me buy a house.}"
"{...What do you mean, he made you buy a house?!}"
"{Page 13,}" he said flatly. "{He wrote about how he turned me into his puppet and had me purchase a mansion here in Sharia. It once belonged to the Maniacal Dragon King Chaos. In the basement, a Teleportation Circle leads to another structure with additional Teleportation Circles. They lead all over the world.}"
I blinked. Is he telling me that he was given worldwide access?
"{...He gave you a cheat house?}"
"{No,}" he said dejectedly. "{He used my cash. A good chunk of it, actually. He also wrote that as a reimbursement, there are surprises for me in there, like the unfinished work of Chaos.}"
"{...That's insane.}"
"{I know.}"
Another pause. The candlelight flickered across the red pages in my hands.
"{So,}" I said, "{you're going to risk your life trekking across the world for some herb, based on the word of a masked lunatic who invaded your head and made you buy a house?}"
"{It's better than risking it before it gets bad.}"
"{You're an idiot.}"
"{Maybe.}"
A long silence passed between us. Then I looked at him. Really looked at him.
He was serious. Dead serious.
And despite everything—the fear, the mystery, the absurdity of it all—For the first time in a long while… I didn't feel so alone.
"{…Thanks,}" I said softly.
He looked over, confused.
"{For what?}"
"{For… giving a damn... and... being worried about me.}"
It's no exaggeration to say that he might be the one person who cares about me the most in this world. It's not just because of our connection from being from the same country. He's a genuine friend to me; someone whose company makes me feel less lonely. Without him, I don't know how my life in this would have gone, especially since I'm fully relying on him to test my Magic Circles.
He didn't respond. Not right away. But his eyes softened.
Then, he smiled. Just a small one. Fleeting. But it was real.
"{I should head out,}" he said, pushing off the wall. "{If that mansion really has what the notebook says… then I need to know what I'm dealing with first.}"
"{You mean the Chaos House?}"
He gave me a half-laugh. "{Let's not call it that.}"
"{Too late. I'm calling it that forever.}"
His smile lingered a second longer before fading, replaced by the calm, unreadable face he wore so often. That mask of resolve. Determination.
"{You'll be okay here?}" he asked.
I nodded. "{I've got more Magic Circle I wanna make. And my immune system isn't giving up just yet.}"
"{Good to hear.}" He turned toward the door.
"{Hey,}" I called out before he left.
He paused, glancing over his shoulder.
"{Be safe.}"
His silver eyes caught the candlelight, like twin moons in a dark sky.
"{I will.}"
And with that, Ryuta walked out, leaving me alone with the red notebook and a heart that felt a little heavier… and a little less hollow.
"{I really hope nothing bad happens.}"
***
Over the past few days, I've skimmed through the red notebook, pausing only when something actually caught my interest. Most of it read like the ramblings of techniques that involve self-induced electrocution, or the conjuring of chemical substances that even dissolve Barrier Magic and Touki.
One passage claimed this world was originally populated by humans alone, and that five other worlds with their own races coexisted with it, forming a structure resembling a six-sided die. I didn't know what to make of it. Some kind of metaphor? Or literal dimensional theory?
And then came the bombshells that made me understand why Ryuta wanted to keep the notebook secret.
I don't know what the masked man is thinking, writing all of this, but if Ryuta had told Orsted that he is the grandson of the original Human God, or that Laplace, who used to be one of the Dragon Generals before his soul was split into two, was Perugius's godfather... There is no telling what could happen if he spouts those things mindlessly.
"{What kind of fantasy novel obsession did this masked guy crawl out of?}" I muttered under my breath.
Still, the part that truly grabbed me—the part I couldn't stop thinking about—was a section explaining how to reduce the size of a Magic Circle by stacking them.
I'd never encountered that method in any research paper or tome, not from the magic universities, and certainly not from Perugius. The concept itself felt counterintuitive, as if layering incompatible equations in three-dimensional space could somehow stabilize the whole.
But according to the notebook… not only was it viable, it could eliminate the very errors I'd spent months trying to work around. There were even some hints at adjustment methods to add, some of which I used before but discarded after they failed previously.
"{This should be good… maybe.}"
I didn't sense any major risk in testing it, so I built a composite circle using layers of Summoning Magic, designed to pull in an inorganic object from my world. Something like… a pen. Or maybe a keychain. Anything that shows it's not from this world.
"{I wonder when he's coming back.}"
My voice was barely above a whisper. I wasn't even sure why I said it aloud; maybe it was because I was tired.
He'd gone to investigate the mansion he involuntarily bought, the mansion filled with Teleportation Circles and supposedly secret surprises. According to the masked freak who wrote the notebook, that place held untapped relics from Chaos—the Maniacal Dragon King.
I didn't want to admit it, but I was worried about him. He always acted like he had everything under control. Like he was too strong, too fast, too smart to get caught off guard. But even our world has a way of humbling people violently.
Still, I couldn't sit here doing nothing.
I adjusted my chair, pulled the summoning parchment back toward me, and started reworking the circles.
Just a few more hours. Then maybe I'd sleep. We'll see.
***
The knock came as dusk bled into night.
Three short raps—measured. Firm.
I pushed back my chair, heart fluttering for reasons I didn't quite understand.
I opened the door.
"{...You're back.}"
Ryuta stood framed in torchlight. But something was wrong.
A fresh scar cut across his cheek, and his eye—once green—was now faded in color. It almost looked like he was blind in that eye. But only that, his robe was a mess—torn at the shoulder, frayed at the hem, and stained with something dark that might've been dried blood. The fabric hung off him like he'd walked through a battlefield and didn't bother changing afterward.
Between that and the scar across his cheek, it was like he'd stepped out of a different world entirely.
He didn't even flinch at my stare.
"{What happened to you?}" I asked, stepping forward, alarmed.
His expression didn't change.
"{It's nothing,}" he said, brushing past me into the room.
"{That's not 'nothing,' Ryuta. You're—}"
"{I said it's nothing.}"
His voice wasn't harsh. It wasn't cold. It was empty. That scared me more than if he'd yelled.
Ryuta didn't answer me right away. He brushed past, quiet and slow, as if dragging a shadow behind him. I shut the door, glancing over my shoulder to see him set down a burlap bag on my work table. He didn't even take off his boots.
I didn't repeat the question. Not yet.
"{That's the herb,}" he said flatly, tapping the bag. "{Sokas Grass. Not sure how much is needed, but it should last you for a while before we need to get more.}"
His voice was dull—like the spark had been siphoned out of it.
I stared at him for a few more seconds. At the fresh scar across his cheek, and the eerie change in his eye. Something happened. Something bad. Something he wasn't ready to talk about.
"{You didn't get that in the mansion, did you?}" I finally asked.
He shook his head. "{No.}"
I waited, hoping he might elaborate. He didn't.
Instead, he stepped closer to my desk and gestured toward the stack of Magic Circles I'd been redrawing for the hundredth time.
"{Did you try it yet? The method from the notebook. Stacking the circles.}"
A deflection. But I let it happen for now.
"{Yeah,}" I said. "{I used three layers, summoning-calibrated, no biological link. Tried for something simple. Inorganic.}"
"{Result?}"
"{Nothing. Mana input seemed stable. Lines held. But no object. Just fizz.}"
He crouched beside the table and flipped through the pages, scanning the ink like it might confess its secrets to him. Then, gently, he set the stack on the ground and looked up at me.
"{Mind if I charge it myself?}"
I hesitated.
I wanted to ask more. About the scar. The Demon King. Whatever the hell he went through.
But… the exhaustion in his shoulders said enough. He wasn't ready. Not yet.
So I nodded.
"{Go ahead.}"
We knelt across from each other, the summoning array between us. Ryuta placed his hand over the layered parchment, closed his eyes, and let his mana flow.
The lines shimmered almost immediately, brilliant white tinged the entirety of the room, stronger than any of my previous tests.
Slowly, something took shape, and soon, there it was. With a soft puff of displaced air, something dropped to the floor.
Ryuta raised an eyebrow. "{...A plastic bottle?}"
The clear plastic bottle lay sideways on the wood—no cap, no label, slightly scuffed, but unmistakably from a modern world. The kind you'd get from any convenient store back in Japan.
"{That's what you were going for?}" he asked.
I nodded slowly, staring at it. My heart was racing, though I knew why.
"{Yeah. I wasn't sure what would come through. But… it worked. It finally worked.}"
I reached out and picked it up. The plastic flexed under my fingers—real, solid, unmistakably Earth-made.
"{That's the first successful object we've summoned from our world,}" I said with joy, more to myself than to him.
After four years in this world, spending long hours daily on research, I finally have hope of returning home.
"{It worked… Ryuta, it actually—}"
But I stopped when I saw his face again. That same calm mask. But beneath it… Something else.
Like a man trying very, very hard to hold himself together.
"{Ryuta… What happened out there?}"
His hand paused. A long silence followed. Then, barely above a whisper—
"{It wasn't the mansion. It was... the Demon King's place.}"
My stomach dropped. He didn't say more. He didn't have to. That scar wasn't from some random monster. Not a trap. Not some freak accident. It was from a fight. A fight he barely survived.
"{You don't have to tell me right now,}" I said. "{But when you're ready—}"
"{I know.}" His voice was quiet. Tired. "{I will.}"
He stood slowly, brushing off his cloak.
"{I should go,}" he muttered. "{There's still something I need to finish tonight.}"
I nodded, even though I wanted to stop him. Ask more. Say something else.
Instead, I just watched him walk to the door, open it without a word, and step out into the fading light.
The door clicked shut.
Silence.
Now, it was just me, the plastic bottle… and the image of his scar. That silence. That shadow.
What happened at the Demon King's place?
I stared down at the bottle, brushing my fingers on the firm shell.
I want to help him. I really do. But I don't know how to reach someone who's trying so hard to leave his past—and maybe even himself—behind.
I set the plastic bottle aside for now. Maybe I could use it as a pot for a plant later.
As I did, my eyes caught the notebook that was still sitting on my desk, next to the stacks of failed experiments.
A part of the notebook was specifically about something Ryuta was trying to do, a means to bypass the summoned spirit's lifespan.
He has been working on it for a long time, not wanting to make something simple but useful.
If the stacking method worked, then why shouldn't some of the other things in the notebook work as well?
I then went to my desk and looked for more hints on improving his special summon methods.
He helped me for quite a while, so now it's my turn to return the favor.
///