Chapter 2: What Do I Have to Do to Survive?

In just ten minutes, the hero went through more emotions than most people do in a lifetime.

Fear.

Shock.

Confusion.

Then, out of nowhere—laughter.

“…So this is real, huh?”

He had come to Japan as a tourist.

One quiet afternoon, he visited a shrine and, just for fun, whispered a few wishes:

> "I wish I could be strong."

"I wish I had a harem."

"I wish for an epic life."

He didn’t mean it. It was just a joke.

But now—he was in another world.

And it wasn’t the one from his fantasies.

No magic castles, no kind elves, no bright skies.

Just dirt.

Just pain.

He pinched his arm.

It hurt.

This wasn’t a dream.

The vial the priest gave him earlier shimmered faintly in his hand.

He slipped it into his bag.

They told him it would help with the pain.

But it did nothing for the weight in his chest.

---

He kept walking.

The streets stank—rot, filth, and hopelessness.

People didn’t look at him. Most didn’t even notice him.

One man lay on the ground, shaking from hunger.

Further ahead, chained slaves stood silently, waiting to be sold.

The hero’s knees gave out.

His chest burned. Each breath felt weaker than the last.

He collapsed next to a pile of trash.

“…I want to go home,” he said.

But no one heard.

And if the gods were still watching, they weren’t listening.

---

That’s when he saw a group of adventurers.

They stood near a shop, talking and laughing.

One of them—a mage—stood out. Robes, staff, calm look.

The hero forced himself to his feet and stumbled toward them.

He grabbed the mage by the shoulders.

“Please… heal me,” he begged.

Before the mage could reply, a swordsman stepped in and shoved the hero down.

“Get off him, trash.”

A blade touched his throat.

He froze.

---

“Wait,” the mage said, raising his hand.

He stepped forward and scanned the hero with a faint spell.

At first, nothing happened.

Then the mage’s eyes went wide.

His pupils turned blood red.

“You… What are you?”

He backed away quickly.

“You’re cursed. Even the gods won’t help you.”

The swordsman stared, confused.

The mage shook his head, mumbling.

“…Unless… no… that’s just a myth…”

“The blood of the goddess…”

Then they both ran.

Left him there.

---

He stayed on the ground, shaking.

“…Blood of the goddess?”

He didn’t know what it meant.

But something inside him was clearly wrong.

Twisted. Broken.

Maybe even inhuman.

He pushed himself up.

And walked into a nearby alley.

His steps were slow and heavy.

And in the silence, only one thought stayed with him:

"How do I survive this?"