2 - Childhood Friend

“Shuu?”

There it is.
The sound of distraction. Salvation.
Food for my heart, and water to drown my progress.

I sighed, stood, and made my way toward the door.

“One sec, Aiko!”

I was careless.
I forgot to watch my feet.
And before I knew it, I’d taken one step too many into my living room.

I began to plummet.
Not to my death—
Just through space and time.

It wasn’t my first time falling through a dimensional corridor.
It probably wouldn’t be my last.

The void between realities is cold.
Unreasonably wet.
And smells faintly of soy sauce, which I have never been able to explain.

Ribbons of color spun around me—pink, purple, something chartreuse—and every few seconds I heard the faint echo of orchestral strings tuning up.

Somewhere, a choir whispered my name.
Well. Not my name. Just one of the many titles they always use.

“Oh great chosen one.”

I hate it here.

“No, not today. I’m good, thanks.”

When I landed, it wasn’t in a summoning circle.
Or a throne room.
Or a battlefield.
Or even a field.

It was…

A hallway.

Just a normal, perfectly average stone hallway.

Clean, well-lit, vaguely medieval.
It smelled like a fantasy-themed Italian place.
Real first-date material.

I stood. Brushed myself off.

Then I heard it.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Slow applause echoed down the hall.

From the shadows emerged a woman—
No, some kind of Elf—
Four-feet-something.

Wings made of cosmic vapor, hair like nebulae, a bust that entered the room fifteen seconds before the rest of her did.

She was glowing.

Everything about her screamed important, divine, and overwritten by a horny male author.

“You’ve arrived,” she said, voice layered like stereo channels from ten different universes.
“The Chosen One.”

I raised my hand.

“Hi. Real quick before we start—”

“Brave warrior of the outer world, I have summoned you to—”

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to stop you on that note.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

I hit the mental switch, held my hand up in the universal ‘gotta go’ pose.

“I’m busy right now. Ciao.”

[Return]

Returning isn’t as grand as being summoned.
Or falling.
Or being kidnapped.
Or getting hit by a truck.

It’s just a continuity. Instant. Seamless.
No flash of light.
No trumpet fanfare.
Just me, the kotatsu, and whatever snack I left unfinished.

The tea’s still warm. My cursor hasn’t moved.
For all reality’s dramatics, [Return] has the emotional weight of switching tabs.

Honestly? Best cheat skill ever devised.
If only I could make some kind of story around it.
Now that would be hilarious.

“Shuu? I’m gonna get mad if you keep ignoring me. Mom made pastries. Hurry up already!”

“I’m coming! Sorry!”

This time, I was careful.
Expertly navigating the apartment, sidestepping fallen notebooks and empty pizza boxes with the reflexes of someone who’d been isekai-dodging for years.

Not that I have been.
But the skill was there.

No summoning circles.
No glimmering glyphs.
Didn’t see a single tear in space-time.

Maybe there is a God?

(dess)

I placed my fingers on the lock, turned it with the force only a boy waiting to see his crush could muster, and swung open the door.

And there she was.

Normal skin tone.
Brown eyes.
Hair that matched her actual ethnicity.
Boobs as average as they come.
And not a single monologue to be heard.

Loose ponytail.
Pajamas.
Cinnamon rolls in hand, like some kind of breakfast-tier goddess.
No sparkles. No aura. Just that sleepy pout that says you’re lucky I like you at all.

Aiko.

“Hey!”

I instantly felt the pain of an angry index finger being jabbed into my forehead.

“I’ve—been—waiting—out—here—for—five—minutes! What were you doing?”

“Aha. You know. I get, uh... really absorbed in my work!”

Another sharp jab.

“No! I don’t! Jerk!”

She shoved a tinfoil-covered rack of western-style cinnamon rolls into my arms and turned sharply to leave.

“Aiko, I’m sorry!”

Instead of replying, she spun around with a dramatic flourish—
Leered at me.
Stuck out her tongue.
Pulled down one cheek under her eye with her finger.

“Nehhhhh.”

Then, with an appropriate “Hmph,” she turned on her heel and marched off.

...

Great.
She’s not mad.

“Tell your mom I said thanks! I’ll marry her if she ever divorces your dad!”

I closed the door.
Face seen.
Treats acquired.

The light echo of “Creep!” still rang down the hall.

What a cute voice.

Being careful not to get abducted into a fantasy world too grand for my mundane editing quotas, I sat back down at my desk.

Hands poised over the keyboard… when it dawned on me.

“Where was I? ... I was going to… no, that’s not right.”

I scrolled up. Read what I’d written.
800 words of setup. Zero direction.
The cinnamon rolls were staring at me with more confidence than I had.

God, I hate Isekai.