Welcome, Please Mind the Gelkin

When I opened my eyes, I was no longer on the bench outside.

Somehow, I’d been upgraded—I think—to a small guest room in what I assumed was the castle. I guess I must’ve fallen asleep. Either someone carried me here like a sack of rice, or magic teleportation was involved again. Honestly, both options sounded terrible for my dignity.

The room wasn’t much. A single bed with sheets whiter than my GPA, a desk with a quill I had no idea how to use, and a big window showing off the city outside. Sprawling rooftops, twisting streets, walls so huge they looked like they were compensating for something.

Also, my phone mysteriously disappeared. Not sure what that’s about.

I sat on the bed and stared out the window. It was quiet. Too quiet, even for me. No train rumbling, no crowds buzzing, no Mom yelling at me to take out the trash. Just birds chirping in the distance like this was some nature documentary.

And that’s when it truly hit me.

I’m not going home.

I mean… maybe after I save the world? Would that even be possible? And if it was, that could take… what? Days? Months? Years? Does time even work the same in this place? Was I going to miss the rest of high school? My life back in Tokyo? Would I ever sit at my mom’s tiny kitchen table again, complaining about menial chores while she rolled her eyes?

My throat tightened a little. Not crying—just, you know, emotional dust. Happens all the time.

If this is permanent…

If I die here…

Who’s going to feed my goldfish?

…Okay, I don’t have a goldfish. But the thought counts.

I flopped backward on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “So this is my life now,” I muttered. “Great.”

No Wi-Fi. No vending machines. My entire coping mechanism relied on sugar and caffeine from convenience stores, and they didn’t seem to have those here in Valeria. My life is officially on hard mode.

The door creaked open and in floated the silver-haired lady—Elara. Still looking like she walked out of a fantasy RPG cutscene.

“You’re awake,” she said softly. Her voice was the kind of calm that made you want to believe everything was fine. Spoiler: it wasn’t.

“Barely,” I said, sitting up. “How did I end up in this room anyway?”

She opened her mouth, then quickly closed it again.

Was she blushing?

“I carried you here after you fell asleep outside of the castle yesterday…”

So I was carried here.

“So… what now? Do I get a tutorial? A skill tree? Maybe a button to log out?”

She tilted her head, clearly not getting the reference. “No… buttons. But as the Hero, there are arrangements to make.”

“Arrangements,” I repeated. “Sounds fun. Do these arrangements involve me going home?”

Her smile didn’t even flinch. “The ritual that summoned you is… one-way.”

Translation: You’re stuck, loser.

I groaned and rubbed my face. “Of course it is. Why would I expect a return policy on dimensional kidnapping?”

Elara ignored my sarcasm and set a small wooden box on the bed. “Your Hero’s Starter Kit,” she said, like it was some collector’s edition loot box.

Hey, this might actually be cool.

I opened it slowly, half-expecting a sword glowing with ancient power, or a magical cloak of some kind. Inside was:

A wooden sword. (Yay.)

A slightly frayed cloak with “Hero” stitched in glittery thread.

A single voucher labeled ONE (1) Free Healing Potion - Expires in 3 Days.

“...Wow,” I said flatly. “With this gear, evil doesn’t stand a chance. Unless it’s evil made of damp tissue paper.”

Her expression didn’t change. “Do not underestimate these items. They will serve you well.”

Sure. And the ruler I used in school could slay dragons.

I sighed. “By the way, am I going to be staying in this room?”

She hesitated. Not a good sign.

“Actually,” she said carefully, “the King has requested… you not stay within the castle walls.”

“Wait—what? Why?”

“Certain nobles expressed… concerns. They fear your presence may disrupt political stability.”

Ah, the classic “we summoned you to save the world but you can’t sit with us” routine.

“So where am I going?” I asked.

Elara gave me a polite, definitely-not-guilty smile. “An inn near the Adventurer’s Guild. It is… humble.”

“Humble,” I repeated. “Is that fantasy-speak for ‘smells like wet dog’?”

“You will see,” she said serenely. Which basically confirmed it.

***

The inn was exactly as “humble” as I imagined. The sign out front read The Slumbering Wyvern but the “W” was hanging off, so it looked like The Slumbering yvern. Inside, it smelled like dirty socks and regret.

Behind the counter stood a young woman with auburn hair tied in a messy bun, an apron splattered with who-knows-what, and the eyes of someone who’s had a very long day. She slid a rusty key across the counter without looking up.

“Room six. If the gelkin gives you trouble, feed it a sugar cube.”

“...The what?” I asked.

She sighed like a professional sigh-er. “You’ll see.”

I opened the door to my room and immediately saw it: a floating, jelly-like creature the size of a basketball. It wobbled midair and made a noise like blorp. Then it zipped over and stole one of my socks straight out of my hand.

Why was I holding my socks? Because ten minutes ago, I stepped in a puddle on the way in and decided wet socks were an affront to human dignity.

“HEY! That’s mine!” I lunged for it, but the blob jiggled out of reach and proudly displayed its prize like a cat showing off a dead bird.

Fantastic. My roommate is Jell-O with kleptomanic tendencies.

“Do you… talk?” I asked.

“Blorp.”

Perfect.

***

After wrestling my sock back from the gelkin (sort of—long story), I decided to head back to the castle for “fitting preparations” for tomorrow’s royal feast. Because apparently, being kidnapped into another dimension comes with a mandatory dress code for the Hero.

On the way there, I encountered a familiar face in the market street—the girl who I bumped into yesterday. She was carrying a basket again, but this time she looked… different. Cleaner clothes, nicer fabric. Definitely not your average fruit vendor.

When she saw me, her eyes widened, and she froze like a deer caught in magical headlights.

“Uh… hey,” I said. Smooth as always.

She clutched the basket tighter. “Y-you…you’re the Hero.”

“Guilty as charged,” I said. “Though honestly, I feel more like the Hero’s underpaid intern.”

Her lips twitched like she almost smiled, then she leaned in slightly. “Good luck tomorrow. You’ll… need it.”

Before I could ask what she meant, she bolted into the crowd like her skirt was on fire.

Definitely not ominous at all.

***

The castle tailors were waiting for me like vultures over a very confused corpse.

The head tailor was a sharp-nosed man with a voice that could probably slice fabric.

“Well then,” he said with a dramatic flourish, “you are… a disaster.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I muttered.

He circled me like a hawk stalking its prey, muttering things like, "Broad shoulders… pity about the posture… and what is this hair?” He gestured at my head like it was a crime scene.

Sorry for not booking a salon appointment beforehand.

“Arms up,” he barked.

I obeyed, mostly because he was holding pins and looked like he’d use them as a weapon. A young girl—couldn’t have been older than me—stepped up with a measuring tape. She had neat brown hair tied back in a ribbon and eyes that refused to meet mine for longer than half a second.

“Um… s-stand still, please,” she stammered.

What is with all the anxious women in this place?

“Sure,” I said, trying not to twitch as the head tailor yanked at my sleeves like he was punishing the fabric. “So… been working here long?”

She squeaked, dropped the tape, and almost stabbed herself with a pin. “I—yes! I mean—no! I mean—please don’t move!”

Great. I’m making small talk like an idiot while she’s having an anime-level fluster moment. This is one of the reasons why I hate socializing.

Then the nightmare began.

The head tailor started pulling outfits from racks like a madman. One was a white suit with gold trim so shiny it could blind a dragon. Another had a red cape big enough to double as a circus tent. The worst was something that looked suspiciously like a magical girl outfit—complete with frills and ribbons.

“Try these on,” the head tailor instructed.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

So I did. Five minutes later, I stood in front of a mirror wearing something that made me look like a budget prince from a discount dating sim. I mean, the boots had actual bells.

The apprentice risked a glance at me and turned red. “Y-you… look… heroic.”

Heroic. If the goal was to slay my dignity first, then mission accomplished.

***

When I got back to the inn, Glorb—that’s the name I decided to give it on the way back from the castle—was waiting in the corner of my room. Half of my cloak fringe was hanging out of its… body? Mouth? Whatever it was, it wobbled innocently when I glared at it.

“You know, Glorb,” I said, flopping onto the bed, “maybe this isn’t so bad. We’re roommates now. You, me, and absolutely no TV. Maybe we could start a podcast. ‘Glorb Talk.’ You’ll be the co-host.”

“Blorp.”

“Exactly. That’s the energy we need.”

I stared at the ceiling. “Maybe I’ll never see Tokyo again. Or Mom. Or convenience store melon bread. But hey—at least I’ve got a sentient Jell-O cup for a roommate.”

Glorb made a proud gurgle sound as if to say something like, that’s right.

***

I was half-asleep, mumbling to Glorb about whether he could learn to fetch snacks, when I heard it—voices outside my door. Low urgent whispers.

“...Are you sure he’s the one?” a man hissed.

“Yes,” another voice said. “The seal doesn’t lie. But if he refuses to cooperate…”

A pause. Then, colder: “We’ll make him.”

My eyes snapped open.

Great. Summoned as a hero, demoted to hostage. I can’t wait for tomorrow.