Chapter 3: A Wild Protag-Kun has Appeared?!

Allen dragged a hand down his face, already exhausted—not from the physical reality of being in a new world, but from the mental strain of deciphering Monica’s glitter-coated logic.

He held up a makeshift spear: a surprisingly straight tree branch, carved to a point with a jagged, obsidian-like rock he’d found near a glowing stream. It wasn’t elegant, but it was sharp. And sharp mattered.

“Just hold onto it,” he insisted, pushing the spear into Monica’s hands. “I know it’s not a magic wand, but a pointy stick is better than a glittery locket with a dead battery.”

Monica wrinkled her nose, holding the spear as if it were a dead fish. "We are magical girls, Allen. Magical girls do not poke things with sticks.” She let the spear fall to the mossy ground with a soft thud. “We blast enemies with radiant beams of love and justice. Preferably while twirling.”

“Blasting’s great,” Allen replied, deadpan. “But our radiant beams of justice—”

“Radiant beams of love and justice,” Monica interrupted, wagging a stern finger at him. “Not just ‘justice.’ Accuracy is important.”

“Right. Love and justice,” Allen repeated, his voice climbing an octave. “And as I was about to say, our beams can’t activate because our lockets have gone nighty-night. Unless you’ve got a portable sparkle charger hidden in that hoodie, we need a backup plan.”

Monica crossed her arms, pouting slightly. A stick was a step backward—a denial of their magical destiny. She was a magical girl, not a barbarian. She wanted sparkles, not splinters.

She leaned against one of the glowing trees, its bark pulsing faintly with bioluminescent light. Her expression was one of theatrical martyrdom, as if she were waiting for a camera to pan in for a close-up.

Allen stared at her, then at the spear, then at the forest around them—alive with shimmering fungi, oversized flowers, and the distant hum of magic. He needed a way to reframe reality in terms Monica could accept.

Then it hit him.

“Okay… what about EXP?” he said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

Monica perked up instantly. “EXP?”

“Yeah!” Allen pressed on, sensing an opening. “Just because there’s no leveling system for us doesn’t mean our lockets can’t gain experience. We defeat monsters with primitive weapons, and locket-chan absorbs the EXP. Maybe it recharges faster. Maybe it unlocks new forms. New outfits.”

That was it.

That was the magic phrase.

Monica’s resolve crumbled like a poorly animated boss monster. The idea of a new, potentially even cuter outfit was more than she could resist.

“Maybe… locket-chan could get it,” she mused, picking up the discarded spear. She gave it a little pat, like she was bonding with a reluctant sidekick. “I’ll hold it. But there’s no guarantee I’ll actually use it. Especially not on something as cute as a glowing mushroom.”

She then began practicing her stance, taking a surprisingly dramatic and theatrical position—spear held high like a scepter, one foot forward, chin tilted skyward.

Allen groaned, burying his face in his hands.

He watched Monica twirl with her stick-scepter, framed by glowing trees and pulsing flowers, and wondered if this was the beginning of a legendary adventure… or the prelude to a very sparkly obituary.

***

 After a brief bathroom break—behind a glowing bush that smelled faintly of cinnamon—Allen and Monica turned their attention to the next, more pressing objective: surviving in a new world.

Allen, ever the pragmatist, scanned their surroundings. The forest shimmered with bioluminescent flora, oversized flowers pulsing gently like sleeping hearts, and fungi that glowed in pastel hues. It was beautiful. And deeply suspicious.

“How safe is this place, really?” he asked, trying to confirm they weren’t about to march headfirst into a goblin cave or get eaten by a carnivorous tulip.

Monica tapped her chin, her gaze distant as she accessed her divine memory like a player flipping through a quest log. “God called this area a ‘safe zone.’ No monsters will appear here, so we don’t have to worry about getting eaten… for now.”

She pointed vaguely north, toward a stretch of trees that shimmered with a faint golden mist. “If we head that way for about seven days, we should reach a human settlement.”

Allen groaned—a deep, weary sound that rustled the strange foliage at his feet. Seven days. That meant sleeping on the ground, eating questionable fruit, and encountering actual monsters. His brain immediately launched into survival mode: water sources, edible plants, shelter construction. Meanwhile, Monica was clearly imagining maid cafés, sweet shops, and shopping for matching dresses.

“A town means real food!” she chirped, eyes sparkling. “And—oh! Maybe local cosplay shops!”

Allen ran a hand through his hair, already exhausted. It was easy to guess what was going on in her mind, but he couldn’t help wondering if they’d even be able to speak the same language once they got there.

He sighed again, grounding her with a dose of reality. “Monica, we have no money, no food, and our only equipment is a pointy stick and a locket with a dead battery.”

Monica’s grin widened. She bounced on the balls of her feet, practically vibrating with energy. “Perfect! Then it’s time for a gathering quest! Basic survival 101—early game grind!”

Allen hesitated. A small part of him believed her account of the “safe zone.” The forest didn’t feel hostile—just weird. He scanned the area for any sign of danger, his eyes moving over the pulsing flowers and glowing fungi. No movement. No ominous growls. Just the soft hum of magical ambiance.

“Fine,” he said. “But we stick together. No matter what.”

Monica shook her head with the certainty of a seasoned RPG player. “Nuh-uh! That’ll take too long! We’ll cover more ground if we split up!”

Before Allen could protest, she darted off—a blur of pink-streaked hair vanishing into the glowing flora. He heard her footsteps rustling through the leaves, followed by a cheerful hum that sounded suspiciously like a magical girl theme song.

“Wait, where are you going?!” he yelled, voice laced with pure panic.

Her voice echoed back, distant but cheerful. “We’ll gather twice as much if we split up! Meet back here by sunset!”

Allen stared into the forest, the glowing trees swallowing her trail.

“Split up?” Allen muttered to himself, standing alone in the shimmering underbrush. “For real… that’s literally the first thing you don’t do in any survival scenario. Or horror movie. Or even a bad isekai. We don’t know what’s poisonous, carnivorous, or secretly sentient. Splitting up is how main characters die before the opening credits.”

***

 After an hour of foraging, he glanced down at the strange, colorful fruits he’d collected. But as his stomach rumbled in protest, reality asserted itself with a growl. Each one had a distinct swirl-pattern design, like they’d been plucked from a JRPG inventory screen. Which meant they could either grant him incredible powers… or a one-way ticket to explosive diarrhea. He wasn’t sure he had the courage to find out.

“Maybe I can capture a goblin and then turn it into my guinea pig poison taste tester,” Allen said out loud as he took a seat on a fallen log.

After a while, his foot started wincing as he shifted his weight. The lack of footwear was starting to take its toll—his feet ached, his back protested, and his patience was hanging by a thread.

As he looked up, the dense foliage gave way to an open clearing.

And there it was.

A giant floating crystal castle, suspended in midair like a hallucination rendered in high fantasy. Its spires shimmered with refracted light, casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the clearing. Allen blinked. No gasp. No awe. Just quiet resignation.

“Of course,” he muttered. “Because why not.”

He wasn’t sure if his brain was in overdrive or if Monica’s chaotic energy was finally rubbing off on him. Either way, he didn’t have time to process it—because a sudden voice shattered the silence.

"Fireball! Explooosion!"

Allen froze, crouching behind a giant fern that glowed faintly at the edges.

A human voice. And unmistakably Japanese.

"Thunderbolt! Strike down my enemies!"

Peering through the foliage, Allen spotted a man in his early thirties flailing his arms dramatically in the center of the clearing. Dressed in jeans and a graphic tee, he looked like he’d been plucked straight from a Tokyo convenience store and dropped into a fantasy novel.

"Ice Spear! Freeze them in their tracks, ha!"

Remarkably, nothing happened.

No fire, no lightning, no ice.

Just the man, growing increasingly frustrated as the glowing fungi around him remained stubbornly un-flamed, un-shocked, and un-frozen.

Allen's mind, ever the video game menu, presented him with two options: flee or approach. Curiosity, a powerful and dangerous force in an otaku, overtook him. He stood up and slowly stepped out from behind the bushes.

"What are you doing?" Allen asked, his voice echoing in the sudden silence.

The man yelped, spinning around like he’d been struck by an invisible spell. His eyes darted to Allen, then to the trees, then back to Allen, as if expecting a sudden ambush.

“W-who goes there?! Are you… are you a minion of the Demon Lord?!” he stammered, striking a clumsy defensive pose that looked more like interpretive dance.

Allen blinked. “No?”

The man slowly regained his composure, his pose shifting from panic to theatrical confidence. He cleared his throat. “Ah, my bad. You must be one of the local NPCs.”

He puffed out his chest. “Fear not, for I am Protag-kun, the chosen hero destined to save this world!”

Allen stared.

“Well… I will be. Once my magic decides to manifest.” Protag-kun’s confidence deflated almost instantly. He hunched his shoulders and sighed. “But they will rue the day they oppose me!” he added quickly, striking another pose.

Allen wracked his brain, running through everything Monica had told him about their divine escort and this world. God. Safe zone. Seven days to a human settlement. But no mention of a Demon Lord. Or a hero. Or any kind of cosmic prophecy.

Protag-kun noticed Allen’s bewildered expression and took it as awe.

He leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Don’t worry, little NPC. This is my destiny. I was whisked away from my NEET cave to fulfill a sacred quest. I’m already a master of skill trees, harem dynamics, and dramatic monologues.”

He paused, frowning. “Though… I gotta say, it’s disappointing that the first NPC to talk to me isn’t a girl.”

 Allen was speechless.

The man in front of him was clearly unhinged—an anime protagonist cosplay come to life, minus the actual powers. Allen couldn’t imagine what kind of sane woman would willingly join this guy’s harem. But then, despite himself, a small, embarrassing laugh escaped his lips.

“Is… is your name really Protag-kun?”

The man’s theatrical confidence crumbled instantly. His face flushed a deep crimson, and he hunched his shoulders like a scolded schoolboy.

“N-no! Of course not! That’s… that’s just a placeholder! For my destiny!” he stammered, avoiding eye contact. “It’s what the protagonist is often called before their true, legendary name is revealed!”

Then his eyes widened. He leaned forward, scanning Allen’s hoodie, sneakers, and general aura of reluctant genre awareness.

“Wait… were you also… isekai’d?”

The realization hit him like a plot twist he hadn’t earned. His expression twisted into a mix of awe and existential dread. Allen could practically see the gears turning—and short-circuiting—in his head.

“Another one?!” Protag-kun’s voice cracked with the weight of perceived injustice. “Where are my OP cheat skills?! My harem?! My intuitive leveling system?! This is all a lie! All the promises from the light novels… it’s so unfair!”

Allen instinctively took a step back, but it was too late.

Protag-kun lunged forward and grabbed his shoulders, hands trembling. The confident facade shattered, replaced by the raw panic of a man who had not only failed to summon a fireball—but also failed to realize he wasn’t the sole protagonist.

Tears streamed down his face.

“I’ve been here for days… surviving on nothing but nuts and berries…” he sobbed, voice muffled against Allen’s shoulder. “I can’t even learn one measly heal spell.”

Allen stood frozen, a strange mix of pity and exasperation bubbling up. Apparently, the same god who had visited Monica either forgot to visit this guy—or intentionally skipped him like a filler episode.

The “living on nuts and berries” part explained a lot.

“It’s part of the grindset!” Protag-kun sniffled. “To unlock my inherent abilities! But nothing! It’s like the universe forgot to give me my starter pack!”

He slumped to the ground, defeated. “This is so depressing. I don’t even have a status screen to confirm my existence as a hero.”

Allen crouched beside him, unsure whether to offer comfort or a reality check. He opted for distraction.

“The language you're speaking. You’re from Japan, right?”

Protag-kun perked up instantly. He wiped his tears, eyes wide with hope. “You can understand me?! This must be it! The universal translation magic that allows people from other worlds to communicate! This is a sign!”

Allen sighed, covering his face with one hand. “Actually… I have a friend who’s doing her Japanese Studies undergrad. I took a few electives with her.”

The revelation hit Protag-kun like a pinprick to his balloon of delusion.

“It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair!” he wailed, his voice rising in an indignant crescendo.

But before he could launch into another monologue, a loud, rumbling growl echoed from his stomach. Protag-kun froze. His triumphant expression deflated instantly. He clutched his midsection, shoulders slumping.

“Or,” he mumbled, voice much quieter, devoid of its previous theatricality, “it means I’m just really, really hungry.”

He cast a wistful glance at the untouched berries he’d previously been attempting to immolate.

Allen sighed again.

This world was full of surprises.

And apparently, one of them was this guy.