The Hero’s Party is Full Of…Weirdos…

Her legs moved stiffly, like they didn’t belong to her anymore. Being constantly called the Saint bogged her down with much responsibility she was never interested in. The soldiers continued to guide her through the crooked streets that curled and jutted in all different directions, while Yuki let herself be swept along. One soldier kept her steady, his gauntleted hand hovering awkwardly near her shoulder as if she might collapse at any second. The crowd that has been praising her –”Saint! Saint! Saint!” –flickered like a broken GIF. Faces reset to blank stares, then stretched into grotesque smiles before snapping back. Some villagers looped the same cheer, their mouths moving half a second behind the sound.

“Truly… the blessed Saint… has… arrrrrrrr… buffering… arr-ived,” one woman croaked, her jaw hanging too long before correcting itself.

Yuki’s skin prickled. She kept her eyes down, watching her boots crunch over the cobblestones, pretending that if she didn’t look closely, the nightmare scenery might sort itself out.

The road wound upwards like a snake, curving past market stalls stuck in infinite loops. A fishmonger repeated the same guttural laugh while holding up the same fish–rewinding every few seconds to lift it again, arms jerking like a scratched DVD. A cart full of fruit endlessly tipped over, apples spilling, then snapping back into place. Over and over.

Yuki flinched as a small boy came out of nowhere and pushed past her. He looped from the fountain, towards her, and back to the fountain–eyes blank, laughter delayed, half a second behind his moving lips.

Her stomach twisted. This doesn’t feel like a game anymore. This is more like a nightmare…

The soldiers that surrounded her didn’t seem to notice. They all marched stiffly, polished armor gleaming unnaturally, reflecting light in ways that bent to sharp. “The palace awaits, Saint,” one said, his voice flat, distorted around the edges like it had been auto-tuned poorly.

At the end of the road, towering above the flickering city, were the silver gates of the palace.

The gates creaked open, but the sound chimed twice, like an echo from a broken audio file. The villagers’ cheering swelled behind her:

“Saaaaainnnt- S-Saaaint–Saaaaaainnnt!”

The gates slammed behind her, cutting it off.

Inside the courtyard, the illusion of perfection shattered further. The polished marble underfoot blinked between stone, wood, and blank textile. A fountain stood in the center, but instead of water it sprayed strings of glowing text:

WATERPARTICLEEFFECTMISSING

Yuki swallowed hard. Nope. Not creepy. Not creepy at all. Just a totally normal isekai palace with a totally normal reality.

 She was ushered through the main doors–one opened smoothly, the other lagged several seconds behind–and into a large throne room.

The place looked like a half-finished painting. Stained-glass windows depicted epic battles, but some panes were replaced with red error screens. A velvet carpet blinked between rich crimson and a garish green checkerboard.

At the far end sat the king. Or something trying to be him. His body flickered rapidly–sometimes a regal old man in robes, sometimes a faceless mannequin, sometimes a child-sized version perched on the oversized throne. His crown jittered between gold, silver, and floating several inches above his head.

Before Yuki could gawk, her attention was drawn to four figures standing proudly at the base of the throne.

The Hero’s Party.

Her supposed… teammates.

Front and center was a young man, whom she guessed was the “Hero”. He wore shining silver armor that gleamed in patches, like someone had photoshopped light onto only half of him. His golden blonde hair caught the glow, cropped short to frame his striking blue eyes. His sword leaned against his waste, polished to an unrealistic sparkle. His smile was too wide–like a salesman who just sold you a warranty you didn’t need.

“Oh-ho!” he boomed, voice bouncing as though the revered slider had been maxed out. “So, YOU’RE the Saint, huh? WELCOME! WELCOME!” He spread his arms in a grand gesture, but his right hand froze midair, jittered, then reappeared scratching his head like nothing happened.

Yuki blinked. “...You’re… the hero?”

“That’s me! HERO [undefined variable] at your service! But–” He pointed both fingers at her like he was finger-gunning. “Call me Kei. just Kei! Hero stuff is so formal, right? Ha-haaa!” His laugh track echoed twice, overlapping like an out-of-sync TV rerun.

Next to him was a mountain of a man. Bulging muscles stacked on muscles, veins like ropes. He radiated the aura of a barbarian who could snap a bear in half. A mustache and goatee framed his rugged face, while his short vest clung pitifully to his massive figure—more spaghetti than clothing, splattered in colors as if a rainbow had thrown up on it. A heavy chain hung around his neck, a blue diamond gleaming at its center.

But his weapon…was a spoon. A single, massive, shiny, soup-serving spoon.

He raised it proudly. “Name’s Gorn the Mighty, Slayer of a thousand foes. Eater of… several hundred bowls of stew.”

Yuki’s eyes flickered to the spoon. “Is that… uh…”

He puffed his chest. “This spoon scoops not only broth, but souls!” He thumped it against his shoulder like a warhammer. The spoon made a sad clink.

Yuki had no idea if he was serious or not.

On the other side slouched a cloaked figure, barely visible beneath the hood. Turquoise hair slipped out in uneven strands, contrasting against a grey cloak stained with patches of green. Sharp blue eyes glimmered with suspicion, narrowed like a cat ready to bolt—yet holding a strange suspension, as though caught between retreat and revelation.

“...I don’t trust her,” the rogue muttered immediately.

Yuki stiffened. “E-Excuse me?”

The rogue flinched at her statement, mumbling something about ‘bugs” under his breath. He folded his arms. “Anyway… Name’s Jin. Don’t touch my stuff. Don’t ask why I’m here. Though I wonder about that myself sometimes…” His hood twitched, then reappeared reversed, inside-out. Jin yanked it down with a hiss before returning to the corner to mope.

The last of the group was a woman with flowing white hair and sharp purple eyes behind thin-framed glasses. A large wizard hat, slightly too big for her head, sat atop her hair, tilting forward as though it had its own opinion. She wore a pristine white robe traced with glowing blue symbols that glitched and rearranged themselves constantly, as if reality itself couldn’t decide on the pattern. In one hand she clutched a large staff, in the other an armful of parchment. Setting the staff aside, she immediately began scribbling on the parchment. It didn’t look like she was casting a spell—more like she was grading.

“Mmhm…” The mage’s quill scratched furiously as she eyed Yuki up and down. “Appearance… 5.3 out of 10. Magical potential… 1.1. Personality: timid, panicky… that'll deduct some points.” She stamped the parchment with a glowing red F.

Yuki gawked. “Um. What are you doing, exactly?”

“Scoring. That’s my job.” The mage flickered her hair. “I’m Lyra, High Sorceress of Beauty and Flame. I rate everything. Power levels. Aesthetic cohesion. Even how you chew food. People deserve feedback, darling.” She scribbled again. “Posture: slouched. Score: 2.”

Yuki instinctively straightened.

“Better. 3.5.” Lyra smiled, satisfied. “See? Already improving.”

Kei clapped his hands together, glitching a split-second delay so the sound hit before the motion. “Well then! THIS is our team. Now your glorious comrades. Your destined partners in saving the world! Hooo boy, aren’t we a catch?”

“Speak for yourself,” Jin muttered.

Gorn flexed so hard his muscles made an audible POP. Lyra doodled a zero across the page. Kei just grinned, sparkling again in broken bursts.

Yuki swallowed hard. Her head spun. They expect me…to support… these people?

Her knees locked in place. The palace flickered around her, the throne itself briefly replaced by an error cube before re-rendering.

Somewhere in the glitching walls, she thought she heard laughter.

And all Yuki could think was: I’m doomed.