SS: Adventures of Protag-kun Volume III

It began with a bowl of stew.

Not just any stew—this one shimmered unnaturally, its surface rippling like a cursed pond. Bits of glowing mushroom bobbed beside fibrous greens that looked like they’d been plucked from a dungeon’s compost heap. The smell was earthy, pungent, and vaguely medicinal. My wooden spoon hovered above it like a weapon I wasn’t ready to wield.

Across the campfire, my party ate with unsettling joy. Mei, our head chef and chief dietitian, watched me with hopeful eyes as Allen slurped his broth, Monica and Miyu crunched on a leaf with theatrical flair, and Cinnamon—our animal familiar—munched with the smug serenity of someone who’d never known shame.

My stomach gave a low rumble, a knot tightening in my gut. This was no ordinary hunger pang; this was a warning.

“Protag-chan,” Mei said gently, “you’re not eating your veggies.”

Her voice was melodic, almost maternal. That was enough to make me flinch.

I poked a pulsating berry with my spoon. It jiggled. My hand trembled. “Ah, no. These… these are low-level grinding food. My hero class requires mana-rich proteins. Like meat.” I gestured to the sad sliver of orc meat on my plate—a lonely island in a sea of plant matter.

Monica raised an eyebrow, her smirk already loading sarcasm. “I thought heroes were supposed to eat everything to boost their stats.”

I straightened my back, trying to look noble despite the clammy sweat beading on my forehead. “You misunderstand. A hero’s diet is a delicate balance. One wrong bite and you could ruin your entire build.”

My stomach gurgled again—louder this time. Cinnamon paused mid-chew, his tiny eyes narrowing. Judging. Always judging.

Mei’s smile faltered. “Oh. I worked so hard on this stew.”

Guilt stabbed at me, but fear quickly overrode it. I couldn’t tell them. Not yet. How could I, the chosen savior of this world, admit that I was terrified of something so… mundane? My digestive system, once a faithful background process, felt like a malfunctioning inventory system that I could no longer access.

Monica leaned toward Allen, whispering just loud enough for me to hear. “Look at him. He’s pale, bloated, irritable. The poor guy’s in labor.”

Allen stared at her, exhausted. “What are talking about this time?”

The stew bubbled ominously. The mushrooms pulsed. Even the wind seemed to whisper: Let go…

Monica was the first to act.

She crouched beside a bush that shimmered faintly under the moonlight and plucked a handful of glistening purple berries. They squelched in her palm, releasing a syrup that smelled like mint and mild regret.

“Protag-kun,” she said, holding them out like a sacred offering, “these berries helped me to ease menstrual cramps. Maybe they’ll help with labor pains.”

“I’m not in labor,” I muttered, leaning back like she’d offered me a cursed relic. “My mana intake is self-regulating. Besides, I’m a hero. My digestive system is optimized for combat.”

Monica didn’t blink. “Denial is the first stage.”

After her “labor” theory took root, I made a conscious effort to appear more stoic. I walked slower, straighter, like a noble statue carved from discomfort. But my body betrayed me—my complexion had the pallor of a ghost with performance anxiety, and every movement felt like I was dodging invisible tripwires.

Each time Mei brought a new dish to the fire—a salad of wild greens, a broth with root vegetables—I invented increasingly absurd excuses.

“These Wild Greens of Misfortune,” I declared, “are known to inflict the Curse of Clumsiness.”

Mei blinked. “They’re just lettuce.”

“And these Root Vegetables of the Underworld,” I continued, “will lower my charisma stats. I can’t risk it.”

Allen, ever the voice of reason, handed me a piece of dried fruit. “Just eat something. You look like you’re dying.”

I recoiled as if he’d offered me a live scorpion. “I told you—I’m not a fan of low-level grinding food! It’s an insult to my heroic build.”

Allen leaned in, voice low. “Are you… afraid to poop in the forest?”

His words hit me like a spell to the chest. I staggered back, face flushing crimson. My vision narrowed, and a surge of primal energy, raw and animalistic, coursed through my veins. “I am a master of all terrains! I am… I’m a master of terrain!”

Monica scribbled something in a small notebook labeled Heroic Pregnancy Log. “Mood swings. Denial. Defensive posture. We’re entering the third trimester.”

Mei approached gently, her eyes soft. “There’s no shame in needing to relieve yourself. Even pop idols poop.”

Allen, who was casually whittling a stick, was unbothered by the chaos. “She’s right,” he said without looking up. “Just let nature do its thing.”

My mind reeled. How could they be so casual about something so undignified like our resident familiar? I was the chosen one. The future savior of this world. I couldn’t be undone by fiber. But the stew bubbled again, and my stomach answered with a sound that could only be described as a warning.

Even Cinnamon paused mid-chew, his tiny eyes narrowing with judgment. Then, slowly, he reached into his pouch and placed a single leaf beside me. A silent offering. A symbol of surrender.

That night, the forest was quiet. Too quiet.

I sat by the fire, untouched stew congealing beside me, my stomach a battlefield of pride versus biology. The others had eaten, laughed, and now whispered in hushed tones just beyond the flickering light. They were speaking in English. That was never a good sign.

“We have to do something,” Mei said, her voice tight with worry.

“Is he even going to survive the night?” Miyu added.

“I have an idea,” Monica whispered. “It’s unconventional… but it might just work.”

I caught fragments—“who's the father,” “intestinal trauma,” and the most terrifying phrase of all: Operation Midwifery.

I didn’t know what they were planning. I didn’t want to know.

But before I could escape, Allen and Mei seized me by the shoulders. “Sorry, Protag-kun. This is for your own good.”

“What are you—wait, no—!”

They dragged me to a secluded clearing behind a cluster of trees. The moonlight filtered through the leaves like judgmental eyes. Monica held up her locket, and with a flick of her wrist, a curtain of magical ribbons erupted around us, forming a shimmering wall of privacy.

“Sanctum of Release,” she said solemnly.

Allen tightened his grip. “If you keep this up, you could die from a bacterial infection.”

Mei, her hands pulling down my pants as if ready for surgery, stepped forward. “Don't worry, this will be quicker than when I gave birth to Miyu. We are just going to physically extract the blockage,” she said gently. "Just remember to think of happy and warm thoughts."

Monica, ever the chaos priestess, leaned in with a grin. “I think I see it. It’s begun crowning.”

That was it. My vision narrowed. A new kind of energy, raw and animalistic, surged through my veins. My heroic resolve, pushed past its limits, finally surrendered to primal instinct.

“I am Protag-kun, the chosen hero!” I roared, voice cracking like thunder. “I will not be defeated by a low-level mob!”

The forest fell silent.

Even the mushrooms stopped glowing.

Just as I broke free from Allen’s grasp, pants half-down and dignity dangling by a thread, the forest answered with a growl.

Low. Guttural. Hungry.

From the shadows, a dire wolf emerged—its fur matted with brambles, eyes glowing like cursed rubies. Saliva dripped from its fangs, sizzling as it hit the moss. It was massive, primal, and very, very real.

I froze.

My body, pushed past its limits, finally surrendered. A sound erupted from me—loud, wet, and unmistakable. The dire wolf stopped mid-snarl, ears twitching. It blinked once, twice, then took a cautious step back.

Monica gasped. “It’s reacting to the birthing cry!”

Allen didn’t hesitate. “Monica, let’s kill the dire wolf.”

“Roger Allen,” she said, vaulting over a log with terrifying grace. Her magical girl transformation complete as she punched and the beast collapsed in a heap of fur and confusion.

Silence.

I stood in a stupor, pants still down, steam rising faintly from the clearing. I was no longer a hero. I was just a man. A man who had finally pooped in the woods.

And for the first time, that was enough.

“How did the dire wolf get here?” Mei asked, scanning the treeline.

Allen pointed to the dimming mushrooms behind the beast. “It came from there. After collecting the monster materials, we should be careful.”

A few minutes later, I emerged from the clearing, lighter than I’d felt in days. My stomach no longer a boulder, my mind no longer a fog. The others waited, their expressions a mix of concern, relief, and mild trauma.

Monica tilted her head. “Darn. I was really hoping we’d have another girl join the party.”

Cinnamon offered me a leaf. I took it with solemn gratitude.

Author's Note: I want to thank everyone for helping me reach 1000+ views. Your support and comments means a lot to me, especially when I was sick and struggling what to write next. Please remember to show your love by liking and commenting.