Chapter 1:
The Hero Who Lost
I'm a Loser Hero
He didn't know where he was.
The first thing he felt was the cold of the floor beneath his hands. Marble. Smooth. Too clean to be real. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking, expecting to see the ceiling of his room, the half-peeling posters, the glow of his phone buzzing on the table.
But none of that was there.
Above him rose an enormous vault, held up by white columns carved with reliefs he didn't recognize. The light didn't come from torches or lamps, but from a soft, almost celestial glow that seemed to well up from the air itself.
—Huh…?
His voice echoed, small, insignificant.
As he sat up, he saw her.
A woman dressed entirely in white floated a few meters off the ground. Her long hair fell as if it weighed nothing, and her eyes —too pale— seemed to pierce him effortlessly. She gave no hint of hostility, but neither warmth. She was like looking at a living statue.
Beside her, seated on a golden throne, was a man with a gray beard and an imposing bearing. He wore royal garments, heavy, studded with gems and symbols that screamed power. To either side of the hall, lined as if they had been waiting for hours, stood dozens… no, hundreds of people: nobles, priests, knights, mages, soldiers.
All of them were looking at him.
—Welcome —the woman in white said, in a serene voice—. Do not be afraid.
The boy swallowed.
—W-where am I…?
—You have been transported —she continued— from your world to this one. By divine will.
His heart leapt.
Transported.Divine.
The king rose from his throne and stepped forward.
—Young one —he said in a firm voice, trained to be heard—. Our world faces a calamity. Every five years, a demonic tide descends upon our lands, laying waste to cities, exterminating entire villages.
The boy listened… but at the same time he couldn't help smiling.
This was exactly like in the anime.
—You —the king continued— have been summoned as the "Hero". The one destined to face the calamity and save this world.
Hero.
The word vibrated in his chest.
The goddess stepped a little closer.
—In exchange for your summoning, you will receive power. Magic. Abilities superior to those of any human in this world. However… —she paused briefly— you will not be able to return to your home. This world will, from now on, be your only destination.
The boy barely registered that last part.
Not being able to return.
It didn't matter.
He had grown up watching stories like this. He had always dreamed of this. Of swords, spells, adventures. Of leaving a normal life behind to become someone important.
—I-It's fine… —he said, with a nervous but genuine smile—. I'll do my best.
The king nodded, satisfied.
The assembled broke into applause.
In that moment, the boy thought he was about to live the best story of his life.
The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, dyeing the field in orange tones. Nearby, the silhouettes of a small village could be made out: wooden houses, smoke from chimneys, tranquility.
Sitting in an old chair in front of a country house, a man watched the landscape.
He was taller. Broader-shouldered. His face hardened by years and a scruffy shadow of a beard he didn't bother shaving completely. His hands were rough, marked by work.
—I remember it like it was yesterday… —he murmured.
He closed his eyes.
And the world burned again.
The ground shook.
The sky was covered by black clouds that moved against all logic, as if something gigantic were breathing behind them. The air smelled of iron and ash.
—Positions! Do not break formation!
The hero advanced with the army. He wore an enchanted armor, light, engraved with symbols that glowed faintly. Around him, mages chanted, archers drew their bows, knights slammed their shields.
He breathed deeply.
He had trained for this.He had fought in dungeons.He had defeated monsters.
This… this was the end.
—Hero —a commander said—. When the core of the wave appears, we rely on your magic.
He nodded.
Magic was his thing.
From the start he had stood out for it: precise control, great reserves, a natural affinity. The sword was a fallback. Magic was his essence.
Then it happened.
The ground opened like a wound.
From the crack poured impossible creatures: demons of twisted shapes, torn wings, jaws full of irregular teeth. They roared, but not like animals: like something that enjoyed itself.
The first thing he felt was the cold of the floor beneath his hands. Marble. Smooth. Too clean to be real. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking, expecting to see the ceiling of his room, the half-peeling posters, the glow of his phone buzzing on the table.
But none of that was there.
Above him rose an enormous vault, held up by white columns carved with reliefs he didn't recognize. The light didn't come from torches or lamps, but from a soft, almost celestial glow that seemed to well up from the air itself.
—Huh…?
His voice echoed, small, insignificant.
As he sat up, he saw her.
A woman dressed entirely in white floated a few meters off the ground. Her long hair fell as if it weighed nothing, and her eyes —too pale— seemed to pierce him effortlessly. She gave no hint of hostility, but neither warmth. She was like looking at a living statue.
Beside her, seated on a golden throne, was a man with a gray beard and an imposing bearing. He wore royal garments, heavy, studded with gems and symbols that screamed power. To either side of the hall, lined as if they had been waiting for hours, stood dozens… no, hundreds of people: nobles, priests, knights, mages, soldiers.
All of them were looking at him.
—Welcome —the woman in white said, in a serene voice—. Do not be afraid.
The boy swallowed.
—W-where am I…?
—You have been transported —she continued— from your world to this one. By divine will.
His heart leapt.
Transported.Divine.
The king rose from his throne and stepped forward.
—Young one —he said in a firm voice, trained to be heard—. Our world faces a calamity. Every five years, a demonic tide descends upon our lands, laying waste to cities, exterminating entire villages.
The boy listened… but at the same time he couldn't help smiling.
This was exactly like in the anime.
—You —the king continued— have been summoned as the "Hero". The one destined to face the calamity and save this world.
Hero.
The word vibrated in his chest.
The goddess stepped a little closer.
—In exchange for your summoning, you will receive power. Magic. Abilities superior to those of any human in this world. However… —she paused briefly— you will not be able to return to your home. This world will, from now on, be your only destination.
The boy barely registered that last part.
Not being able to return.
It didn't matter.
He had grown up watching stories like this. He had always dreamed of this. Of swords, spells, adventures. Of leaving a normal life behind to become someone important.
—I-It's fine… —he said, with a nervous but genuine smile—. I'll do my best.
The king nodded, satisfied.
The assembled broke into applause.
In that moment, the boy thought he was about to live the best story of his life.
The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, dyeing the field in orange tones. Nearby, the silhouettes of a small village could be made out: wooden houses, smoke from chimneys, tranquility.
Sitting in an old chair in front of a country house, a man watched the landscape.
He was taller. Broader-shouldered. His face hardened by years and a scruffy shadow of a beard he didn't bother shaving completely. His hands were rough, marked by work.
—I remember it like it was yesterday… —he murmured.
He closed his eyes.
And the world burned again.
The ground shook.
The sky was covered by black clouds that moved against all logic, as if something gigantic were breathing behind them. The air smelled of iron and ash.
—Positions! Do not break formation!
The hero advanced with the army. He wore an enchanted armor, light, engraved with symbols that glowed faintly. Around him, mages chanted, archers drew their bows, knights slammed their shields.
He breathed deeply.
He had trained for this.He had fought in dungeons.He had defeated monsters.
This… this was the end.
—Hero —a commander said—. When the core of the wave appears, we rely on your magic.
He nodded.
Magic was his thing.
From the start he had stood out for it: precise control, great reserves, a natural affinity. The sword was a fallback. Magic was his essence.
Then it happened.
The ground opened like a wound.
From the crack poured impossible creatures: demons of twisted shapes, torn wings, jaws full of irregular teeth. They roared, but not like animals: like something that enjoyed itself.
—Fire! —someone shouted.
The hero raised his hand.
He felt the magical flow… and then—
Nothing.
The void.
—…?
He tried again. Focus. Breathing. Words.
Nothing.
Panic rose in his throat.
—Hero! —a mage beside him shouted—. What's happening?!
—I can't… I can't— he whispered.
A demon tore through the line. Another. The army began to break.
—Use the sword! —they yelled at him.
He drew it.
He fought. He cut. He dodged.
But it wasn't enough.
Every blow he struck was clumsy compared to what he could do with magic. Every second without spells was a mortal disadvantage. The demons did not fall back. They did not flee.
They advanced.
—Retreat! Protect the village!
From the top of a hill, the hero saw it.
The village.
The creatures descending like a dark tide. Houses burning. Screams. People running without direction. Shadows pouring through doors and windows.
—No… —he murmured.
He tried to run, but someone grabbed him.
—It's too late!
The demons did not stay.
They razed.They killed.They smashed.
And then, like children tired of a toy, they withdrew.
The silence that remained was worse than the noise.
The hero fell to his knees.
He had lost.
The wind blew gently again.
The man opened his eyes. The sun was nearly gone. The sky darkened.
—Five years… —he said in a low voice.
He stared at the horizon.
—It won't be long before they bring someone else.
There was no resentment in his voice.Nor hope.
Only certainty.
And this time…he did not intend to watch from afar.
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