Nurturing the Hero to Avoid Death

Ch 1 - I Am Thrown in by the Goddess

I wake up to a ceiling painted in quiet hues. Despite this, the interior design screams two adjectives: high class and expensive.

Where is this place?

I’ve never seen this ceiling before.

It is obvious that this isn’t my room. Circulating through the room is a gentle and pleasant floral scent.

It’s bright.

Is it morning? Or, is the day nearing noon?

When I roll over, I see a window to my side. The curtains are half drawn.

Through the window’s gap a refreshing breeze wheedles its way over, caressing my cheeks in a gentle embrace.

I rub my eyes.  And then, I freeze.

The hand in view is surprisingly thin and pale—

The hand is small.

“Huh?!”

What is this?

What is this what is this what is this?!

I clench my short, oh-so-stubby hands close and open. Anyone can see that these belong to a child.

Though not as tiny as a baby’s, the hand is little. It’s about one third the size of my original one. How old is the owner of these hands? Perhaps the hand belongs to a ten-year-old. It’s the size of a brat’s, some sparkly first grader in primary school. Not to mention, the skin color is a pale white.

Such a shade is similar to a westerner’s.

I leap in the air. My heart is pounding, going overdrive. Breathing becomes difficult.

“What is this … What the fuck?!” Without thinking, I grasp my throat with both hands. The voice that escaped my lips was high-pitched as well.

Specifically, it’s a child’s squeaky voice.

My throat is slender. Freaked out, I scan the surrounding area.

It’s spacious.

The room is about four times the size of mine. Hugging the wall are two bookcases spilling with books. There’s a shiny and polished desk; its streamlined feet give off a premium feel.  There’s also a leather shoulder bag, its size obviously meant for children. A large, no, humongous closet. A landscape painting with a high-class frame.

On top of a table is a vase fit with a flower. Those also appear expensive.

The whole image seems like a luxurious European room.

This is definitely not my room.

Where is this place? It looks like I’ve been in bed.

The pajamas on my body feel light and smooth. Somehow, they’re silky. Isn’t this real silk? Are you serious?! I’ll be in trouble if I tear it. It’ll be bad if the clothes get dirty. What should I do if it’s too expensive for me to compensate?

I try climbing down the bed, paying close attention to not ruin such wallet-breaking pajamas.

There are slippers prepared. These are also meant for a small child. Though not for adults, they fit my feet well.

I have a terrible premonition, acute and staggering. There’s a full-length mirror on the wall by the closet. Swallowing, I spring up and head for the mirror. A piece of cloth drapes over the surface. I stand before it.

While holding down my heart, which is about to leap out of my chest, I grasp the edge of the cloth, dragging it down.

There.