The second I arrived in Isekai Village I knew I was out of place. Nobody gave me odd looks or anything, even though I was wearing what was basically a loincloth bikini and was still brushing sticks out of my hair, but everyone else was wearing proper clothes. Or shiny full-body armour. But still, not loincloths.

Maybe I was like one of those randomly put together characters at the beginning of a game before you got any equipment. Pre-DLC default girl before the in-app purchases started to get pushed.

If I had to traverse the nine realms of hell weighing up the decision on whether or not to spend microtransactions on vanity items I might as well just lie down in the dirt and die again. That kind of purgatory could only be designed by a total sadist.

Gripping my satchel a little tighter, I started walking through town, looking for some kind of information. I tried to make eye contact with a few passers-by, but they weaved around me and walked on as though I wasn’t there.

There seemed to be a mix of species as well, like a mash-up of Lord of the Rings and Skyrim and I don’t even know what else.

I found a noticeboard and hoped it would provide some more information – maybe even a town map - but it was covered in what appeared to be job ads.

Kill this monster, slay that monster, save my nephew from a band of brigands. Yawn. No thanks. Give me a farming or dating sim any day. I’d happily leave the adventuring to James.

The noticeboard was near a homely-looking tavern that had a rustic wooden sign swinging on hinges over the door. The Sleepy Dragon.

For lack of a better idea, I wandered in, hoping to find someone to talk to. The tavern was well-lit with wall sconces and a roaring fire that made me almost glad for my lack of clothing. A few people were seated at each end of the room, and what appeared to be a couple of goblins were near the door, but they hissed at me as I walked past, so I gave them a wide berth.

The bar was empty, so I took a seat at it. A large cauldron shaped pot was bubbling on a stove on the back wall.

A furry-faced cat woman greeted me. She appeared to be a beautiful silver Maine Coone. I almost squealed at how fluffy she was, but her eyes flashed at me impatiently and her greeting turned into a hiss.

“You gonna order something, or you gonna sit around and waste my time?” the cat-woman demanded, the hair on her head rising with each word until she looked substantially bigger.

“I… uh…” I stalled, shrinking down in my seat. What did people here drink? Did I even have any money?

I pulled my satchel off my shoulder and put it on the bar in front of me, flipping the lid open. There were some bandages, a few weird looking potion bottles and odds and ends rolling about, and a small brown pouch. I pulled the drawstrings of the pouch open and tipped the contents out.

Five copper coins, two silver, and a button.

“What will this get me?” I asked.

The cat woman made a noise of disgust and took one of the silver coins. Her fingers were surprisingly long and human-like in shape, but they still had distinctly feline qualities such as hair and claws.

“I’ll get you an ale, but if you plan on hanging around, you’ll need to go get some work. Try the jobs board outside.”

I refrained from making a face. If I had cracked my head open and died, and this was the afterlife, I had some serious complaints. It didn’t seem fair to follow one life of doing jobs to pay for food and accommodation with another.

The cat woman returned with my flagon of ale. I waited until her back was turned to remove the long silver hair from the lip of the mug and then took a long drink, taking pleasure in the warmth it spread through my stomach. If anyone deserved alcohol, it was me. This day officially sucked.

Before I could take another, the door burst open behind me, and I turned around to see a huge wall of hulking green muscles. I never knew I fancied the Hulk until that very moment, but I found myself lightheaded, drooling and suddenly very thankful there was another person in a loincloth in the building.

Stolen story; please report.

“We need a Healer!” the green man grunted, and I felt something warm spread through my stomach that had nothing to do with the ale.

His voice was rough and leathery, masculine and undeniably attractive. If he was meant to be an orc, he was the prettiest orc I’d ever seen. His body was toned and muscular, but totally hairless. His ears pointed straight up towards a thick head of hair that was fixed into a messy bun. It reminded me a little of a samurai.

A sexy, green samurai.

He was dragging an unconscious man in, but my empathy was lacking since these were all fictional characters that had erupted out of a head injury.

Besides, hunky arms. Drool.

“There’s one here,” the cat woman said behind me. I reluctantly tore my eyes away from the orc’s pectoral muscles to get a view of the Healer, only to realize with a start that she was pointing at me.

“Uh, what?” I blinked, hurriedly wiping the drool off my chin now that I realized everyone was staring at me. It felt like one of those horrific dreams where you have to stand up in front of your high school class and deliver a speech in your underwear.

“Healer, please help my brother,” Hunky Orc pleaded with me. “I’ll pay handsomely if you can save his life.”

“Handsome…” I repeated dumbly, before gathering my wits and clearing my throat. “Uh, handsome or not, I don’t know if I can save him. I don’t really know what to do. I’m not really a Healer.”

“She’s a bit slow,” the cat woman agreed, making me want to claw her eyes out.

The orc raked his eyes down my figure, and I felt it as though it had been a physical touch, every hair on my body prickling under his gaze. If he saw my nipples hardening under their thin veil, I’d die of mortification.

“Ah, you’re Level One,” the orc sounded disappointed, but persevered. “Please try. Your kind is supposed to be well-suited to healing. Please give it a go. Have you got any potions?”

I looked at the unconscious man, who looked almost feminine. Elvish, maybe? Definitely not an orc anyway, although maybe the term ‘brother’ was meant to be a figure of speech. More importantly, he seemed to be bleeding out pretty bad, but it didn’t seem polite to point out. I looked in my bag and pulled out a few bottles, looking at the labels.

I made to offer them to the orc, but he insisted I was the Healer, and I should be the one to administer the potions, despite not knowing what the heck I was doing. I couldn’t help but think if doctors were trained this way in the real world, the mortality rate would be a lot higher.

Blood replenisher. Mana replenisher. Scabby-grow. Succubus slime.

I hurriedly put the succubus slime back in the satchel, thinking it could hardly be useful, and pulled the cork out of the blood replenisher. I carefully tipped a few drops into the elf’s mouth, but no sooner had he swallowed, the blood started spurting out of his side again and splattered onto my leg.

“Eww!” I screeched, and the cat woman started cackling with laughter behind me.

“Quick, the scabby-grow!” the orc hurried me. “He’s got more blood now, but he needs to heal, or he’ll just bleed out again!”

I made to pour the other potion in his mouth, but the orc caught my wrist in his strong grasp and redirected me to pour it over the wound. It bubbled and hardened until it scabbed over, and the orc let out a relieved breath.

“Now try singing to him,” the orc requested.

“Excuse me?”

“Just sing!”

“Any song?” I hesitated, literally every lyric I knew flying out of my head.

“Anything, please.”

Although I wanted to refuse to participate any further in this fever-dream, the intensity of his request shocked me into action.

“Um… la la la,” I started to sing quietly. “Singing a song, sitting here with you, all sticky and gross, please can you get better soon?”

To my amazement, he started to gain some of the pallor back to his skin. My voice steadied.

“Singing a song, hope it’s not wrong, I hope it’s enough, because lyrics are tough.”

The elf stirred, smiled, then fell into a more stable looking slumber. He actually looked kind of cute when he wasn’t on the brink of death.

“That should be enough. Thank you,” the orc said, grasping my hand in his massive one, and I felt myself swoon. “What is your name, Miss Healer?”

“Emma,” I answered breathlessly.

“Really? Because the nametag on your bag says Mitsy,” the cat woman interrupted.

I glared at her. “It’s Emma.”

There was no way in hell I was going by Mitsy.

“They call me Brick, and my brother is Bastion.”

I turned back to drool again at Brick the orc. It fitted him; he was certainly built like a brick wall.

“Please, let me replace your drink,” Brick offered.

“Oh, no it’s fine, I…” I noticed as I picked it up to demonstrate how fine it was that it was actually tinted red with Bastion’s blood. That spray was bigger than I’d expected. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“I’ll be charging you clean up as well,” the cat woman said. “One silver, three coppers for the mess.”

I shot her another glare; suspicious she was charging the exact amount she knew I had left in my purse.

“Let it go Kira, the bar’ll be covered in blood again before the day’s out.”

“I wouldn’t mind cleaning up myself, actually, if you could point me in the direction of a bathroom.”

“Rooms are two silver a night, including bathroom access,” Kira informed me, her sharp teeth glinting in the firelight.

I growled in frustration. “Are there any other places to stay in this stupid town?”

“You can stay with me as thanks,” Brick said. “Kira, she’ll be under my party. Send up food and ale.”

He lugged Bastion over his arm, as though he were a sack of potatoes, and gestured for me to follow him up the stairs.

“Welcome to Isekai, Emma.”

I thought I saw something, like a textbox with words in it, but I blinked, and it disappeared.

Of all the weird things that had happened to me today, it barely registered a second thought.