I recovered from the inconsistencies this world presented as I followed the flow of people toward the city center. This world was in medieval times and in the middle of the Industrial Revolution at the same time, and more strangely, in the same place. Some rich people had pocket watches, while others wore straw sandals.

The streets were cobblestone, and yards had outhouses, while the castle had plumbing and an escape route as if built using precision tools.

Townsfolk and lavish carriages alike were moving in one direction. Most common folk looked excited in the streets.

The word very similar to "Heroes" was spoken by children and adults alike. I wrote it down in my dictionary. A bunch of kids playing with sticks, pretending they were swords, repeated the word. I could guess that one of them, the pouting one, talked loudly that it was his turn to be a “heros”. I wrote "to be someone/play" in one word in my dictionary.

The town's main square was filled with people as I approached it. Something important and exciting for these people was about to happen.

I could guess that it was related to the recent summonings. Common folk gave me space, sometimes giving a small bow when passing by. I drew too much attention for my liking, but at least I wasn’t too out of place.

The workers not far from me were constructing a podium. I still felt exhausted and decided to rest at the closest bench in the shade of a building not very far from the stage.

I focused for a few minutes on the conversations next to me, but they spoke too fast for me to pick anything from it. I focused on another one. Kids called a cat "Kattu" and made "pspspspsps" sounds to lure it, proving my assumption that the language people spoke here was connected to my homeworld.

This world’s cats were twice the size of what I was used to, but as petting them has shown, they are domesticated cats with silky fur.

The gestures people made were similar too. People nodded in agreement and shook their heads in disagreement. They raised their shoulders when not answering questions, and strangely shook their hands after meeting each other. “How are you?” went into my dictionary.

At this moment it had 25 words and phrases, the meaning of which I could only guess. The number of armed men increased as the sun rose to the zenith and the area became more crowded. People walked around me while I sat in my hyper-aware state. Some were eyeing me, others investigating.

I saw a few suspicious people watching me, like poorly trained spies. I paid them no attention and stayed in my place. Acting out would prove that I did notice them, which would raise suspicions. I was relaxed, and some fellows pretending to be unnoticeable were not making me uncomfortable.

A woman was eyeing me from a top window, hiding behind the curtains but forgetting to remove a shiny necklace, tiny glimpses of which gave her away. A man who entered a group of talking people a few meters away, his back to me, said nothing to the others there for minutes. He was concentrating on something else, like keeping me in sight, at the edge of his vision the whole time.

I felt like I was in a kid’s spy movie, akin to one where spies are hiding in the bushes. Oh, and the man on a bench behind the bushes. He read the same newspaper page for about 10 minutes without adjusting it. I felt ashamed for my otherworldly colleagues.

In a few minutes, they were all gone, losing all interest and focusing on another gentleman at a distance.

An old man in a three-piece suit with a mug of something approached me and started to talk with me. I had to resort to pantomime to show I didn't understand him, but he just thrust a tankard of wine into my hands, practically forcing me to drink with him after he raised a toast that I was unable to pick up a single word from. It felt like I drank to someone's health and prosperity.

It turned out to be good wine. It reminded me of the dry reds from Uncle Josh's collection. I savored it over the next few minutes. The wine had an intense flavor. I could taste its origins in mineral-heavy soil, pure and unspiced, with hints of something akin to cherry. The tannins were bolder than what I was used to.

Uncle Josh would have loved this. I thought about bringing him a bottle if I found a way home. I wanted to smoke, but smoking in this world would most likely draw an intense amount of attention.

As the place got filled, the sounds of horns rang. A group of knights escorted some general or king-looking fella who stood alone above the crowd, as the crowd cheered his appearance.

The giant king, almost 7 feet tall, gave his speech, his voice unnaturally loud as if he spoke through a megaphone. I assumed it was some sound-amplifying magic.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

About three minutes in, he called someone on the stage, someone I recognized. Aki—whatever his family name was—ran up the stage and gave a few lines in the same language, making the crowd cheer.

The word "heroes" was heard from people around me left and right. Even the King used it a couple of times.

To my trained eyes, I could see the kid enjoying it, but his footing was insecure. I would have been scared if he had been calm and still in front of what I estimated to be a 15-20 thousand crowd.

The two left the stage as the music grew louder, after which some proclamations started to be broadcast by heralds whose voices weren't amplified.

My watches indicated that I was up for around 4 hours, but I felt lazy, and the bench in the shade felt cozy and comfortable.

I pantomimed my way out of a few more people who sat next to me, the wine felt stronger, considering I hadn’t eaten properly in days. I felt tired.

I was trying to invent a solution, but if working for MI6 taught me something, it was that any government would milk you dry. So the cooperation option with the local government was out of the question. The crowd dispersed quickly, leaving only around a hundred people in the square.

I saw a group of gentlemen at a distance take out cigarettes, and my eyes lit up. Their cigarettes looked similar to mine. White tip, yellow filter. I needed to smoke to collect my thoughts. I took out the pack, but my lighter was not on me...

I checked my pockets, and it wasn't there. I tried to recall when I used it last time and figured out it most likely fell in the park where I slept. I became sloppy, not checking belongings before heading out was a big no-no. I looked at the group, trying to witness how they lit theirs, but it was too late.

I decided against my better judgment to approach them and ask for a light. What could go wrong?

As I slowly walked to them with a cigarette in my hand, one of the smokers lit his by snapping his fingers, a small flame appearing on the tip of his thumb.

"Huh?" my mind whispered to myself, as I was trying to hide my utter confusion. This magic thing was growing slowly on me. Maybe all rich people were able to use magic here. I decided not to show that I was not a magicless muggle, in my hand-tailored 2016 suit.

"Hey, are those luckies, by any chance?" I heard a cheerful voice behind me speaking in English of all languages, while my heart sank.

I continued walking for a few more steps as I tried to recall my training to figure out a solution.

"Hey, what do you do when you appear in another world, and someone speaks your language?" I wondered in my mind.

I had no answer to that question, so I turned around. It was a middle-aged, combed-bearded man in what I could figure out as upper-middle-class grey robes. His face looked familiar.

"Excuse me?" I smiled at him and approached.

“Luckies mean fine tobacco,” he said staring at the Lucky Star pack in my hand.

I frantically tried to remember where I saw this man as I handed him a cig.

He took out a flip lighter from his robes and lit us both, and at that moment it came together. This was a professor from my university.

A nice gentleman I hadn't seen since graduation, Professor... Nissen or Nellson. I tried to remember his name, family name, or what he taught, but my mind didn't budge; it was around eight to ten years ago, and I only saw him in the smoking area. I only remembered this guy because he smoked like a train.

"Luckies, that is a rare thing to see here." He took a calm nostalgic drag. "I didn't expect to see a familiar face here."

"Me neither." He looked older but still in fine form for someone in his fifties.

“You are George, from the Journalism department, right?” He stoked his blonde beard.

“Huh? Yeah, I didn’t think you would remember a student who wasn’t in your class, Professor.”

"Your advisor was bragging about you too much. Weren’t you reporting from Syria in 2014? So, you are a hero now?" I looked at his hands; there were slashing scars on them.

"I started in 2015, but that’s a long story." I saw that he paid attention to my clothes, and analyzed me as a whole.

"I never took you for someone who would join violent fanatics, so how did you end up here?" He gave me an important bit of information.

"Isn’t this the afterlife?" I answered jokingly not to disclose too much. But after I said that I realized that I revealed too much.

"Hah!" He chuckled. His reaction confirmed that there were multiple ways into this world. So maybe there was a way out.

"What's so funny?"

"People are watching us now; I just pretended I loved the joke you told me."

"Oh, the woman on the second floor hiding behind the curtains behind me?" I chuckled.

"Yes, did you grow eyes on your back?" he smiled at me widely.

I laughed a bit as if he told an unfathomably funny joke.

"In an hour near the broken wall, I'll see you in an abandoned building." I noticed his lips' movement and words didn't correspond to the last sentence. Spy technique to mislead lip readers.

He left at a casual pace, and I continued my way. I passed the group of smoking gentlemen and saw the pale kid previously referred to as "Magistros" among them.

I smiled. Maybe it was the wine, but I felt great. Things were moving at a way faster pace than I anticipated. As I walked down the streets the feeling of things being too convenient nagged me. Maybe I was in a Matrix, connected to an advanced AI, and the whole world was a simulation built on a pun. Pun I didn’t know about.

A lightbulb lit up, answering one of my previous questions. Ruy meant a dragon, Ryūnosuke Press And Entertainment… Dragon Helper Press And Entertainment… The modern Dragon’s Horde was a corporation.

“No, it wasn’t convenient. Nor was it luck,” I told myself. “Neither he, nor I were here by accident. We came to see the new summoned one, and summoned ones would be among the most interested. Lucky Stars are popular in Japan and among older Americans. It makes sense he recognized them. What is strange is that we knew each other, even slightly. What’s the chance of that? One in a million?”