When Hiroshi awoke from his slumber, a heavy dizziness blurred his mind and nausea twisted his guts. His vision swam, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim light while a shocking realisation struck like a hammer blow: he was not in his room.

The wooden floor beneath him was carved by a circle of charred runes, engraved as if seared into the planks by a red-hot blade: a drawing too familiar to someone who reads stories with magic although, with a meaning completely unknown. From the circle, straight lines spread outwards as rays escaping from the sun. His gaze followed one of them, leading him to a cluttered desk where a blonde woman lay slumbering, slumped over a pile of papers, giving Hiroshi the impression of a magic scholar who has been working on her craft all night long.

Behind and at her sides, walls lined with shelves, each crammed with hundreds of books, their spines worn and weathered. To his back, a wooden door and a window were both tightly shut, offering no glimpse of the world beyond. The only other exit from the room seemed to lead to a bedroom, its door slightly ajar.

Troubled by the unfamiliar surroundings, he sat with crossed legs, trying to gather his thoughts. As he did, the woman stirred. With eyes half-closed and groggy, she let out a soft snort and rubbed her face. Not noticing him, she stood and shuffled toward the bedroom, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated.

A sudden shriek pierced the air, echoing from the room she had just entered. Then, the woman reappeared almost instantly; her steps now hurried and frantic. She skidded to a halt in front of him, her mouth agape as she let out a silent gasp, her eyes now wide with shock.

“Sorry about the floor,” Hiroshi said, raising a hand to his forehead. “I think I’ve been brought from another world to yours. Or maybe this is a game?” He waved the hand at his front, trying to summon some sort of screen, but nothing appeared.

The woman shook her head; an attempt to help herself to close a wide opened mouth and eyes. Hastily, she attempted to tame her dishevelled hair while her body straightened up. She raised a finger and muttered an unintelligible phrase, then shuffled before heading to her bookshelves.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled.

She shushed, her attention fixed on her frantic search. Her pick was of an old, enormous book with leather cover and golden filigrees. When she slammed it onto the floor before him, the impact sent a small cloud of dust into the air.

The woman flipped the pages to a section filled with cryptic symbols siding with a few letters Hiroshi immediately recognized from school. An alphabet he had studied in English class.

“Alo?” she ventured, her voice laced with cautious hope. Her eyes blinked and her grin widened, expecting success. “Ner, ner. Ola? Jelou?”

Hiroshi, piecing together the woman’s intent, pointed to himself. “Japanese,” he said, his voice firm despite the situation.

The woman twisted several pages, her fingers brushing over the papers. She stopped at a line, a section filled with kanjis he could read to perfection.

Hiroshi’s surprise became clear, and before he could say a thing, she raised a palm and stood. The new book she smashed contained an equal amount of dust and gibberish. But instead of familiar writings, its pages were filled with intricate glyphs, runes, and diagrams of the same oddity etched into the floor beneath them. Despite his confusion, fears, and odd excitement, Hiroshi remained calm, letting events unfold.

She returned to her desk to pick up a fine brush and an inkpot. Then, she returned to move his head to the side with a gentle hand. He stiffened, unsure whether he should allow her to proceed, but something in her incomprehensible whispering calmed him. He waited, holding his breath as she drew in tiny strokes. When she finished, she readied a hand and her whispers turned into a strange echo reverberating into his mind. Her eyes glowed and a sensation of itch appeared where she had drawn, only to banish after the brightness of her magic disappeared.

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“Can you understand me?” she said. “My name is Rina.”

His voice caught in his throat as he nodded, and before he could reply, she began drawing again, this time on the side of his neck. “Wait, I need to understand you as well. Now, speak.”

“Sorry about the floor,” he said, finding nothing better to say.

“Well,” Rina put herself comfortably on the floor, dusting her long skirt and adjusting her sleeves. “Your world has no magic, so I can’t blame you for that. That’s most probably our side’s fault, although in my defence, I have done nothing about it. What’s your name?”

As he introduced himself, she brought the ink brush towards his neck for a second time and requested him to repeat his name slowly. “There. I have adjusted the Jinx-Ink so your name will come out exactly as you pronounce it. May be pretty in your world, but here people will find it extremely weird.”

Suddenly, Rina’s face twisted with terror at a knock on the door, her breath hitching in her throat. The creaking sound from the entrance seemed to echo in the tense air, and a man stepped inside, followed closely by a girl. The man’s voice was gentle, almost apologetic as he spoke. “Rini, I brought you food from Rufus, a peace gift.”

As the man’s eyes landed on Hiroshi, a wave of shock swept over him. His grip on the basket faltered, and it slipped from his hands, scattering its contents across the floor.

His lungs filled and let out a jubilant shout, “Rina, you are the best!”

Without hesitation, he rushed toward Rina, who was attempting to stand, and enveloped her in an enthusiastic, squishy hug over the floor. She struggled to push him away, her voice strained as she protested, “It was not me, Testa,” He tightened his grip in response, his face rubbing against hers. “Get out, leech!” she added, her words muffled by his relentless embrace.

Hiroshi, uneasy with the overly familiar display, turned his attention toward the girl who had entered with the man. She was quietly closing the door. And as she stepped into a corner, she avoided looking directly at him, her eyes darting to anything but his face.

The girl was young. Maybe a similar age as him, short in stature with a very slight chubbiness and a round, cute face. She wore an ordinary white shirt and brown pants smudged with dirt. Her hair, cut short, was dark, but with a strange shade reflecting light in a subtle bluish way. Her skin was fair, highlighting even more, if possible, eyes that seemed to shine in bright azure. An intense, almost ethereal gaze flickering with discomfort as it avoided him.

With a swift motion, Testa grasped Hiroshi by the shoulders and spun him to face him, head standing way over Hiroshi’s who, even being both kneeling, was much shorter. Bright green eyes fixed, and the overall features of western foreigners, much like Rina, tensed.

“My own Champion!” Testa exclaimed with a childlike glee. “Let me keep him, please, please.”

Rina brushed off her discomfort before reaching for another of her books. ”There is no slavery in Kalinborn, idiot. As far as I remember."

Hiroshi’s unease turned obvious, and Testa finally loosened his grip. “Of course, of course. My apologies, Champion. What is your name?” he asked, his tone suddenly formal.

When Hiroshi introduced himself once more, Testa’s demeanour returned to craziness. “This is a sign, Rini! You hear it, Miri? I know that word, from the Languages of the Champs!”

Hiroshi flicked nervously towards the two women. The sorceress, already exasperated, shook her head in disbelief. The girl momentarily glanced at him and the ephemeral connection sent a shock through his entire body, something deep and almost magical. A gut twisting feeling, like the beautiful lightning bolt that strikes when you find true love hit him, although in that case it was not love what filled his insides, but visceral, unrestrained terror.

“His name is Hiro, Rini,” continued Testa, delighting alone in his verbosity. “I know that word: hero! He’s a hero of the Champions. How lucky I am! How great are you, Rini!”

“It’s Hiroshi,” he said.

Rina’s patience ended. She slammed her book shut with a loud thud, a vein visibly pulsing on her forehead. Her jaw tightened as she spat out her words. “It was not me!” Her eyes narrowed in frustration. “Miranda, take this idiot out of my house, or I swear—”

Testa launched into another stream of words, his voice rising against Rina’s aggressive defences. Soft chatting quickly devolved into a heated discussion. The exchange blended into a language Hiroshi couldn’t understand. Sounds wrapping around his mind squeezed his thoughts with a knot. The more they spoke, the more the room seemed to close in, the walls pressing inward as a suffocating fatigue set in. Every word drained his energy, sapping his strength until he felt hollow. Then he collapsed, head smashing the floor and pain reverberating through his skull. Mira’s eyes reached in from a curtain of darkness, filled with the same magic, but terrifying no more. She put a hand over his shoulder and shook gently. Then, she called his name with a sweet voice.

He’d wished to answer, but he didn’t.