A cold night in Tokyo.
The young man stared out the window, framed by the weathered wooden frame of an old, crumbling apartment. A cheap place he could afford, precisely because it was nearly unfit for habitation.
Tonight, he was alone again.
he hugged his knees, trying to ward off the cold, though that wasn't helping anything.
Even burying himself in his filthy futon didn't help either.
He should have tried to install a heater earlier—though in truth, he couldn't even afford to dream of owning one.
He was a poor young man.
Japan may provide equal rights in many aspects, but the poverty of individuals does not always fall within the government's reach.
Its culture of conformity pushes everyone to be responsible for themselves—and this young man was no exception.
Tonight, the first snow had fallen.
The air was freezing, and his threadbare futon could no longer resist the cold that pierced the bones.
"I... I h-have.. t-to... go.. w-work... tomor... row..."
In the social structure of modern Japanese society, conformity^ is binding tightly.
Those who fail to adapting in society are left behind.
People may not openly scorn the homeless nor the poor, but they will avoid them.
And now, he had become one of those left abandoned.
Faintly, he heard a familiar tune—a jingle playing over and over, day and night.
A typical Christmas song.
Ah, that's right.
Christmas was near—a night that many look forward to.
A season of lights and endless joy, stretching all the way to New Year's Eve.
But, of course, the young man wasn't among those who could enjoyed it.
He stared blankly out the window.
The city nearing the christmas glowed with sparkling lights.
Surely, everyone was rejoicing.
And deep within his heart, he wondered: Did he deserve to be happy too?
With lips turning blue, pale skin, and a body shaking violently,
the young man died—
embraced by cold and hunger.
"... h... hav... have.... t... to... w..work..."
*
When the young man opened his eyes, he was lying on a field of white snow.
It took a few moments for his brain could register the cold that now stabbed into his entire body, all the way to the bones—a sign that his nerves and brain were still functioning.
He tried to sit up slowly, only to realize he was already covered in wounds.
Even the snow around him looked as though as it had been painted with blood.
How could this be?
The man raised his head and swept his gaze around. Towering alder and oak trees loomed overhead, their branches heavy with thick layers of snow.
As far as the eye could see, there was only a sea of white, and fine flakes continued to fall like cotton drifting from the heavens.
Where...?
He was sure he'd just been in his apartment for a while before.
He tried to rise.
His legs trembled. His body shivered. His knees had lost their strength.
Still, he pushed forward, each movement agonizing, driven by no reason but by instict—the instinct to survive.
Even though he knew that he was going to die, a part of him—some lingering survival instinct—screamed a strong rejection.
He wanted to live.
One sluggish step.
Another, dragging.
His body shook uncontrollably, his vision spinning and dimming.
Every step left behind a stain of red across the pristine snow.
Someone... please...
Anyone... i beg you...
Suddenly, he found himself standing before a towering wall. He looked up, his eyes following its sheer height to the very top.
It seemed to be a fortress.
Voices—human voices—murmured faintly beyond the thick stone walls.
Help me...
Deep in his heart, he began to pray:
God, if You are truly exist, please don't let me die. Help me.
"Forgive my rudeness, but what are you doing here, sir?"
A voice came out of nowhere. Whether it was a demon, a ghost, an angel, or just simply a person—he didn't know. But the voice pulled him out of his stupor, and he turned to look at its source.
And, at the moment their eyes meet, he found a "human" there.
"W... Who are you?" A language was foreign yet oddly understandable.
He tried to form some words, but all that came out were remains of his last struggle to survive. Just a sound of "A... A..."
His vision darkened. His body gave out.
And, just a moment before his consciousness slipped away, he managed to speak, answering her answer:
Akazawa Ryūga.
*
When Ryūga opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is a blur, then a white ceiling designed in Gothic style.
Everything feels unfamiliar.
At the very least, it seems to be a bedroom.
"Ah." When Ryūga hears the voice, he tries to look in its direction. The speaker has left the door open.
At a glance, it looks like the speaker is wearing a maid uniform.
If you're imagining a medieval-style maid uniform popularized by modern Japanese pop culture, then yes—
you're exactly right. That black-and-white outfit.
For a moment, Ryūga wonders to himself, is that person cosplaying?
A few minutes later, a young lady enters, wearing simple clothes that nonetheless give off a strong air of aristocracy.
At first glance, Ryūga thinks he can guess who she is.
She is a noble lady. The ruler of this house. She is followed by two knights and a maid.
Still, if they were cosplayers, they would definitely win a cosplay contest—with their outfits, equipment, and this room as a backdrop.
"Finished admiring the place?" the lady asks.
Ah, that is true. Looking into someone else's house with no permission is not a good manner.
So Ryūga tries to open his mouth to agree and apologize, but no sound comes out—only a sharp pain in his throat.
He coughs several times, the sound faint but awful.
The pain is unbearable, so he decides to stay silent and simply nod.
The two knights frown in displeasure, but the lady speaks before they can say a word, "Can't speak?"
She figured out Ryūga's condition just by watching his earlier attempts to talk.
Ryūga nods in agreement.
She's meticulous—good at reading situations and paying attention to detail.
The lady asks again, "Where is the priest on duty? Or, at least an on-call doctor?"
The maid replies respectfully, "They will arrive shortly, Milady. They have just finished their morning routine of checking patients in the medical barracks."
He recognizes the voice. It was the maid who left the door open earlier—perhaps she came to check on him.
But wait, she said the doctor on the way from the medical barrack?
If this place isn't a medical facility, then where is this?
The lady recognizes Ryūga's confusion. "You wondering where are we now based on her words, right?"
Ryūga nods.
"We're in my mansion—specifically, the Guest Room of the Lionhart Mansion."
Ryūga ponders for a moment to digest all the information. He draws several conclusions:
(1) He had, somehow, been thrown to a nowhere place that has a cultural background alike Medieval Europe,
(2) and, somehow, he had been ended at a noble mansion, specifically Lionhart Mansion,
(3) also, however, he had the honor to resting inside a noble mansion a being treated as a Guest. In fact, not only being placed in another building but the main building.
Why the main building?
The reason is how speed the lady arrived here. If Ryūga being placed on another building, Her arrival would've taken more than half an hour. That estimation also including her timing to preparing her makeup and clothes.
Soon after, a heavy knock echoes from the thick door. "Milady, the priest and doctor have arrived."
"Let them in," the lady replies curtly.
Another maid enters, bowing respectfully her lady. Behind her follow a doctor and a priest, who also bow before stepping inside.
The doctor and the priest swiftly approach the bed. "We'll begin the examination at once, Milady," the doctor said as he prepares his instruments.
"Good. Do it quickly. Oh, and one more thing—he cannot speak at the moment."
The doctor nods in understanding.
The priest raises his hands, conjuring a bluish green light that glowed softly. He directs it toward the bandaged wounds, and Ryūga feels the pain in those areas gradually fading away.
Meanwhile, the doctor take out a small light and addresses Ryūga. "Forgive me, sir. Could you open your mouth? I need to inspect your throat for a moment." He then lits up a faint glow at the tip of his index finger, resembling a flashlight, and begins shining it into Ryūga's mouth. His expression turns pensive.
"What's going on?" asks the lady, noticing the shift in his expression.
"This young master's throat... appears to be severely damaged, Milady.... I can't imagine how he's still breathing normally, let alone alive. Regardless, this master's injuries must be treated immediately before they worsen."
"That can't be. His throat looks perfectly intact—how could it be destroyed?"
"It's hard to believe, Milady, but the damage is internal—specifically along the esophagus. My knowledge cannot guessing whether it was caused by some kind of specialized destructive magic that was developed secretly or the work of a skilled assassin."
The lady's gaze turns toward Ryūga. "Do you recall out how you ended up lying there with all those wounds?"
Ryūga quickly shake his head.
The lady sighes. "Well, we'll hear your story later. Isaac, heal his throat first."
"As you wish, Milady." The priest—whose name was apparently Isaac—step forward, and the doctor steps aside.
The healing magic shifts to Ryūga's throat. He can feel the discomfort slowly ebbing away.
After some time, Isaac lowers his hands. "That should be enough for today, Milady. His throat seems to have healed, but we'll need to monitor his condition for the next few days."
"Isaac speaks the truth, Milady," adds the doctor. "Also, we must pay attention to his meals. A newly healed throat is still sensitive. We can't give him hot soup as is commonly done for the sick. t needs to be cooled for at least five minutes. And this master should avoid speaking too much for now."
"I understand. I'll keep that in mind. You may both go now."
"Thank you for your grace, Milady." Isaac and the doctor exit, accompanied by the maid who had escorted them.
The lady remains in the room, accompanied by her two knights and the remaining maid.
"Jill and Harold—step out. Only Anne will stay with me."
The two knights obey and close the door behind them.
The lady folds her arms across her chest. "Now then, who you are?"
Ryūga struggles to speak. "If... if I said... I am... a for—foreigner... would Milady... be—believe... me...?"
"You obviously are a foreigner," interrupt the lady quickly. "What I want to know is who you are and where you came from."
Ryūga smiles then try to say his namee—but only a hoarse, broken voice come out. And yet, somehow, his next words echoed clearly in her ears.
"..f-from... a—another... world... "
"Okay. That's enough." Ryūga fall silent.
"You're not lying, are you?" Ryūga shake his head.
"Very well. We'll talk more tomorrow. I'll take my leave now. Your meals will be delivered three times a day by the maids. If you need anything, just ring the bell on that table. Any complaints?"
Ryūga shake his head again.
"So then, I'll be going."
She turns to leave, but pauses at the door.
"I am Lionhart. Evelyn Lionhart. Remember the name of your savior."
Ryūga nods. Evelyn stares for a moment before her figure disappears behind the closing door.
*
"I know you're wondering, Anne," says Evelyn as they walk through the mansion hallways.
"Forgive me if I'm being rude, Milady."
"It's alright. I understand. Anyone who saw my behavior just now would surely be confused. As for your question— I act that way because this issue seems much bigger than we thought. Does that answer satisfy you?" ask Evelyn, glancing at Anne.
Anne smiles faintly. "Yes, Milady."
*
Anne chooses to deliver the meal herself to the room where the mysterious man is being treated. It's been a long time since she served anyone outside the Lionhart family.
She pushes the food tray down the hall until she reaches the front of the room. Occasionally, knights or other maids greet her in passing—after all, she is one of the senior staff at Lionhart Manor.
She knocks on the door, "I've brought your meal."
"Come in." A voice replies from within—clearer and stronger than it was yesterday, oddly enough.
Anne opens the door and immediately freezes at the sight before her.
The man is already standing calmly on the balcony, basking in the morning sunlight. He looks perfectly healthy, and every single bandage that wrapped his body yesterday is gone.
Anne is so stunned she can't move from where she stands.
The man turns to her and smiles as their eyes meet.
"Good morning, Madame Maid. After the breakfast, may I ask an audience with Lady Evelyn?"
"I-I will inform Milady at once."
"Sure. Please let Lady Evelyn know that Akazawa Ryūga wishes to speak with her."
Chapter 1-1: End
New Character Introduced:
Our Main Character, Akazawa Ryūga
A young man from Japan. In the beginning of this chapter, it is revealed that he was a poor man who died of cold during the harsh winter at the end of December. Now, he has been summoned to Midgard, taking the role as the protagonist of this story.
Another Main Character, Evelyn Lionhart
First appeared in the prologue. Evelyn is the fourth child of the Lionhart Duchy, a noble family that rules the northern region of the Avalon Empire. She is known as The Ice Princess, a strong woman with a graceful yet cold demeanor. It is stated that she had reached the level of spearmaster at the age of eighteen.
Supporting Character, Anne
A senior maid who has served the Lionhart Family for a long time. Anne has been in service since the current Patriarch of the family (Evelyn's father) was still a young man. She was introduced in the prologue.
Supporting Characters, Jill and Harold
Jill (introduced in the prologue) and Harold (introduced in this chapter) are two of the elite knights of the Lionhart Family. They are among the most trusted subordinates of the current family Patriarch.
Supporting Characters, Isaac and The Doctor
Both are introduced in this chapter as the two personal medical staff of the Lionhart Family. Despite being labeled as "personal," their responsibilities cover the entire household, which means they are in charge of the health of everyone in the mansion. The Doctor's name will be revealed in the next chapter.