He'd been in the cage for hours now. Long enough to finish off at least three of the weird fruits the goblin kids kept feeding him—"gobbas," he thought they were called.
Around him, the sun filtered through the canopy, dappling his prison with golden light. The goblin children still sat nearby, cross-legged, curious, and far too eager to listen to his rambling. Not that they understood him.
"So let me get this straight," Alex said, gesturing vaguely with a half-eaten fruit. "The system can give me quests, right? Rewards, maybe? But to actually open the status screen, I need my phone. Which is... somewhere."
He glanced toward the center of the village, where two goblins were currently fighting over his hoodie like it was a prized pelt. His poor hoodie. White once—now more "mud-caked depression" than fashion.
"I need that back," he muttered, mostly to himself. "And my pants. And shoes. Hell, even my dignity if you spot it lying around."
The goblin kids responded in a flurry of eager babbling.
"Gruchuma siro gobba!"
"Haka ye siro grah gobba!"
"Yeah, I have no idea what you're saying," he replied with a tired smile. Still, talking out loud helped him not go crazy. He'd been using them as his sounding board for hours now. Talking to someone, even if they didn't understand, was better than talking to nobody.
He'd already searched the area with his eyes—no other humans in cages. And no bloodstains or bones, so maybe they weren't planning on eating him?
He stared at the gobba in his hand. Huh. Actually kind of tasty. Sweet, a little citrusy, a little tangy. If he brought this fruit back home, he could easily market it as some exclusive exotic superfood. Gobba Detox Smoothies™—burn fat, banish toxins, taste like tropical sunshine!
He took another bite. "Alright, business idea noted."
But that didn't help now.
Focus. Plan.
Step one: get out of the cage.
Step two: get phone.
Step three: open status screen, unlock OP skills, rule the world.
Simple.
...Except for the part where he was half-naked, surrounded by goblins, and his only allies were three toddlers who thought "poke the human" was peak comedy.
One of them waddled up with a fruit the size of a bowling ball. "Grugobba!" he exclaimed proudly.
"Gobba?" Alex pointed. Then pointed at the fruit. "Grugobba?"
"Me naka grugobba ye! Gruchuma yeko grugobba!"
Alex blinked. His brain throbbed.
"Okay... so Gobba is fruit. Grugobba must mean... big fruit?"
He glanced between the normal ones and the big one. Yep. Gru might mean big.
Then what the hell is Gruchuma?
He remembered the goblin warrior who'd shouted his ear off earlier—screaming "GRUCHUMA!" like it was a war cry. At the time, he thought it was an insult. Maybe it still was. But...
He looked at himself, then back to the goblins.
Big guy. Among small people.
Big fruit. Big guy.
Gru = big? Chuma = ...person?
"I'm Gruchuma," he repeated, pointing to himself.
The kids nodded enthusiastically. "Gruchuma! Gruchuma!"
Then he pointed at the goblin warrior across the village. The one with the swollen jaw and an ego still healing.
"...Chuma?"
Everything stopped.
The kids burst into giggles.
The warrior's face darkened.
His green skin turned an angry, blotchy red.
He bellowed across the village:
"YE! TIKI! NAKA ME!"
A goblin kid came running with a sturdy stick. The warrior snatched it with a grunt and immediately marched toward Alex's cage, rage boiling in every step.
"Oh crap—wait! No, no, no! I-Is it bad?! Is chuma bad?!" Alex raised his hands, backing into the far corner. "You've been calling me gruchuma this whole time, you damned hypocrite! What's so wrong with me calling you a chuma?!"
The goblin snarled, slamming the stick against the bars.
"ME CHUMA?! YE ZAMUBREKKA ME?! ME BREKKA YE!"
"BREKKA?! What does that even mean?!"
Alex understood the meaning very quickly—as the stick jabbed through the cage with force, smacking into his ribs.
"YOW! Okay! Okay! I get it! It means violence! Brekka means violence!"
The kids squealed with laughter, clapping and chanting "Chuma! Chuma!" like it was the funniest show on the planet.
Alex stumbled back, wheezing, nearly landing on the same cursed pebble that had already tormented his left butt cheek into numbness.
"HELP ME!!" he shouted to no one in particular as the goblin continued his righteous abuse of power.
Alex had barely finished yelping for help when he heard the crunch of approaching footsteps.
Two goblins emerged from between the huts, walking with exaggerated swagger. At least... Alex thought they were the same two who'd originally beaten the crap out of him. Then again, all goblins kind of looked the same to him—green, small, pointy-eared, and smug.
But what really gave it away was the fashion statement.
His hoodie.
Or rather, what used to be his hoodie. The poor garment had been torn in half, each goblin now wearing a piece like a ripped cape or makeshift cloak. Mud-stained white flaps hung off their shoulders as they puffed out their chests and marched forward, heads held high like conquering heroes.
"Heh... Ye chuma? Nubu brutu!"
"Chuma brutu! Kekeke!"
Were they... mocking the warrior goblin? That guy looked even angrier now, gripping his tiki like he wanted to turn it into mulch. But surprisingly, he didn't whack them. Just stood there, fists trembling, shoulders tense.
The two newcomers sauntered closer. The goblin kids—who had just been gleefully watching Alex suffer—suddenly quieted down, backing away without a word.
Alex blinked. What, are these guys the local bullies or something?
"Keke! Meme rako brutu! Brutu veku?" they snorted, clearly delighted with themselves.
The warrior's head dropped.
Alex watched with growing confusion. This was starting to feel less like fantasy comedy and more like a soap opera in a language he didn't speak.
Then the smug pair turned to him.
Their smiles widened. Their hands tightened around their clubs.
Alex's stomach dropped.
"Gruchuma!" one of them jeered. "Ye zamubrekka brutu? Keke! Ye veku me?"
"Yeye brekka gruchuma!"
Even without understanding the words, Alex understood the intent. They pushed the warrior goblin aside—who didn't resist—and advanced toward the cage.
Clubs raised. Bad smiles. Really bad smiles.
"G-gobba?" Alex squeaked, hoping the fruit name worked as a universal peace offering.
The goblins sneered.
And then—
Cough.
A raspy breath broke the tension.
Behind them, standing stiffly with shaking legs and pale green skin, came an elderly goblin. He wore more ornate clothing—still ragged by human standards, but clearly ceremonial compared to everyone else. The goblin kids peeked out from behind him, wide-eyed.
"Z-Zutu!" the three goblins gasped in unison. They dropped their clubs immediately, like misbehaving kids caught by a strict grandparent.
The old goblin shuffled closer, squinting.
"Ehh... Ye... Me siro ye... ye brekka gruchuma...?" His voice was tired, but sharp. "Gruchuma gremmo brekka...?" He sounded disappointed. Deeply so. "Ye teka..."
He made a sharp gesture with one hand—probably telling them to scram.
The two bullies didn't argue. They grumbled, casting Alex dirty looks, but left all the same.
The warrior hesitated.
As he turned to leave too, the elder spoke again.
"...Brutu."
Brutu? Was that his name? A title?
The warrior stiffened.
"Me nubu brutu..." he muttered, head lowered.
Alex just blinked, trying to process the drama playing out before him.
It felt like watching an emotional stage play in a completely foreign language, complete with betrayal, regret, and possibly court-mandated anger management.
Just as Alex started thinking he was really intruding on something tense—even if, technically, he was in a cage and therefore couldn't leave—the old goblin looked at him.
"Gruchuma..." the elder rasped.
Alex blinked, about to respond, but then—
The goblin collapsed to his knees with a violent cough.
"Zutu!!" the warrior shouted, rushing forward to catch him.
The goblin kids, who had been peeking out moments earlier, now stood frozen, their earlier mischief replaced by worry. Brutu knelt, supporting the elder with both hands.
The old goblin wheezed again and lifted his head.
"...Brutu," he said softly.
Then turned to Alex.
"Me zamu gruchuma..."
The words were hoarse but deliberate.
"Ye gruchuma teka gremmo... Ye gruchuma kamu."
Brutu's eyes widened. He looked stunned for a moment, then nodded and gently lifted the elder up, carrying him with surprising care toward the largest hut in the village.
The children followed after them, leaving Alex alone.
Alone, confused, and awkward.
"…What the hell just happened?" he muttered. "Is it safe to assume Brutu is the warrior guy... and the old little man was Zutu? Ugh... my head's spinning already."
He leaned back in the cage, letting out a long breath—only to tense up again as he heard footsteps returning.
Brutu.
Alex looked up. The goblin warrior stood at the cage door, scowling.
This time, he held a short spear in hand—not raised aggressively, just... pointed. Like a warning.
He reached forward and unlatched the cage.
"Teka!" Brutu barked.
"Ye kamu me!Zutu zamu gruchuma!"
Alex blinked. "A-Alright... just calm down... I don't understand whatever you're saying, so I'll just... come out?"
He raised his hands and slowly crawled out.
The moment he tried to squeeze through the cage's opening, his body screamed in protest.
Every joint popped. His spine cracked like dry wood. His legs—half-asleep from being folded under him for hours—twitched violently as blood rushed back in.
And then—
"Ow."
He finally pulled out the pebble that had embedded itself in his left buttcheek.
"Sweet mother of ergonomic chairs..." he groaned, wincing. "I'm gonna feel that for weeks."
He stood up, wobbling slightly. Every muscle ached—not just from being crammed in that awful cage all day, but from the multiple beatings he'd suffered since waking up in this nightmare. He was bruised, stiff, sore, and still mostly naked.
He glanced up at the sky.
When he'd first been dropped into this world—confused, weaponless—it had been just past noon. Now, the sun was dipping low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the goblin village.
The day had almost ended.
This was, without a doubt, the worst day of his life.
Brutu stepped back, still watching him cautiously, spear tilted at an angle that said "move wrong and I'll skewer your spleen."
The goblin began walking toward the elder's tent with slow, watchful steps.
Alex hesitated, then followed behind.
"...Brutu?" he tried, pointing toward the goblin awkwardly.
Brutu flinched. He looked back at Alex, surprised for a moment... then clicked his tongue, turned forward, and huffed dismissively as he led the way.
"…I'll take that as a yes." Alex trudged after him, limping with each step, silently praying that wherever they were going next had fewer sticks, more cushions, and maybe, just maybe... a translator.
The interior of the elder's tent was surprisingly spacious. The walls were patched together from furs and cloth scraps, stitched into a domed structure that smelled faintly of dried herbs, moss, and smoke. A soft orange glow from the setting sun slipped in through gaps in the fabric, casting long shadows on the ground.
Zutu, the elder, sat upright on a mound of woven pillows, his old frame trembling but dignified. Brutu stood nearby, tense, spear in hand, eyes locked on Alex with the silent intensity of a bodyguard ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble.
Alex stood near the entrance, unsure if he was supposed to sit, kneel, or just hover awkwardly in place.
The elder coughed lightly, then looked to him.
"Gruchuma..." he said.
"...me speak... little common. Speak... bad."
Alex blinked. "Wait—you speak—?"
"Old Banu... know speak. Me try."
Zutu raised one hand, as if steadying himself.
"Gruchuma... sorry. Sorry hurt. Me no know. Me bed many suns. Me hear today. Gruchuma in gremmo."
Brutu said nothing, but his jaw tightened.
Zutu coughed again, then continued.
"Me know. Gruchuma brekka Brutu... but... three Banu brekka one Gruchuma. Me understand fear."
Alex looked away, guilt bubbling in his chest.
He wasn't scared.
He'd just been excited. Stupidly excited to be in a fantasy world.
Three little goblins with clubs? Please. He thought he could take them.
But now, thinking back… he hadn't even considered the danger. Hadn't thought about consequences. He thought it was just like a game.
Now he had bruises to show for it.
Zutu's voice pulled him back.
"Village... shake. Young Banu no respect. Say Brutu weak. Say they strong. Say they fight for Brutu name."
Alex frowned. "They want to fight each other to decide who's the new champ? The new Brutu?"
So it was a title… and a name at the same time?
"Brutu is strong. Strongest. But Banu no brekka Banu. Tribe no fight tribe. Only sacred duel. But... Brutu no Brutu. Lost name. Cannot challenge. Is shame."
The elder's voice turned grave.
"Only sacred duel. But... Brutu no Brutu. Lose title. Cannot challenge. Is shame."
Alex squinted.
"So, they beat me... and because I beat him, now they think they're the strongest?"
He rubbed his forehead. "This is way too complicated to be anything but important."
And then a realization clicked into place.
Wait… did he just say "Banu"?
Alex glanced between Zutu and Brutu.
So that's what they call themselves. Not goblins. Banu.
He'd been calling them goblins this whole time. Well, too late to fix that now—not in his head, anyway.
Zutu met his eyes.
"Gruchuma... me ask you. Me need. You brekka Banu. You win duel. You become... Brutu."
The tent fell quiet.
A cold chill ran down Alex's spine.
"...You want me to fight them again?"
Zutu nodded once.
Alex glanced at his hands. At his legs.
Bruised. Cramped. He still wasn't sure if his spine would ever fully forgive him for the cage.
Now that I'm sober… I'm not a hero. I'm not strong. I'm just an unemployed guy who watches too much anime.
He opened his mouth—ready to ask for time to think—then closed it.
Alex shifted on his feet, biting back a grimace as his ribs flared up again.
"…Before I agree to anything, can I at least get my stuff back?" he asked. "I mean—my phone, my wallet. My clothes are probably a lost cause by now, but I kind of need what was in them."
Zutu's eyes dimmed a little. The regret was immediate.
"Gruchuma's things... spoils. Young Banu win. They take. Is pride. Trophy."
He paused, then added solemnly:
"If me give back... Banu see cheat. Say Zutu favor Gruchuma. Say Zutu weak. Zutu only want teach young Banu. No shame young Banu."
Alex narrowed his eyes.
He crossed his arms slowly, testing.
"…And if I say no?" he asked, voice low. "If I walk out of this tent and leave?"
Zutu looked up at him, not defensive. Not offended. Just… tired.
"Then... Gruchuma go. Me no stop. Me demand Banu return what taken."
Simple. Direct. No hesitation.
Alex's jaw tensed.
That was... the perfect outcome. Get his stuff. Walk free. No goblin beatdowns. No duels. No trouble.
But...
He scowled, gaze dropping to the tent floor.
If he took that deal, the elder would take the hit. Zutu would be seen as playing favorites, of betraying the tribe's own customs. Even if Alex later came back with some god-tier skill after unlocking his system, even if he beat the crap out of those two smug goblins and Brutu himself—it wouldn't matter.
The tribe would remember that their elder handed him special treatment. That he bent the rules.
That he bowed to an outsider.
And deep down... part of this was Alex's fault.
He'd treated this like a game. Got excited over the "fantasy setting." Assumed things would just fall into place. He didn't stop to think what kicking a tribal warrior would do to the social fabric of a tiny, fragile community.
He thought they were just goblins.
Not people.
Not a tribe.
Not a culture.
And he'd made a mess of it.
He let out a long sigh and ran a hand through his messy hair.
God... I hate good people.
Zutu wasn't coercing him. Wasn't manipulating him. He was just... doing the right thing.
The kind of guy Alex could see himself working for if this were a company. The kind of boss who'd get his hands dirty for his employees. Take the heat. Stand by them.
Hell, he'd even work unpaid overtime for a manager like Zutu.
How the hell could he say no to that?
"…Tch," he muttered. "Of course I can't walk away from this."
He slumped a little.
"And besides… I do have that sidequest to befriend the goblins..." he mumbled under his breath.
Then he looked up at Zutu.
"…Fine. I'll do it. One condition though—can I please get some actual clothes? I'm this close to declaring nudity as a lifestyle."
The elder tilted his head, confused at first, then nodded.
"Hm. Human like dress much. Me help. You get cloth. You no sleep cage. You sleep here. Banu no touch. You safe."
That... actually sounded nice.
Alex finally sat down on one of the cushions. It was lumpy and smelled like moss, but compared to the cage? Luxury.
Zutu turned to Brutu and began speaking in Goblin. Alex watched as Brutu's expression morphed—confusion, surprise, then outrage. He jabbed a finger toward Alex, growling a sharp string of words.
By this point, Alex was so exhausted that he no longer even bothered to pay attention to the goblin words he couldn't even understand in the first place.
Zutu replied calmly, ending with what sounded like an order.
Brutu's shoulders rose, fists clenched. But slowly—reluctantly—he lowered his head.
Accepted.
Alex stared ahead, numb, still sore, still confused, but now somehow committed to a tribal honor system he didn't understand, under a name he didn't know ten minutes ago.
What have I just gotten myself into…?
He sighed and flopped back against the cushion.
"…At least it's better than the cage."