The existential dread set in approximately four seconds after the sensory overload subsided.
First came the smell: a pungent bouquet of unwashed stone, distant forge smoke, and something uncomfortably organic that suggested a lack of modern plumbing. Then, the sound: the cacophony of a market street that didn't understand the concept of indoor voices, punctuated by the clatter of literal armor.
Finally, the sight.
I was standing in an alleyway that seemed designed specifically for muggings. Beyond the alley mouth flowed a river of people, half of whom had animal ears, tails, or musculature that defied anatomy textbooks. And towering over it all, piercing the azure sky like a giant's middle finger to the gods, was a white stone tower so massive it gave me vertigo just looking at its base.
"Okay," I said aloud, my voice sounding strangely melodic in my own ears. "Orario. Dungeon city. The center of the world. Right."
I looked down at myself. This was the second part of the dread.
Gone were my comfortable sweatpants and faded band t-shirt. Instead, I was draped in an ensemble that screamed "high-fantasy bard with a questionable budget." White stockings, tailored shorts that offered a worrying amount of freedom, a corset-like vest, and a billowing green cape that felt silken to the touch. Two braids framed my face, darker than night and tipped with turquoise.
I had become Venti. Or at least, a very convincing cosplayer who had somehow stumbled onto the set of a live-action Lord of the Rings remake.
"Is this an isekai? It feels like an isekai," I muttered, pinching my arm. It hurt. "Okay, truck-kun must have been working overtime. But why do I look like I'm about to ask someone for an apple in exchange for a tune?"
I patted my sides, checking for injuries or perhaps a convenient user manual for my new life. My hands brushed against something unfamiliar at my waist. It wasn't part of the bard getup.
It was a pouch. A stark, blindingly white, semi-circular pouch stuck to my midriff like a marsupial grafted onto a Renaissance Fair attendee. It looked softly padded, impossibly clean against the grime of the alley.
I stared at it. The cosmic joke landed heavily.
"No way."
I tentatively poked it. It felt like memory foam and dreams. This wasn't just any pouch. This was The Pouch. The four-dimensional repository of a certain earless blue robotic cat from the future.
A hysterical giggle bubbled up in my throat. I was in the grittiest fantasy city known to anime, dressed like a femboy archon, armed with the arsenal of a G-rated Saturday morning cartoon character.
"Okay, universe. You want ridiculous? Let's see what's in the mystery box."
I thrust my hand into the pocket. The sensation was deeply unsettling—like dipping my hand into cool water that wasn't there. My arm went in up to the elbow, way deeper than the pouch's physical dimensions allowed. My fingers brushed against various shapes: cold metal, smooth plastic, something squishy.
I grabbed the first solid thing I could get a handle on and yanked it out, praying for something useful. A sword? A gun? The Anywhere Door so I could go home and forget this fever dream?
I held up my prize in the dim alley light.
It was a flashlight. A small, red, plastic flashlight.
"A 'Magnify-Ray'," I recognized, the name surfacing from the depths of childhood memory. "Okay. Could be useful. Maybe I can enlarge a gold coin and crash the local economy."
I pointed it at a pebble by my foot and clicked the switch.
Nothing happened. I clicked it again. A faint sizzle.
On the third click, the flashlight emitted a pathetic, flickering cone of grayish light. The pebble didn't grow. Instead, it began to vibrate intensely, emitting a high-pitched humming noise, before suddenly popping into dust.
"...It's broken," I concluded, shoving the defective matter-destroyer back into the pocket. "Great. I have the discount bin version of the 22nd century."
I needed to get out of the alley. Standing around looking like a lost piece of Genshin Impact merchandise was begging for trouble in a city known for its aggressive adventurer population. I adjusted my cape, took a deep breath, and stepped out onto the main street.
The noise hit me like a physical blow. The main thoroughfare of Orario was a chaotic tapestry of life. Carts rattled over cobblestones, vendors shouted wares ranging from dubious potions to monster parts still twitching, and adventurers swaggered with weapons larger than my entire new body.
My arrival did not go unnoticed.
It's one thing to see a dwarf; it's another to see a delicate-looking youth in white stockings and braids navigating a crowd of scarred warriors. Heads turned. Whispers followed.
"Is that an elf? Seems too short."
"Check out the getup. Think he's a performer?"
"He? You sure? Looks mighty pretty for a lad."
I kept my eyes forward, trying to adopt an air of aloof mystery rather than terrified confusion. My goal was simple: find food, find shelter, and figure out how not to die.
I was passing a particularly rowdy open-air tavern when trouble, inevitably, found me.
Three large men stepped into my path. They reeked of cheap ale and the kind of confidence born from being the biggest things in a small pond. They wore mismatched leather armor, and the leader had a nose that had clearly been broken more times than the local laws.
"Well now," the leader sneered, looking me up and down with an unsettling grin. "What's a pretty little songbird like you doing away from your cage?"
Oh god. The cliché. It burned.
"Just passing through, gentlemen," I said, trying to deepen my voice. It didn't work; I sounded like a wind chime trying to be intimidating.
"Gentlemen? Ooh, polite," one of the lackeys laughed. "We like polite. Say, you got any coin in that fancy little pouch of yours? Toll for using the street, see?"
He reached for the 4D pocket.
Panic flared. That was my lifeline. Instinct took over. I slapped his hand away.
The air froze. The lackey looked at his hand, then at me, his face reddening with stupid rage.
"You little—"
He swung. It was a sloppy, drunken haymaker, but if it connected with my delicate bard face, I'd probably wake up back on Earth in a hospital.
I didn't have time to think. I just jammed my hand back into the pocket and screamed mentally for something defensive. Shield! Forcefield! Anything!
My fingers closed around fabric. I whipped it out. It was a red cloth with a bullseye pattern. The "Hirari Mantle"—the Dodge Cape.
Perfect. You wave it at something, and it effortlessly avoids the attack.
I whipped the cloth in front of me just as the fist arrived.
The gadget activated. But, like the flashlight, something was terribly wrong with its calibration.
Instead of smoothly deflecting the fist, the cape seemed to panic. It reacted with exponential force. The cloth slapped the man's fist aside with the deafening CRACK of a sonic boom.
The thug didn't just stumble; he was launched horizontally. He spun through the air like a discarded ragdoll, crashing spectacularly into a pyramid of wooden barrels outside a general store. The structure exploded in a shower of splinters and dried fish.
Silence fell over the street. Everyone stared at the pile of timber, then at me, then at the small red cloth in my hand.
"Uh," I said eloquently.
The other two thugs stared at their fallen leader, then back at me, their eyes wide.
"Magic!" one yelled. "The bard's got high-level wind magic!"
They drew their weapons—rusty short swords that looked like they'd give you tetanus just by looking at them.
"Wait, no, it's just a severe malfunction of future tech!" I tried to explain, backing away.
They charged.
Okay, time to go. I needed an escape. Flight. Flight was good.
I dove into the pocket again. "Bamboo copter, bamboo copter, bamboo copter," I chanted like a mantra.
My hand closed around the familiar T-shaped object. Yes! The Hopter! The most iconic gadget of them all.
I yanked it out. It looked pristine. A small yellow propeller attached to a suction cup base.
The two thugs were closing in, swords raised. I slapped the suction cup onto the top of my head. It stuck with a satisfying thwock.
"So long, suckers!" I struck a heroic pose, ready to ascend majestically into the sky.
I mentally triggered the device.
Whirrr-CHUNK-CHUNK-SCREECH!
The motor sounded less like a gentle hum and more like a garbage disposal chewing on silverware.
Instead of lifting me straight up, the Take-copter jerked violently to the left. My neck snapped sideways with whip-inducing force.
"Gah!"
It revved again, this time dragging me backward across the cobblestones on my heels. I flailed, my green cape tangling around my face. The thugs stopped, watching in utter bewilderment as the "powerful wind mage" was currently losing a fight with a piece of headwear.
"Work, you piece of plastic junk!" I yelled, batting at the propeller.
As if insulted, the copter suddenly kicked into overdrive.
It didn't go up. It went forward. Fast.
I was yanked off my feet, flying horizontally about four feet off the ground, leading with my head like a majestic, screaming braid-missile.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHH!"
I zipped past the thugs, the wind of my passage blowing their greasy hair back. I careened down the street, weaving wildly between terrified pedestrians and overturned vegetable carts. I was a projectile of pure, unadulterated chaos.
"MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!" I pleaded with the gadget.
The gadget did not care for my pleas. It only knew velocity.
I saw my destination ahead. It was a large, well-maintained stone building with a sign swinging out front that bore the image of a benevolent-looking woman. The door was open, revealing a warm, bustling interior.
It looked nice. It looked safe.
I was going to destroy it.
"INCOMING!" I shrieked, my voice cracking into heights only dogs could hear.
I flew through the open doorway at roughly thirty miles per hour.
Time seemed to slow down. I saw faces turn towards me—a gray-haired woman behind a bar, several waitresses in green uniforms, a diverse clientele of adventurers mid-drink. I saw a particularly stern-looking elf woman with green hair holding a tray of food.
Our eyes met. She looked mildly inconvenienced by the impending physics disaster.
Then, time sped up.
The Take-copter, having decided it had done enough damage, suddenly cut out.
Gravity remembered me.
I didn't so much land as I did detonate. I crashed into an empty table, which splintered dramatically. I rolled, tangled in my cape and white stockings, knocking over chairs and sliding across the polished wooden floor until I came to rest at the feet of the stern elf woman.
A single roasted potato rolled off her tray and landed softly on my head.
The entire pub was dead silent. The only sound was the faint whirring of the bamboo copter finally dying on my head, and my own ragged breathing.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, contemplating the series of life choices that led me to be dressed like a magical boy and crash-landing into what I was 90% sure was the Hostess of Fertility.
Slowly, painfully, I lifted my head. The elf woman was looking down at me with an expression that hovered somewhere between pity and the desire to charge me for the furniture.
I reached up, plucked the potato off my head, and offered a shaky, charming Venti-smile.
"Ehe," I squeaked. "Is this seat taken?"