10:00 PM
Ruho hadn't moved from his tree hollow in hours. He'd tried, around six PM, to drag himself out and attempt the whole hunting thing again, but his body had staged a full mutiny. His chest was a spectacular tapestry of bruises from the deer's antlers—deep purple in the center, fading to yellow and green at the edges. His back felt like someone had taken a meat tenderizer to it. His cracked fingernail throbbed with every heartbeat. And his stomach had given up on growling and moved on to what felt like actively trying to digest his other organs for sustenance.
So he'd crawled back into his hollow, curled up in the fetal position, and waited for either death or a miracle. At this point, he wasn't picky about which came first.
The forest outside was alive with sounds he still couldn't identify. Something that sounded like a cross between a monkey and a chainsaw had been screaming periodically for the last hour. There was a rhythmic thumping that could've been a giant's footsteps or his own heartbeat amplified by panic. And somewhere in the distance, what he really hoped was wind chimes and not the skeletal remains of previous failed isekai protagonists rattling in the breeze.
He was contemplating whether tree bark was technically edible when Azirel's presence suddenly bloomed in his consciousness, accompanied by what sounded suspiciously like barely suppressed laughter.
"So," Azirel said, his voice way too chipper for someone addressing a starving man in a tree. "How's it going, champ?"
"I hate you," Ruho croaked. His voice was raspy from dehydration and screaming at various animals that had outsmarted him. "I hate you so much. I hope you know that."
"Yeah, I figured," Azirel said. "I've been watching your progress. Or, well, your lack of progress. The deer thing was particularly impressive. You really committed to that charge."
"Are you here to help or just mock me?"
"Actually, I'm here with a proposition," Azirel said, and his tone shifted to something more serious. Well, as serious as a trainee god who dressed like a SoundCloud rapper could sound. "See, I was talking to some of the other trainee gods. Showed them your file, let them peek in on your first day here. And, uh, they think you're hilarious."
Ruho felt a spike of anger cut through his exhaustion. "I'm dying of starvation in a tree and you're using me as entertainment?"
"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds bad," Azirel said defensively. "But hear me out. The trainee gods—there's like forty of us, all learning the ropes, all bored out of our minds because most souls are super straightforward to process. Heaven, hell, purgatory, done. But you? You're unique. Fifty percent karma. Dropped into a test world. Failing spectacularly at basic survival. You're basically a reality TV show."
"I swear to god—"
"Gods, plural, actually," Azirel interrupted. "And that's kind of my point. See, I talked to them, and we came up with an idea. What if we gave all the trainee gods access to your file? Let them watch you whenever they want. And in exchange, if you're entertaining enough, if you do something impressive or funny or just generally noteworthy, they could give you blessings. Little divine interventions. Help you out here and there."
Ruho's stomach chose that moment to cramp so hard he had to bite back a whimper. "What kind of blessings?"
"Depends on the god and what they're willing to spare," Azirel explained. "Could be a skill boost. Could be a piece of equipment. Could be knowledge, temporary buffs, maybe even a quest or two with actual rewards. The more entertaining you are, the more likely they'll throw you a bone. Literally, in some cases—I know at least three gods who would totally spawn you food just to see what you do with it."
"So you want me to be a dancing monkey for a bunch of bored gods," Ruho said flatly.
"I mean, you're already kind of doing that," Azirel pointed out. "The difference is now you'd actually get something out of it besides my sparkling commentary. And before you ask, this is completely optional. You can say no. It'll just be you and me, no other divine interference, no help, no blessings. Just the two of us on this journey together."
Ruho lay in his hollow, processing this. On one hand, the idea of being watched by dozens of gods while he fumbled through this nightmare world was deeply humiliating. On the other hand, he'd already hit a deer with his face, failed to build three different types of shelter, and nearly drowned trying to catch a fish. His dignity was pretty much dead already.
And the alternative—being stuck alone with just Azirel—sounded like its own special kind of hell.
"Let me get this straight," Ruho said slowly. "If I agree, I get access to potential help from multiple gods. If I don't, it's just you and me."
"That's the deal," Azirel confirmed.
"And you've proven to be incredibly helpful so far," Ruho continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What with dropping me from orbit, forgetting to mention water acts like concrete, spawning me in the middle of a lake the size of a small country, and then leaving me to starve while you went off to do whatever gods do in their spare time."
"Okay, when you list it all out like that—"
"So my options are: continue suffering alone with the worst divine supervisor in history, or open myself up to being entertainment for a bunch of cosmic voyeurs who might occasionally throw me a scrap of help if I amuse them enough."
"Essentially, yes," Azirel said.
Ruho closed his eyes. His stomach cramped again. His chest throbbed. Every part of his body hurt. He thought about spending the rest of however long this took with only Azirel's intermittent presence and helpful observations like "you should probably not do that" after he'd already done the thing.
"Being stuck with just you sounds like actual hell," Ruho said finally. "At least with other gods watching, there's a chance one of them might actually be competent. Or feel pity. Or just want to keep their entertainment alive long enough to see what stupid thing I do next."
There was a pause, and then Azirel's voice came back, practically vibrating with excitement. "GOOD ANSWER, BUD!"
Suddenly, Ruho felt something shift in the air around him. It wasn't physical, exactly, but he could sense it—like the world had just taken a collective breath and turned its attention in his direction. Dozens of presences, maybe more, all suddenly aware of him. Watching. Waiting.
It felt like standing on stage in front of an audience he couldn't see, except the stage was a hollowed-out tree and he was covered in bruises and starving and probably smelled terrible.
"Welcome to the show," Azirel said cheerfully. "You're now officially the trainee gods' favorite new project. Try not to die in the next five minutes. Several of them just placed bets on how long you'll last, and I've got money on you making it at least through the week."
"You bet against me?!" Ruho sputtered.
"I bet FOR you lasting a week! That's supportive!"
Ruho groaned and pulled his knees tighter to his chest, wondering what he'd just agreed to and whether it was too late to change his mind.
From somewhere in the void between worlds, he could've sworn he heard the sound of divine laughter.