Chapter 2
The Beginning
(2) Who the Heck Are You?
Bathed in a strange light from the pedestrian bridge—and right after getting chopped on the head by Mom—I suddenly found myself in an unfamiliar world.
I took a good look at myself.
Black down jacket, thick jeans, and high-cut sneakers. All affordable stuff from generic brands or supermarkets—what a student part-timer could afford. And there I was, sitting on the ground wearing all that.
Hot.
It felt like May. Maybe early summer? Definitely not the biting cold of late December.
No point checking my phone—it doesn’t even have a temperature function.
Alright, let’s stand up and—
“Okay, here we go—whoa!”
My jeans slipped right off, belt and all. Couldn’t stop them—I had both hands and my backpack full.
Tried to take a step, but my sneakers didn’t come along. They slipped off, and I pitched forward—face first. Fortunately, my down jacket puffed up like an airbag and saved me from face-planting.
Still lying there, I reached into the pocket and pulled out my phone.
Oh—there’s a message from Mom.
Mom: “You alive? Not hurt?”
The usual battery icon had been replaced by a strange green clover-shaped mark. Weird.
Me: “I’m alive. Don’t think I’m hurt.”
Sent it. Oh—she read it right away.
Mom: “Good. I’m heading home first, okay?”
A reply. Thank god—
Wait, no. What does that mean? I’m seventeen, and she’s just… leaving me here? How am I supposed to get home?
Anyway, Mom’s safe—that’s something.
I lifted my head and looked around. No people. A few butterflies, but no bugs or animals otherwise.
I opened my map app.
…Where am I?
A place name I’d never seen before. Looked foreign—though written in katakana, so at least I could read it.
I zoomed out. Not Japan. No islands, just one huge continent. There was a coastline on one edge, but the other side just kept going off-screen. “Gasm…ania?” Never heard of it.
Alright, map’s useless. There seemed to be a village nearby, but no familiar landmarks.
Then I turned the camera on myself.
…Who the hell are you?
Did I go into shock and my hair turned white? No—more like cosplay. Silvery-white with a hint of pale green, down to my shoulder blades—way too long. I’d skipped haircuts recently, sure, but this was ridiculous.
And my eyebrows and eyelashes were white. Creepy. I tugged on my bangs—nope, not black. Yanked one eyebrow hair out. White.
Looked again with the selfie camera.
And the freakiest part? My eyes were bright green. Am I sick? No, my vision’s actually better than usual. Like I’m wearing cosplay-colored contacts—but I hate putting anything in my eyes. I’m a glasses guy. They’re still in the case in my backpack.
I might be a tiny bit mixed, but I’m basically Japanese. Never dyed my hair. My eyes were always brown.
But the real kicker—pointy ears.
And my face… rounder. Younger. Like a kid. Maybe kindergarten or early elementary age? Actually, I looked just like I did in my childhood photos—just with different coloring.
The most depressing part? I’d finally grown taller than Mom, and now I’d shrunk back down. My clothes hung loose, my backpack slipped off my shoulder and dangled at my elbow.
And god, it was hot.
Half-dressed now, I peeled off my down jacket and laid it on a dry rock. Set Mom’s handbag on top, then the convenience store bag with the chicken.
I grabbed my belt and cinched it tight—first hole, still loose. Wrapped the excess around. Rolled up my jeans cuffs again and again. …I used to be proud of my long legs.
Off came the long-sleeve shirt under the jacket—just a white T-shirt now. Tightened the sneakers, but there was so much room I could play rock-paper-scissors with my toes. Totally floppy.
Once I was somewhat decent, I sat on the rock beside the pile of stuff.
“Phew.”
The world around me didn’t care about my panic. A gentle breeze brushed across a wide-open field dotted with colorful flowers. I could only recognize dandelions and violets—maybe five species total.
…Okay. Deep breath.
While adjusting my clothes, my thoughts spun.
Is this one of those isekai things? Different world, different look, maybe even reincarnated? My body’s smaller, so—reincarnation? But I still have my stuff, so… teleportation?
But I did message Mom earlier.
I typed again. The phone felt huge in my little hands.
Me: “What’s happening? Something’s wrong with me.”
Mom: “The chicken you grilled is delicious!”
Me: “Wait, you’re already eating it? The cake’s still here!”
Mom: “Too bad! The chicken expires today!”
…So she already knows I can’t get home today. Great. I had a million questions for her if I ever did.
But if I go home looking like this, will she even recognize me?
I sighed and typed again.
Me: “Where am I?”
No read receipt. Guess she’s too busy with the chicken.
I set the phone down.
My stuff was all over the rock. Two people’s worth of luggage—and now I was half my usual size.
I opened Mom’s pink laptop bag. Inside was the laptop, a small thermos (filled with boiling water, why?), tissues, a towel, and a coin purse—no cards. Mom used phone payments for everything now.
Next, a mustard-yellow waist pouch I recognized. It had a belt loop but was being used as a bag. Inside: lip balm, unopened sunscreen, and a few candies. No makeup. Guess Mom’s officially an old lady after all.
I remembered that pouch. She used to wear it when she took me to the park as a kid.
In the outer pocket was a folded note, written in Mom’s handwriting.
“If you get in trouble, lick the strap of this pouch.”
Sure enough, there was a strap—with a little pendant. About 1.5 cm, shaped like a magatama, a swirl-shaped bead of yellow and clear glass.
Without thinking, I gave it a quick lick.
…Nothing. Checked the note again.
The writing had changed.
“Lick it more. Keep it in your mouth for about three seconds!”
Wait, what?
What kind of high schooler sucks on a purse strap?
Oh—right. I’m a kid now.
Bracing myself, I popped the magatama into my mouth. No taste. Not quite glass or plastic, just… smooth.
Nothing happened. Mom’s prank?
Then the note changed again.
“This can store anything that’s not alive. Fresh food won’t spoil.”
As I touched the pendant, a small translucent screen appeared beside my face.
[Owner’s magic pattern registered.]
Then lines of text began scrolling.
Title: [List] — followed by a flood of item names.
Wait. Is this—like one of those endless storage items from fantasy stories?!
I glanced around—no one in sight—and cautiously opened the pouch’s zipper. Holding it near the down jacket’s sleeve—whoosh! The jacket vanished.
Touched the magatama again, and under the “List” appeared:
Down Jacket ×1
“It’s fantasy. It’s another world.”
I couldn’t help saying it aloud. But… why does Mom have something like this?
Anyway, I stuffed the jacket, long sleeves, and even the laptop bag into the pouch.
Soon I discovered I could organize the list—alphabetically, by entry time, or by category. I could even rearrange things by thought alone, like folders on a computer.
When I sorted alphabetically, I noticed a bunch of entries starting with the same name:
Shunsuke’s baby clothes
Shunsuke’s baby teeth
Shunsuke’s first-grade report card
…All my old stuff? Seriously?
Wait—what about this one:
Shunsuke’s elementary school uniform (shorts, age 6)
That’s it! “Come out!”
And out of the zipper popped a pair of familiar shorts. Even had a belt.
“Yes! Perfect.”
Next came a full set of summer clothes from when I was around first or second grade—including, yes, those cartoon-print underwear from that famous mouse theme park. The shirt was a gym uniform. Sturdy stuff.
They still smelled faintly of detergent—Mom must’ve washed them before storing them. A little worn-out now, but fine.
Mobility first, fashion later.
Time to change. These jeans and sneakers were way too big.
I found a belt that fit the shorts, and my old “run-faster” sneakers that every kid swore by. For modesty, I pulled out a buttoned bath towel to change under—no one around, but better safe than sorry.
Once dressed, I checked my reflection on the phone.
“Wait—these clothes are big on me?”
I remembered those shorts being tight in fifth grade. If they’re loose now… I’m younger than first grade? Preschooler size?
“Whatever. Still better than drowning in jeans.”
Though honestly—my fantasy-looking self in modern kid clothes looked ridiculous. My cheeks were pink from all the pinching and slapping I’d done to check if this was real. Still stung.
I pulled out my old summer hoodie from sixth grade—big enough to hide my pointed ears under the hood. The sleeves were long, but manageable. The fabric brushed weirdly against my ears, though.
I packed up everything into the pouch, ate the chicken and shortcake, drank from a water bottle, and stashed the rest away.
Now dressed in a hoodie, shorts, and sneakers, phone and water bottle in hand, pouch at my waist, I set off.
Rustle.
That wasn’t the wind.
The sound came from the grass near the forest.
I froze.
Right—fantasy worlds are dangerous. I’d read enough of Mom’s collection to know that much. The fact nothing had attacked while I was changing was already a miracle.
I might have familiar gear, but right now I was a defenseless kid.
Keeping my eyes on the rustling, I focused on the pouch again.
Something to defend myself with—maybe a weapon?
A new tab appeared: [Options]
Bamboo sword / Katana (blunt) / Katana / Wakizashi / Spear (practice) / Spear / Sword …
Several of each type. Probably from when I did kendo as a kid? Or maybe Mom’s cosplay stuff?
Not sure which was which, but the bamboo sword felt familiar. I summoned one—medium size. Handle a bit thick, but usable. Even had the guard and stopper on.
I stashed the water bottle and gripped the sword just as something burst from the bushes.
“Wahhh!”
Even though I was ready, I still jumped. My heart pounded.
A creature with a deer-like face leapt out—small, about the size of a Shiba Inu. It had horns and fierce eyes.
Kendo training never covered hitting living things! But even a small deer could gore me at this size.
“Uwooo!”
With a high-pitched yell, I sidestepped and swung upward.
The bamboo sword connected solidly—felt like swinging a bat.
Thwack!
The creature flew five meters and hit the ground. It didn’t move.
Cautiously, I poked it with the tip.
“Ah—did I just… kill it? Oh crap. Am I gonna get in trouble?”
And just like that, my list of problems got even longer.
