Chapter 1: Out of Place, Out of Time

One minute I was scrolling through my phone in my crummy apartment, the next—I’d landed in another world. No warning, no tutorial, just a hard reset. This place runs on something called the ancient sacred language, and here I am: not a hero, not a chosen one—just the janitor, the guy pushing a broom, hoping nobody notices I don’t belong. Fake it till you make it, right? Except here, faking it could get me vaporized.

I’d always figured if I ever got isekai’d, it’d be somewhere low-key—maybe a sleepy Nebraska town where Friday night lights are the biggest deal around. Instead, I’ve dropped right into a sci-fi/fantasy mashup. No hot dogs or marching bands here—just people chasing the ancient sacred language, and me sweeping marble steps, stealing glances at the real power players. Every day, I try to blend in, just another face in the background, hoping no one calls me out.

Today is different. Today, the S3 season begins. People from every order, big and small, are teleported into a giant arena. This is the War of Ten Thousand Peoples—a battle that goes down once every hundred years. Some folks look hyped, others just look wrecked. On the Silver Hollow side, the vibe is pure dread.

The air is thick with sweat and anticipation, like the locker room before a state championship, only this time, losing means more than just bruised egos. For Silver Hollow, you can almost taste the fear—folks fidgeting, murmuring, tension stretching tighter than a drumline before the parade.

“It’s over. If we lose again this time, I’m afraid Silver Hollow will be wiped off the map.”

“In the S1 season, we lost eighty percent of our energy reserves.”

“In the S2 season, we lost eighty percent of our artifacts.”

“This time, we have nothing left to give.”

“Guess the universe finally wants to wipe us off the map.”

Their voices crack with raw emotion, like the kind you hear when a whole town faces extinction. Silver Hollow used to be unbeatable—the pride of its people, like those legendary Rust Belt towns before the factories shut down. But for some reason, their civilization got cut off, and now there’s almost nothing left from the old days. With so little to inherit, beating the other teams is basically impossible. After two straight losses, Silver Hollow’s already given up hope. Outsiders can’t help but pile on.

“Silver Hollow’s still standing? What are you even betting this time—eighty percent of your kids?”

“What’s the point of showing up? Might as well just call it quits.”

“Hey, if Silver Hollow’s going down, maybe send a few of your ladies our way, huh?”

“All the people Silver Hollow sent this time are so young—did all your grown-ups kick the bucket? Hahaha.”

The jeers sting, a cruel reminder of how fast respect turns to ridicule when your luck runs out. It’s like watching your high school team lose season after season, the bleachers emptier each year, rival fans circling for the kill.