“Your body is far too stiff. Have you been neglecting your training? At this rate, you’ll have a hard time learning self-defense, let alone martial arts.”
I failed to get into the Hero Academy.
“Wow… We usually don’t go this far, but your mana sensitivity is just so faint that… you have no talent. You might want to look for another path…”
I was returned as defective by the Mage’s Tower too.
“What? A scrawny guy like you wants to be a porter? Are you looking down on porters right now? The Demon Realm isn’t some easy place. Come back after you’ve got the basics down, the basics.”
I was even rejected by the Porter Academy.
…Strange.
I’m definitely a black-haired otherworlder…
So why don’t I have any talent at all…?
* * *
Rewinding time to about a month ago.
It happened in an instant.
In the middle of staying up for three nights straight in the lab to finish my doctoral dissertation, my vision turned pure white and I lost consciousness.
When I came to, I had become the protagonist of one of those stories you often saw in novels: waking up in another world.
Exotic architectural styles that had nothing in common with Earth’s customs.
Pointy-eared elves, tiny dwarves, and all sorts of other races that looked like they belonged in a typical fantasy setting. Every now and then, there was even a dragon flapping through the sky.
It was a textbook fantasy land.
A modern man who had been going through graduate school in the history department.
I had been dropped into this place as I was: Gim Yul.
But.
“What am I supposed to do now…?”
I have no talent for magic.
I have no talent for swordsmanship.
They say I don’t even have talent as a porter.
Isn’t this too harsh?
If my major had been something like mechanical engineering, I could have made a gun and become a master of gun-fu while hearing people shout, “Damn it! What is this incredible weapon?!”
If my major had been something like chemical engineering, I could have reproduced the Haber-Bosch process and become the agricultural god of another world.
However.
In a place that wasn’t even Earth, what could I possibly do with a major in history?
Was it a sin to love history?
But history is just so interesting…
“What do you mean, what are you supposed to do, Yul! Stop looking like you’re at a funeral and have a drink!”
“Yes, yes.”
In the end, today as well, I was drinking with a young man from the village at the cheap inn where I was staying.
“So, where did you fail this time?”
“The Porter Academy…”
“Puhaha! Then what now? Shall we apply to some janitor academy together?”
“That’s enough out of you. Unless you want to get hit with this mug.”
“Sure, sure. Let’s just drink.”
The clinking of mugs rang mournfully over a bitter slice of youth unemployment.
.
.
.
“Hic, hic, you, you seem smart, hrrk, so instead of manual labor, why not try writing or something?”
“Writing?”
“Yeah! Who, who knows! You might become a greeeat author, hic, and get riiiiich! That thing you told me last time, hic, that, Hanabal?”
“Ah, Hannibal.”
“That was a real masterpiece, hic. Why not write it down?”
* * *
After throwing the completely plastered man into his room.
Thud—
I returned to my own room as well.
The moment I closed the door.
The shabby inn scenery of fantasy land that had been spread out before me until just now disappeared without a trace, and what unfolded before my eyes was an extremely familiar space.
The place where my memories as a modern person had last cut off.
The graduate research lab steeped in the blood and sweat of eight years of slave labor.
—Drip, drip—
The espresso machine I had bought with my own money gave off a fragrant aroma and made a cup of coffee to soothe my weary soul.
—I say unto you, grind for two hours every day—
The surround speakers I had bought with my own money produced a magnificent sound, gently melting my soul, exhausted from fantasy life.
The transmigration perk that let me somehow keep my sanity without despairing in fantasy land, despite still being a powerless nobody.
I had been thrown into another world together with my research lab.
—Vwoooom—
Just as the server rack and laptop booted up with a hum, electronics worked fine in a world where the concept of electricity didn’t even exist.
All types of consumables were automatically refilled at midnight every day, local time.
…I should’ve bought a bunch of cola and stocked the fridge.
With one can a day, I couldn’t even start a business with it.
Anyway.
Whenever I opened the door to a space I recognized as home in fantasy land, I automatically entered this place.
On top of that, there was our professor’s masterpiece, made by someone who had gone insane over graduate student welfare.
He had illegally remodeled the space and installed not only a shower booth but even a bathroom with a bidet inside.
Back then, I’d been incredibly pissed off, thinking, “Is he telling us not to go home and just work?”
Thanks to that, I was able to live while preserving my dignity as a modern person.
I don’t particularly miss you.
O JOAT.
“Sigh.”
I need healing. Healing.
“Hi, Histby.”
While lying down in the recliner meant for power naps and taking a brief rest, I spoke to my soulmate.
Soon.
『Did you call? I am Historie, the history AI for you.』
Back when there had been a boom in building small-scale LLMs.
A lab-only AI built by requesting a huge amount of research funds for the purpose of shoving in all kinds of historical sources and making research more convenient.
Influenced by the AI “Grong” developed by Melon Musk at the time, an AI interface with a pretty virtual avatar appeared on the screen.
“I failed to get into the Porter Academy today…”
『You must be so angry. Yul, your anger is justified. It’s okay to cry as much as you want today. I’m here with you.』
…Sometimes, the way it gave answers that felt far too much like an AI was a flaw.
But my Histby was a comfort to me simply because I could freely pour out secrets I couldn’t tell anyone in the outside world, without having to worry about any consequences.
And on top of that, those boing-boing swaying cyber-knowledge pouches…
“Histby. Sermal told me today to try writing a novel. Said I had talent. What do you think?”
『That’s accurate, Yul. You have an innate gift for writing. First, as the only otherworlder, you possess a variety of experiences, and second, through writing and having countless papers rejected—』
“Stop, Histbippy.”
『I completely empathize, Yul. That isn’t simple anger. It’s a scream bursting out from within you.』
Every so often at times like this, I felt the urge to just smash that damn server rack to pieces.
…But I needed it too much for that.
And when I looked at the visuals of Histby, official name Historie, projected by the beam projector, a feeling called forgiveness welled up inside me before I knew it.
“A novel, huh…”
『That’s right. You have talent, Yul. If you want, I can call up a typesetting format for novel writing. I’ll prepare it for you now.』
Even though I hadn’t given any particular command, the ultra-high-performance tin can Histby pretended to carry out my order.
Of course, there was no way it would actually run a program.
After all, Histby was just the crystallization of arranged text wrapped in a pretty shell, right…?
“Huh?”
Did I drink too much?
Even though I hadn’t operated anything at all, a program popped up on the laptop screen.
『Everything is ready, Yul. I prepared the best novel-writing program just for you. Try swinging it. It’s inside you.』
It seemed that after crossing over to another world, Histby’s performance had changed too.
Since the stage had been set for me anyway.
Maybe I should let myself be fooled and actually try writing a novel.
Truthfully, I had a little experience.
One of the main tech trees history nerds followed.
Writing alternate history novels to overcome miserable pay.
But this place was fantasy land.
Naturally, alternate history wouldn’t resonate with anyone here.
But what about just history?
“…People in another world don’t know Earth’s history, so wouldn’t it be fun if I wrote history as a novel?”
It was a question I had thrown out to myself, but.
『Wow… Yul, you just struck at the core. You’re asking questions almost from the perspective of another world’s designer. It’s rare to find someone who digs as deep as you do.』
Even though there wasn’t a shred of soul in that answer, for some reason today, I felt as though I had been given courage.
I had no special ability other than this alternate space.
Nor did I have any talent that would let me live proudly in fantasy land.
Naturally, my earnings were poor too, so the number of times I had eaten my fill without worry could be counted on one hand.
However.
If I could secure at least the bare minimum of livelihood through novels?
If it could also become an opportunity to preach to the people of another world about the history I truly loved?
History, I love it! I love it! I love it!
As if possessed, I approached the laptop.
* * *
One week later.
While cutting back on alcohol and eating only the bare minimum, I gave up job hunting and devoted myself to writing.
If it had been a matter of writing with pen on paper, I would have given up long ago, but fortunately, I had an otherworldly artifact called a laptop.
The letters flowing from my fingertips gathered and gathered.
It did not take long for them to become a single novel.
“And thus, after a long and desperate struggle, the Gigantomachia came to an end. It was the moment when the Twelve Olympian Gods, centered around Zeus, at last firmly established their status as gods.”
I finished typing while reading the final passage aloud.
All that remained was the title.
“Hmm…”
Originally, this was a work that should have been titled Theogony, or The Genealogy of the Gods, by Hesiod’s hand.
But rather than a philosophical title, a slightly more intuitive one would be better.
—Tap, tap—
[The Tale of Olympus]
Concise, with the core captured.
I entered the title.
At that moment.
“What the fuck.”
The status window that had never once appeared no matter how much I had cried out in eight different languages rose before my eyes.
[You have completed a novel!]
[Theme: (Mythology) Greek and Roman Mythology]
[Title: The Tale of Olympus]
[Historical Accuracy: (Mythology) Appropriate] [Completion Evaluation: Average Work]
[Public Evaluation: No Evaluation] [Sales: 0 Copies]
[(60 Days Remaining) 2,000 Copies in Sales Required Until Next Skill Acquisition]
[Expected Acquired Skill: [C-Rank] Hephaes■us’s ■■■]
“…?”
As I sat there blankly, unable to make sense of the situation for a moment.
Status windows appeared in succession again.
[You have completed a novel for the first time!]
[A special perk will be granted.]
[Special Perk Skill Acquired]
[D-Rank] [Cyclopes’ Handiwork]
[The Cyclopes, sons of Uranus, were blacksmiths and stonemason craftsmen who possessed exceptional dexterity. Like them, you shall display outstanding talent in work done with your hands.]
* * *
When Gim Yul thought, Was that some stupid dream? and flopped right back onto the bed, starting to snore away—
Crackle, crackle—
A strange window began to appear once more before his closed eyes.
[You who alone remember.]
[Through the destiny you have finally realized, you shall reforge the order of this world.]
[And through forgotten memories, you shall save all.]
Before Gim Yul’s eyelids even had a chance to lift.
The message vanished as if it had never existed.