Episode 1 - What the Hell, Give Me Back My Speech Bubble!!!
Sirin had injured her brain when she fell into this other world.
Due to the brain damage, the vocabulary Sirin could use was extremely limited. By now, it didn't even amount to ten words, including one for an impossible reproductive act, one expressing a genetic transfer medium, and one meaning the offspring of an animal.
Thus, Sirin's sentences were more or less shattered like this.
"Ddu... ddu-taa.... Saekki-gae sek-ddu?"
Fortunately for Sirin, after rolling around in this other world for a few months, there came to be people who understood her.
It was a miracle achieved by Sirin, who had picked up on the instincts of a beggar, and a church priest who was more or less decent of heart.
In a corner of the village, unlike the temple that served the gods, Peter—the priest of a poor church that worshipped only the 'Savior'—spoke.
"So, since today's a festival day, you're saying you'll hang around in front of the temple all day? You can't even speak properly, yet you remember such things well enough."
Sirin grinned.
"Saekki."
"But I don't think it's a very good idea. If you loiter there from morning, they'll chase you away saying you're bad luck. So it'd be better to go around evening. There won't be any meat, but that's just how it is."
Sirin's face fell.
"Aemi-ddu..."
"Don't look so aggrieved. That's just the beggar life for you."
Peter spoke indifferently.
"And as I said before, rather than keep spouting nonsense like that, wouldn't it be better to pretend to be a mute? That seems like it would work better for begging."
"Aem."
"You don't like this, you don't like that...... And yet you say you're hungry. As I said before, if you'd just keep your mouth shut, there is work you could do, no?"
Peter's gaze lingered on Sirin's face for a moment.
"The second floor of Wilson's is a bit cramped, but if you stayed there, you wouldn't go hungry. It is a tavern, after all, so you could get beer to drink too. Well, the girl there got unlucky and took a beating this time, but that doesn't happen often."
Sirin glared at Peter, but he continued in a tone that suggested it was no big deal.
"For young women in your situation, living off the goodwill of men isn't exactly a bad thing. Everyone's just floundering to survive, after all."
"Neugeumma."
"...I sometimes wonder if you do this on purpose. You really do know how to speak properly, don't you?"
Sirin shrugged her shoulders.
Although Peter had come to understand her words through a near-miraculous knack for it, even that had its limits.
With her damaged language ability, Sirin could not convey at all that she was heterosexual, or that she had absolutely no intention of spreading her legs for medieval barbarians even if it killed her.
Peter let out a sigh.
"Well, it's not like you can expect such goodwill in your current appearance anyway. Just why do you go around looking like that?"
Sirin would roll around in mud puddles like a stray dog.
Because of that, Peter would often mistakenly think Sirin had truly gone mad, but it was all part of Sirin's efforts.
A struggle to become an acquired ugly woman.
After falling into this other world, Sirin had realized that her appearance—with a charm stat of 180—was instead a poison.
To kill that charm, Sirin would throw herself into mud clumps whenever she had the chance, and near the village's communal furnace, she would gather soot and smear it all over her face.
It would be no exaggeration to call it a desperate effort to become a black person.
And Sirin achieved a miracle.
She had changed her race through sheer effort.
Thanks to that, everyone now looked at her like she was some gnawed-on dog skull. One could say it was a reasonably successful strategy for a modern person steeped in comfort to survive in a medieval fantasy land.
"Where are you going?"
Having gotten nothing more of interest from Peter, Sirin shrugged and stood up from her spot.
She would have to go in the evening to get festival food anyway.
Sirin's steps headed toward a small bakery on one side of the village square.
She was almost certain something troublesome would happen today.
But for the past few days, she had been chewing on unknown berries outside the village, or small fish, or poisonous mushrooms to stave off her hunger.
Since she had come to the village, she wanted to eat something proper no matter what.
When Sirin hovered in front of the bakery, Martha came out from the back of the shop.
She spotted Sirin and smiled faintly.
Martha the baker was a kind widow.
She pitied Sirin, who couldn't speak properly and was always filthy, and would often give her hardened leftover bread or the end pieces of cookies.
That kindness was appreciated, but at the same time, it made things difficult for Sirin.
Sirin silently approached and pulled out a crumpled cloth pouch from inside her clothes.
In the pouch were a few handfuls of medicinal herbs and mushrooms Sirin had gathered from the forest outside the village.
They were unsightly in appearance, but their effects were certain. Sirin had tested them all on her own body to make sure they weren't poisonous.
When Peter found out about that, he had been horrified and tried to stop her, but aside from the pain, nothing particularly bad had happened to Sirin. After that, Peter would look at her with strange eyes.
Martha looked inside the pouch and made a slightly surprised expression before soon smiling gently.
"You came to give me these? Thank you, but you didn't have to. I only..."
As if cutting off Martha's words, Sirin pressed the pouch into her hand and shook her head.
It was supposed to mean 'It's fine' or 'Take it,' but still, proper words didn't come out. Only a sound like a low growl escaped.
Sirin disliked one-sidedly giving things, as well as receiving them. This was the minimum price she paid in her own way.
Martha looked at Sirin's stubborn gaze for a moment before finally taking the pouch, her face becoming a mixture of emotions.
An expression mixed with pity, with apology that she shouldn't feel, and with slight gratitude toward Sirin for trying to express her heart in such a strange manner.
"Alright... I'll put them to good use. I was just feeling a bit under the weather, so I'll brew some tea."
As repayment for what Sirin had brought, Martha held out a parcel.
"Take this, at least. It's all I have today."
Inside the parcel were three or four small loaves of bread. They had hardened and gone cold, but they were still whole.
Sirin took the parcel and bowed her head deeply.
She didn't bother to open her mouth.
If she had tried to say 'Thank you,' something like "Son of a bitch" probably would have come out instead.
Martha smiled a small smile as if used to it.
"Hey, the beggar bitch is here!"
"..."
Just as Sirin had expected, something troublesome happened. Some village kids had spotted Sirin and flocked over.
The brats maintained a safe distance and began throwing malice at her instead of stones.
"Ugh, that dirty crazy bitch is here again!"
"Hey, do your shit-talk again! Go 'aem-aem'!"
"They say you'll catch something if you touch her!"
Sirin's brows twitched.
She wanted to rush over and tear those yapping snouts to shreds. Returning what she received several times over was Sirin's way.
Slowly, Sirin raised her head toward the children. To pour curses upon those little devils befitting their nature.
"You..."
Before Sirin could open her mouth, the bakery door burst open, and Vera, Martha's daughter, came flying out.
Vera shouted at the children.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing in front of our shop! Get lost!"
The children hesitated for a moment when they saw Vera but soon cackled back.
"Vera, your mom's giving bread to that crazy bitch again!"
"Aren't you gonna end up like her when you grow up? Stinky and can't talk!"
"You brats want another beating?!"
The kids screeched like pterosaurs and ran away. Vera turned red-faced and looked at Martha.
"Mom! I told you I'm dying of embarrassment because of her!"
"Vera! I told you not to say such mean things..."
Martha tried to scold her daughter, but Vera didn't listen and huffed back inside the shop.
Sirin stared at the door where Vera had disappeared for a moment.
Though irritation and anger bubbled inside, she could understand at the same time. Yeah, I might have been the same. That's why I have to endure it. She didn't want to show Martha an unsightly display.
"Don't mind it. Children are immature..."
Martha spoke as if apologetic.
Instead of answering, Sirin bowed her head even deeper than before.
Sirin turned around, clutching the parcel of bread tightly to her chest. She forcibly ignored the sympathy and contempt she felt from behind, and the children's giggling.
The bread she held was hard, but she thought she could faintly feel a trace of Martha's warmth. That small warmth gave a little strength to Sirin's steps.
Sirin moved her feet toward the outskirts of the village, to a secluded stream.
"..."
Ever since falling into this other world, Sirin had spent most of her time watching the stream flow.
The seasons came to the stream without fail.
Fallen leaves tumbled in the desolate wind, warm snow fell, and before long everything froze white. When the ice melted, rain fell and turned the ground to mud, and finally tender green sprouts pushed up.
Even Sirin, who cared little for stars, could tell the night sky had changed when she lay down at night.
In that changing scenery, the only thing that didn't change was the sight of Sirin crouching on the stream bank.
Perhaps she had grown numb.
To the passage of time, to the changing seasons, and even to her own miserable situation.
She simply existed, like breathing, flowing along like the stream water.
Empty time with neither happiness nor unhappiness.
Sirin stared at her distorted reflection in the flowing water with vacant eyes.
Was that really her?
The face of a strange woman covered in mud and soot.
A twisted thing that couldn't even properly express its own heart.
'Bread.'
Sirin recalled the simplest word in her mind. That thing which would sate her hunger—warm and soft.
And she consciously moved her lips. To say 'bread' normally, as a matter of course.
"Ni aemi."
A curse leaped out of her mouth without fail.
It felt as if someone else's tongue was attached to her throat.
Sirin closed her eyes.
She suppressed her boiling anger and delicately organized her thoughts.
'One by one. Slowly. Don't rush.'
When she opened her eyes again, Sirin's eyes gleamed.
Sirin had certainly not clung to this stream bank for months without purpose.
Though her knowledge was short, Sirin's intelligence was not low.
Sirin was clearly aware of her problem.
The wiring between the blueprint in her head and the output device called her mouth was completely fried.
The connection between the meaning she wanted to convey and the words that actually popped out was completely twisted.
That was why, even if she wanted to express gratitude, the word 'son of a bitch' would come out.
Simply memorizing or repeating words was useless. The moment she conceptualized 'bread,' her brain had already finished preparing to produce the sound 'son of a bitch.'
Therefore, there was only one method.
Abandon meaning and chase only the sound.
Sirin carefully observed the shape of her own mouth as she watched the stream.
Like mimicking the melody of a foreign song without knowing its meaning, she obsessively dug into only the mouth shape, the position of her tongue, and the strength of her breath needed to produce her target sound.
'Ssang.'
To make this sound... Yes, did she have to think of 'sshi' in her head and stupidly open her mouth to 'ah'? No, that was closer to 'ssan.' Then 'ssang'... Did she have to think of 'jot'—that fucking 'jot'—curl her tongue back, and make a nasal sound?
Sirin observed the shape of her mouth reflected in the flowing water and reverse-traced the fried circuit diagram of her brain.
Which meanings were wrongly connected to which sounds—she had to build her own bizarre pronunciation formula through hundreds, thousands of trials and errors.
The sound 'chaen' required thinking of 'bal' and placing her tongue behind her front teeth.
'Chan' required thinking of 'nom' and touching the roof of her mouth... Damn it, it was like loosening a screw clenched tightly by fingernails.
No, if it were only that, it would be better. This was like a baby learning to walk for the first time.
But Sirin did not give up.
"Ssan..."
When the first syllable popped out somewhat similarly, the autumn leaves had blazed red and fallen, and the cold wind had begun to blow.
After spitting out countless twisted fragments of curses, Sirin finally grasped that first sound as autumn waned.
"Chaeng..."
The second syllable was made in front of the frozen stream, smashing ice with her stiff, frozen hands.
The bitter cold stiffened her tongue, and her breath seemed to freeze as she exhaled.
After devoting the entire winter to that struggle, as the ground began to thaw, Sirin completed the form of the second sound.
"Tan..."
And finally, when spring came, Sirin could make the third letter.
The lips reflected on the water trembled faintly.
Almost there, damn it, just a little more. Now it's the last one.
A flame blazed in Sirin's eyes.
Sirin squeezed out her last strength.
She forcibly twisted her broken brain circuits and controlled her twisted muscles.
Inside a sensation like experiencing childbirth in her brain, Sirin finally completed the combination of sounds she had aimed for.
Sirin spoke.
"Sangtaechang."
Like the sound of a firmly locked bolt coming undone, the word rang clearly through the empty air.
It was a moment that seemed to compensate for the long hours of humiliation and contempt—a moment when Sirin's intention and lips finally coincided.
-Ding!
And the light disappeared.
Along with a clear electronic sound, the damned window that had always occupied a corner of Sirin's vision finally turned off.
[ Shout "Status Window" to proceed with the Tutorial. ]
The tiresome message disappeared, and immediately after—scrolling down—new messages rose up, glowing.
[ Proceeding with the Tutorial. ]
[ Initializing all stats. ]
[ ! A Coward's Shelter Mode for Super Cowards ! ]
As if the fog pressing down on her brain had lifted, her thoughts grew clear.
Three seasons had passed since falling into this other world. And finally, Sirin could match intention and expression.
"Coward."
Sirin snickered and spoke.
Coward.
That was the first proper word Sirin had spoken in this other world.