Itsuki Hiroto awoke to the soft trill of enchanted chimes—each one tuned to his heartbeat, lest he oversleep and shirk his duties in slumber. He blinked at the gilded ceiling of his new quarters in the Imperial Palace, a room so lavish it hurt the eyes: marble floors inlaid with swirling arcane runes, silk drapes heavier than any siege armor, and a mattress that felt like sleeping on a cloud of smug nobles.
I could file expense reports in a broom closet and be happier, Hiroto mused, peeling himself from the sheets. He slipped on the slippers provided—embroidered with his emblem, naturally—and hobbled over to a polished wardrobe. Inside hung nothing but embroidered ceremonial robes in various shades of blue and gold. He picked the simplest one (a tone called "I Swear I'm Just a Clerk Blue") and shrugged into it.
A soft knock heralded the arrival of his personal butler. The man was an unflappable automaton in a waistcoat, eyes hidden behind silver spectacles that gleamed with mild disapproval.
"Good morning, Captain Hiroto," he intoned, placing a silver tray on the low table. "Your breakfast: omelet infused with mana-boosted herbs, arcane-pressurized coffee, and a selection of pastries baked in dragon-fire ovens." He bowed so low his spectacles nearly touched the floor. "Today's itinerary: etiquette lessons at 0900, city tour at 1000, audience with the Court Magister at 1100, and luncheon banquet at 1200."
Hiroto stared at the tray. Half the pastries were still moving. "Does the coffee judge me?" he asked.
"Only if you expand foam in the wrong direction, sir." The butler nodded crisply and withdrew.
Hiroto slumped onto a cushion. City tour? Etiquette lessons? I wanted a nap. But the moment he finished the thought, his enchanted scroll pinged insistently.
> 0900 – Etiquette Lessons with Lady Virelya Arkwright.
Here we go again, he groaned, swiping the reminder away.
---
By mid-morning, Hiroto found himself in a mirrored antechamber with Lady Virelya arrayed like a general preparing for battle—only her battlefield was good manners and courtly bows. She measured his stance as though it were a sword strike.
"Your left foot is too far forward," she instructed, tapping his heel with a lace-edged glove. "You lean back when you bow. Imagine water at your ankles, not quicksand."
Hiroto dipped forward in a shallow nod. "Water at my ankles, got it."
"Too shallow," she corrected. "Try this." She showed him a perfect arc of torso that ended in a respectful incline. "You look like a tipping statue."
He stood again. I look like a clerk who wants to vanish. He dipped, arms rigid. The effect was so hilariously wooden that even Virelya cracked a tight smile.
"Not bad," she conceded. "Now, smile gently. Pretend you've heard wonderful news—which you will, because the Emperor's going to offer you another title."
"Can I decline again?" Hiroto asked softly.
"Smile, Hiroto," she said, steely. "The world expects it."
---
No sooner had he mastered the art of smiling politely than Sera burst in, breathless.
"Captain! The city tour has started without us. The carriage is waiting!" She waved a scroll showing a steaming mug emoji and a map icon. "Plus, the Court Magister texted—she's bringing that mana orb demonstration to lunch. We need to be there."
Mana orb at lunch—great, Hiroto thought. Last time orbs and soup met, I nearly redecorated the dining hall.
---
The imperial carriage peeled away from the palace in a fanfare of trumpets. Hiroto settled uneasily on embroidered cushions opposite Virelya and Sera. The streets of Solencia stretched out like a living tapestry: aerial gondolas drifted between towers, logos of merchant houses floated above storefronts in glowing sigils, and everywhere, citizens peered out, murmuring, "There's the dragon-slayer!" or "Humble Hero!" or "That guy who keeps tripping into prophecies!"
Hiroto ducked under his hood. "I look like a criminal on the run."
"More like a celebrity with zero payoff," Sera whispered. "Here comes the Grand Bazaar district. Brace for spontaneous begging."
At the corner, a trio of children offered him handcrafted prayer beads. A vendor shouted, "Official Heroic Candidate badges! Only three copper each!" A bard played a triumphant tune on a lute strung with dragon's hair.
I just wanted to reorganize tea crates, Hiroto lamented silently.
---
They arrived at a courtyard garden for luncheon: a circular pavilion ringed by fountains shaped like leaping griffins. At its center hovered a pale blue orb—suspended by invisible currents of arcane energy. The Court Magister, robes swirling around her ankles, greeted them with a curtsy.
"Welcome, Captain Hiroto," she said, voice crystalline. "Please observe the Orb of True Sight. It reveals the soul's potential when focused by pure intent."
Hiroto glanced at Virelya, who gave him a look that said, don't break it. He bowed. The Magister placed a lacquered bowl of soup on the low table.
"Please, approach," she invited, stepping aside.
Hiroto stood and, with all the grace of a cornered raccoon, reached forward—and knocked the orb. It wobbled, flashed, and then zoomed toward him. The dining table trembled.
"Careful!" Sera yelped.
Rather than shattering, the orb swooped gracefully overhead, then drifted gently down to hover inches from Hiroto's face. His reflection shimmered on its surface.
A hush fell. Even the griffin fountains stilled. The orb glowed steadily, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
The Magister gasped. "It has chosen you."
Virelya's eyes went wide. "That's… new."
Hiroto swallowed. "I think it's broken."
But the orb's light intensified, casting a soft halo over him. A low hum resonated through the pavilion—like distant drums of destiny.
From the edge of the courtyard stepped a figure in white robes trimmed with gold—a high priest of the Church of the Eternal Light, carrying a silver censer.
He knelt before Hiroto, incense curling around his feet. "Behold the Chosen of the Orb," he intoned. "The one who will bridge divine will and mortal action."
Hiroto's tea cup rattled. "I… don't even know how to bridge a broken coffee mug."
The priest ignored him. He raised a hand, and the orb spun, projecting images into the air: a dragon, a crumbling temple, swirling storm clouds over a map of the continent.
Gasps rippled through the onlookers. The glimpses of future calamity were as dramatic as they were ominous.
"Captain Hiroto," the priest declared, voice booming over the hushed crowd, "by divine mandate, you are hereby recognized as a Heroic Candidate. Within seven days, a trial by prophecy shall be held to determine which destiny you shall fulfill."
Hiroto's jaw dropped so far it threatened to dislocate. "Wait—Heroic Candidate? I didn't apply!"
Laughter bubbled up from the nobles. "How modest!"
"How naïve!" someone else called.
Virelya stepped forward, placing a hand on Hiroto's shoulder. "It's official. You're on the roster whether you like it or not. Welcome to The Hero Hunt."
Sera grinned. "Guess you can't nap until you win—or lose."
Hiroto let out a long breath. My peaceful life officially expires in seven days, he thought. Please let me at least have one good night's sleep before the chaos begins.
As the orb floated back to its pedestal and the priest intoned blessings, Hiroto raised his teacup in a half-hearted toast. "To peace," he muttered. "And, uh, whatever comes next."
The assembled crowd echoed, "To peace—and the Hero Hunt!"
And as laughter, chants, and the distant echo of dragon's roar (some bard's latest composition) filled the air, Hiroto realized that his life had become the biggest committee-sponsored event in the Empire—one he definitely didn't sign up for, but now couldn't escape.