And just like that, Hiroshi married seven women and lived happily ever after.
The End.
Thank you for reading so far.
"Hah… finally finished this novel."
The words echoed through the empty room. A man sat alone, his deep, ocean-blue eyes glued to the screen in front of him. His messy, slicked-back black hair fell over his forehead as he stretched lazily, like a fat cat that hadn't moved in years. His sharp features were undeniably handsome.
This was Noah Ashcroft—twenty-four years old, and depressed.
"I should probably leave a review, shouldn't I?" he muttered calmly to himself, already typing away at his keyboard.
"I originally started reading this because someone recommended it to me, and… to be honest, it's extremely generic. Everything is cliché, over-the-top, and somehow loud. I can practically hear the characters screaming 'pervert!' every other chapter. I don't know if anyone else feels this way, but yeah—it's mediocre. Nothing really stands out except the illustrations.
The characters are painfully one-dimensional. The protagonist is clueless, annoying, weak, painfully average, and only 'good-hearted.' Being kind is basically his entire personality, with nothing else to make him memorable. And the female characters? They fall in love left and right. It's insane. If he married every girl who liked him, there'd be over twenty of them. Oh, and he's a total simp."
After finishing his little rant, Noah placed a cigarette between his lips, lit it, and took a deep drag. Smoke filled his lungs as he exhaled and clicked Send.
He shut down his computer, stood up, and headed for the balcony to smoke in peace before washing up. But something made him stop.
His head snapped back toward the computer.
The screen flashed white—
—and two slender, pale hands shot out of it.
"What the…?" he muttered, the cigarette still dangling from his lips.
As the rest of the figure emerged, it revealed a breathtaking, mature woman. Her blue eyes shimmered with tears threatening to spill over. Wavy silver-blue hair cascaded down to her waist. She wore a pure white dress adorned with gold, resembling that of a Roman goddess. Her body was slender, curvy in all the right places without being excessive, her skin milky white.
And her face…
It was impossibly beautiful—otherworldly even. Yet the deep frown and twisted, angry smile made Noah instinctively tense.
"Who the fuck are you?" he asked, not caring whether she was a ghost or some cosmic entity. He raised himself into a fighting stance, the cigarette still between his lips.
"Are you Bombajet123!?" she screamed, smashing his computer to pieces with a single swing.
Noah stared at the shattered screen, irritation flaring inside him, but he forced himself to remain calm.
"And what if I am?" he asked coolly.
"A mere mortal dares question an almighty Goddess!?" she shouted.
He blinked, convinced she had completely lost her mind, but let her continue.
"I am the author of this masterpiece! And I will not—cannot—tolerate such disrespect from a mere mortal any longer!" Her voice grew louder, almost deafening.
"Wait… you're the author of that novel, and you want to punish me for leaving a comment that wasn't even disrespectful—just honest?" Noah scoffed. "You can't be serious."
"If you truly dislike this novel," she said, her smile turning manic, "then try changing this world with your own hands! Hihihihihihi! Hahahahahahahahaha!"
Her laughter echoed like that of a madwoman on drugs as a blinding golden light burst from her hands, swallowing his vision whole.
…
♪
♪ Headlights, your Mustang witnessed as we're eye to eye ♪
"Mmh…" the boy groaned, shifting in his bed.
♪ Tell me why, your lack of intuition burns me white ♪
He reached for the phone lying beside him.
♪ Only you can make me burn just like the sun ♪
He turned off his alarm.
"What a weird dream," he muttered. "But… why did I even set an alarm again?"
His eyes drifted to the date on his phone.
2026.
Nine years in the past.
"What the fuck is this fucking bullshit?" he cursed into the empty room, disbelief flooding his mind. At this point in time, he transferring from the US to a Japanese Highschool.
"Wait—can I…?"
He cut himself off and immediately tried to make a call.
"Please… please… please…"
This number is not available.
"Fuck!" he shouted, nearly smashing his phone before stopping himself, remembering how expensive it was.
The people he had tried to call were his family but they had died. A small, bitter smile flickered across his face before the anger beneath it began to boil. He frowned, drew in a steadying breath, and forced himself to calm down.
"But at this point in time… they should still be alive," he muttered. "Is this some kind of prank? If it is, I'll beat the shit out of whoever did this."
He reached for a cigarette—but there was none nearby.
Looking around the room, realization slowly set in.
This wasn't his apartment.
It was his old room—
the one he lived in when he was sixteen and lived in japan.
He stood up from the bed, deciding to wash up first. He walked slowly and steadily, though his mind was in chaos. Everything looked exactly as it had back then.
In the bathroom, he undressed, revealing a muscular yet lean body—almost perfect, except for the scars.
So they're still here, Noah thought, staring at them before giving himself a sneering smile.
He tossed his clothes into the laundry basket and stepped into the shower, letting the lukewarm water wash away his fatigue. Normally, he didn't shower in the morning—but today felt different.
After stepping out, he wrapped a towel around his waist and picked up the clothes he had worn. Sniffing them, he grimaced.
"They stink…"
He tossed them into another laundry basket in the corner and left the room.
Walking downstairs to prepare breakfast, Noah lazily scratched the back of his head. He was alone anyway—no need to get dressed yet. A towel around his waist was more than enough courtesy.
As he reached the kitchen, the sound of a TV drifted in from the living room.
"…Huh?"
The kitchen and living room were connected, so he casually turned his head—
—and froze.
Standing there was the woman from his Weird dream.
Silver-blue hair. Wide blue eyes. A beautiful face flushed bright red. She looked much younger than before, dressed in a short-sleeved white shirt, a dark-blue tie, and a matching skirt.
Time stopped.
They stared at each other.
Silence.
"…"
"…"
"…?"
Then—
"Kyaaaaaaaaaaa!!! WHY ARE YOU NAKED!?"
She screamed at a pitch that could probably shatter glass, instantly covering her eyes—
—but spreading her fingers just enough to peek.
Noah blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"…I'm not even naked," he said flatly. "I'm wearing a towel."
"KYA—DON'T SAY IT LIKE THAT MAKES IT BETTER!?"
She squealed louder, her face somehow turning even redder while still very obviously peeking.
Noah sighed.
Who is this and why the fuck is she so loud? he thought tiredly.
"Please," he said, rubbing his temples, "just stop screaming for a second—"
WHAM!
A pillow flew straight into his face.
"Kyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
She screamed again, somehow managing to scream more while still peeking between her fingers.
Noah stood there, towel still intact, soul slowly leaving his body.
"…Why are you still looking," he muttered.
"I'M NOT LOOKING!" she shouted.
"…You are."
"I'M NOT!"
"…Your fingers are spread."
"…T-THAT'S NOT THE POINT!"
Noah clicked his tongue.
He hated loud people.
And right now?
She was winning.
"STOP SCREAMING!" he finally yelled back, grabbing the nearest pillow and throwing it at her.
THUD.
The pillow hit her square in the face, the force knocking her off balance.
"Wah—!?"
She tumbled backward and landed on the floor with a soft fwump.
Silence stretched once again.
The TV continued playing cheerfully in the background, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding in the living room.
Noah exhaled slowly.
"…Finally."
The girl groaned and slowly pushed herself up, rubbing her head. Her eyes were teary as she glared at him.
"…Y-You hit a girl," she muttered weakly.
"That doesn't matter right now," Noah replied flatly, his eyes narrowing. "Tell me who the hell you are, or I'm going to punch you."
She froze.
"…Y-You're threatening a beautiful girl!?" she shouted indignantly. Then she noticed something and gasped."A-AND WHY ARE YOU STILL NAKED!?"
Noah immediately tightened the towel around his waist, already feeling a headache coming on.
"Shut up," he snapped. "I'm not naked. And stop screaming."
The sharpness in his glare made her flinch.
"Answer my fucking question. Now."
She swallowed hard.
"…O-Okay! Okay, I get it!" She scrambled to her feet, dusted herself off, and suddenly struck a proud pose."My name is Aihime, Goddess of Love and Beauty!"
She puffed out her chest, hands on her hips, clearly expecting awe.
Noah stared at her.
"…And?" he said, tilting his head.
The confident smile on her face twitched.
"…E-Excuse me?"
"And?" he repeated. "Is that supposed to impress me?"
Her jaw dropped.
"Y-You insolent—! Now that you know I'm a goddess, show some respect, mortal!" she shouted, pointing dramatically at him.
Noah blinked once.
Then again.
"…You broke my fucking computer," he said calmly.
"…Huh?"
"And dragged me into some kind of time-travel bullshit," he continued, his voice flat. "So forgive me if I'm not bowing to a blue haired bitch."
Aihime stared at him, clearly unprepared for that response.
"…You're a strange mortal," she muttered.
"And you're a strange whore," Noah shot back annoyed. "Now explain why a weird Goddess of Love is standing in my living room, wearing a school uniform, and screaming like a shitty anime girl."
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
"…T-That's not important right now!"
Noah's eye twitched.
"You cannot be serious," he said slowly. "Of course it's important."
They stared at each other—Noah with a sharp, tired glare, Aihime attempting to glare back but clearly losing confidence.
The TV switched channels.
"…This world," Aihime finally said, crossing her arms, "is the world of the masterpiece novel you insulted."
Noah pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh.
"…Fuck my you."
"It's not completely my fault! It's also yours for leaving a review like that on a masterpiece!" she said, trying to shift the blame.
Noah was already too tired to argue with this crazy goddess; he just wanted to get this over with quickly.
"Can you… summon my things from my other world, Bitchy Goddess?" he asked, his tone as innocent as possible.
"D-Don't call me that! Y-You're just a mere mortal!" she sputtered, tears welling at the corners of her eyes again.
Sigh.
Noah exhaled slowly. She's just like an annoying child. What should I do now? he thought. Gently, he approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Aihime… I'm sorry, but could you please give me my things?" His calm, unexpected gentleness made her blush.
"O-Okay… they're already in front of the door, in a packet," she stammered shyly.
"Thank you, Aihime," he said with a slight smile and walked toward the door.
They were already there? If I had known that, I wouldn't have wasted my time coaxing her, he thought, clearly annoyed.
As he stepped outside to retrieve the packages, a passerby woman walking her dog blushed at the sight of his shirtless, towel-clad body and handsome face—but Noah ignored her. He carried the three packages into the house. He didn't have many things to begin with, so three packages were all he had.
After placing the packages down, he rummaged through them.
"What are you looking for?" she asked, still blushing, her eyes lingering on his broad back.
He muttered under his breath without giving an explanation, "I wanted to do this right after finishing the novel, taking a cigarette, and washing up… but fine, I can do it now."
Finally, he pulled out a sleek, silver object and aimed it at his temple.
"W-wait—!" she cried, realizing just in time what it was—a Desert Eagle, pointed at his own head.
Click. Pow.