The labyrinth city of Orario was the undisputed navel of the world—a sprawling, chaotic monument to ambition where divinity and desperation shared the same cobblestone streets. Somewhere beneath those stones, buried in the throat of the Dungeon, lay enough gold and glory to turn a pauper into a legend.
Up here, however, the gods played a different game. They had descended from the heavens, trading their omnipotence for the thrill of the mortal coil, sealing their powers to become patrons of the "Children." They traded in Falna and Excelia, building Familias that functioned as both military companies and divine fan clubs.
Genji leaned against the weathered wood of his two-story "shrine," which, in the harsh light of the afternoon sun, looked less like a holy site and more like a structural liability. He watched yet another adventurer—a burly man with a notched broadsword—read his recruitment sign, scoff, and keep walking.
The sign was a masterpiece of optimistic marketing and desperate penmanship:
GENJI FAMILIA: NOW RECRUITING. All races. All genders. Room and board provided. Unlimited growth potential!
Passersby would look at the sign, then at the sagging roof of the building, and finally at Genji himself. Usually, their expressions followed a predictable trajectory: initial curiosity, followed by a flicker of pity, and ending in the sharp, clinical skepticism of someone who knew a bad investment when they saw one.
Genji let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to vibrate in his very soul.
As a transmigrator who had woken up with the mantle of an ancient god, he should have been living the dream. He had the face for it—a "Masterpiece-level" visage of dark hair and striking eyes that could make 99% of the Denizens of Heaven weep with envy. But in Orario, beauty didn't pay the tab at the Hostess of Fertility. Success here was a currency backed by two pillars: Reputation and Wealth.
Hephaestus had the forges; Loki had the numbers; Freya had... well, Freya had everything. Genji? Genji had a month's worth of dust, a dwindling pile of Valis, and a "Multiverse Recruitment System" that was currently sitting idle because he couldn't even convince a street urchin to let him tap their status. He was starting to realize why Hestia spent so much time crying into her potato puffs.
One month, he thought, rubbing his temples. One month in the lower world and I'm one missed meal away from selling my divine robes for scrap.
The sound of light, rhythmic footsteps snapped him out of his internal pity party.
A girl stood before his stall. She was an elf, possessing the ethereal grace and pointed ears of her kin, her golden hair catching the light like spun silk. She wore fitted leather armor—practical, well-maintained, and cinched to a lithe frame that suggested agility over raw power. A short bow was slung across her back, and her green eyes scanned his sign with a focus that wasn't just passing curiosity.
New blood, Genji realized, his "Plot-Sense" tingling. A veteran wouldn't even look at the sign; they can smell the poverty from two blocks away.
He straightened his posture, wiping the gloom from his face and replacing it with the charismatic, high-wattage smile of a seasoned closer.
"Greetings, traveler," Genji said, his voice smooth and resonant. "I take it you're new to Orario? Seeking a place where your talents won't just be used, but celebrated?"
The elf girl blinked, her gaze shifting from the sign to Genji. For a second, her professional composure faltered, a faint dusting of pink touching her cheeks as she took in the sheer, divine symmetry of his face. Even in simple clothes, Genji carried an aura that felt... untainted. "I am Leila," she said, regaining her footing with a graceful nod. "And yes, I arrived only this morning. Are you the... Lord God of this Familia?"
"Indeed," Genji said, puffing out his chest. "Though we are currently in an 'exclusive growth phase,' our potential is, quite literally, limitless. Join now, Leila, and you aren't just an adventurer—you're a founding member. A pillar of the legend we're about to write."
He leaned in, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial, honeyed tone. "Imagine it: when the Genji Familia stands atop the Babel Tower, your name will be the first one etched into the annals of our history. Why be a cog in Loki's machine when you can be the heart of a new era?"
Leila didn't look sold. In fact, her eyes narrowed with the piercing logic her race was known for.
"Lord Genji," she began, her tone shifting from polite to interrogative. "Is your name well-known in the Heavens? Do you have alliances with the Ganesha or Hermes Familias?"
Genji felt a bead of sweat prickle at his hairline. "I prefer a... low-key approach. Dignified anonymity. You know how it is—the loudest gods usually have the emptiest halls."
Leila didn't blink. "I see. And this building—is this the permanent base? Do you have a renovation budget, or perhaps a secondary source of funding beyond dungeon tithes?"
Genji's smile twitched. He was an ancient god with a multiverse-spanning system in his head, currently being grilled by a Level 1 rookie about his liquid assets.
"Well," Genji started, his mind racing for a diplomatic way to say 'I'm broke', "we're currently in a period of... strategic austerity."