In the lower districts of the kingdom—the same kingdom where the future Cardinal Heroes were destined to be summoned—a lone teenager sat on the cold stone sidewalk. His black hair fell messily over tired eyes that scanned the unfamiliar streets with quiet disbelief. Just hours ago, he had been watching The Rising of the Shield Hero. And then… nothing. No dramatic summoning circle. No divine voice. No legendary weapon materializing in his hand.
He had simply appeared.
No blessings.
No powers.
No explanations.
Just fragmented knowledge of the anime and the uncomfortable certainty that he did not belong there.
"What the hell… I'm alone. No system. No support. No resources. Nothing."
His voice carried no anger—just exhaustion. The kind that sinks deep into the bones.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled cigarette pack. There was only one left. He placed it between his lips and flicked the lighter.
Click.
Nothing.
He shook it and tried again.
Click.
Still nothing.
He stared at it for a second before letting out a bitter scoff.
"Of course. Even this doesn't work."
He tossed it aside and slowly stood up, brushing dust from his clothes. He knew enough about this world to understand how bad his situation was. The legend of the Four Cardinal Heroes—Sword, Bow, Spear, and Shield—summoned in times of crisis. The Shield Hero, hated by humans yet cherished by demi-humans. Political tension. Monster waves. Corruption.
But all of that had already begun.
Those roles were filled.
He wasn't one of them.
He had no legendary weapon.
No military training.
No special bloodline.
No protagonist-level charisma.
He wasn't some overpowered fanfiction insert with infinite potential and women falling at his feet. He had flaws. Doubts. Insecurities. A sharp tongue and a tendency to isolate himself.
In other words—he was just himself.
"Well… guess I'll just wait for my possible death. With my luck, I'll either starve… or get torn apart by monsters."
The words came out strangely calm.
He turned into a narrow alley, fully aware that it was a bad decision. But walking aimlessly in the open wasn't much safer. At least in the alley, he could think.
"Alright. Calm down. Think. Plan carefully. It doesn't have to be perfect. Just survivable. If I approach this like Mei Mei from Jujutsu Kaisen—profit first, calculated risks, minimal attachment—I might last a while…"
He exhaled slowly.
And then—
Heat.
A sharp, burning sensation bloomed along the side of his lower back.
His body froze before the pain truly registered.
He looked down.
Red.
He collapsed forward, knees striking the stone as realization hit.
He had been stabbed.
"Don't take it personally, kid. It's survive or die."
The voice behind him was rough, detached. The homeless man yanked him by the collar, flipping him onto his back. A fist crashed into his face, snapping his head against the pavement so he could see the sky above.
Another punch.
And another.
The blows blurred together into dull impacts of pain. His ears rang. His vision swam.
For a moment, there was only agony.
Then something shifted.
The sky above him looked… different. The blue deeper. The clouds sharper. The world felt strangely vivid, like someone had adjusted the saturation of reality itself.
It was beautiful.
He began to feel warmth.
Not the warmth of blood pooling beneath him.
Something else.
It was thick. Viscous. Almost comforting.
Like being embraced by something that didn't care whether he deserved it or not.
"What… are you?"
His voice was barely a whisper.
His vision darkened at the edges, one eye half-blinded by blood. And there, on his abdomen, something pulsed.
A purple sphere.
Small. Weak.
But alive.
It emitted faint vapor, like a furnace struggling to stay lit.
"Now let's see what you've got…"
The homeless man began rummaging through his pockets, too distracted to notice the change happening beneath his hands.
In the blink of an eye, half of the teenager's hair turned white as snow, streaked unevenly with red from the blood.
The air shifted.
The man froze.
"What the hell…? Did you just— Did you just revive?! What are you?!"
The teenager felt something burning beneath his skin. He lifted his sleeve with trembling fingers.
Purple.
A mark spreading like ink in water.
"What are you?! YOU A MONSTER?!"
The man stumbled backward in terror before turning and running down the alley.
"Poison…"
The word slipped from his lips in a dazed murmur.
He watched.
The purple marks began crawling across the fleeing man's skin, surfacing through fabric and flesh alike. The man's steps faltered. He collapsed mid-stride, convulsing as foam gathered at the corners of his mouth.
Silence returned to the alley.
"So that's it…"
He pushed himself up, swaying violently.
"This is my nature."
Each step toward the fallen body felt heavier than the last.
"I was always poison in people's lives. Not a saint. Not a victim. Just… a damn poison in my own family."
He fell once.
Got up again.
"Survive… or die."
He reached the body and knelt, placing two fingers against the man's neck, attempting to replicate whatever had just happened.
Nothing.
A dry, cracked laugh left his throat.
"Anime lies… Abilities don't come with instruction manuals burned into your brain."
He searched the corpse, taking the knife. His hand pressed tightly against his own wound as he staggered out of the alley.
Each step blurred.
The edges of his vision darkened—black bleeding into red.
He collapsed again.
This time, he didn't have the strength to rise.
Footsteps approached.
Slow.
Confident.
He forced his fading eyes upward.
A short, overweight man stood before him, dressed in an extravagant suit far too refined for the lower districts. His smile was wide. Calculated. Amused.
Recognition flickered weakly in his mind.
He knew that face.
Or at least, he knew what it represented.
Maybe he had always known where this path would lead.
There was a word people liked to use for moments like this.
A word he had always hated.
Destiny.
His vision finally went dark.
And the man in the suit kept smiling.