Danmachi: The World's Anomaly

The sun hung high above Orario, bathing the city's towering walls and bustling gates in golden light.

Merchants shouted their wares with voices honed for the market, adventurers in well-worn gear haggled for supplies, and townsfolk stood in patient lines, waiting to pass through the gates of the city known as the heart of the world.

Beneath the lively chatter and rhythmic clatter of wheels against stone, the unmistakable hum of excitement wove through the air.

A sharp gasp rippled through the crowd as an unconscious man collapsed near the gate. Blood trickled from a fresh gash on his forehead, pooling on the dusty ground. Before anyone could react, a scowling adventurer-his gear scuffed but serviceable-stood over the fallen figure, his face twisted in disdain.

"Who gave a commoner the right to touch my armor?" the man spat, his voice loud enough to turn heads.

It was here, amidst this chaos, that the tranquility shattered.

Within moments, the scene was swarmed by two Ganesha Familia guards. Their silver armor gleamed in the sunlight, the familia's elephant insignia prominently displayed on their chest plates. The adventurer, still fuming, barely had time to protest before he was firmly restrained.

"Let me go!" he barked, struggling against their iron grip. "This fool touched me-he had it coming!"

The guards exchanged a glance, their expressions unimpressed. One knelt beside the unconscious man, carefully inspecting his injuries.

Nearby, a crystal sphere on a pedestal flickered faintly. Its pale glow, meant to expose criminal histories, revealed no malice in the injured man's record-just the unfortunate victim of a hot-tempered adventurer.

"He's just a civilian," the kneeling guard muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. He stood and motioned to his partner. "Get him treated. We'll deal with the idiot later."

The guards moved with practiced efficiency, lifting the unconscious man and carrying him beyond the gates, past Orario's towering walls.

The crowd quickly lost interest, the marketplace resuming its lively hum as though nothing had happened.

The injured man awoke to a dimly lit room, the flickering light of a lantern casting long shadows across the wooden walls. He groaned, his head pounding as he instinctively reached for the source of the pain. A sharp ache lanced through his skull, and his fingers brushed against bandages wrapped tightly around his forehead.

His eyes opened slowly, taking in his surroundings-a small room, sparse and utilitarian. A wooden bench sat to one side, a shelf stocked with potions and ointments on the other.

The faint, sharp aroma of herbs and antiseptics lingered in the air.

Where... am I?

The question buzzed in his mind, loud and unrelenting. He swung his legs over the side of the bench and stood, wobbling as the dizziness hit.

Leaning heavily against the wall for support, he closed his eyes, searching for clarity.

Memories flooded his mind in chaotic bursts.

He remembered his name-or at least, one of them. Mat. That name felt real, familiar, like a thread tying him to this world. He recalled fleeting images: being an orphan, hunted relentlessly after discovering something important-though the exact details eluded him. The memories were murky, like trying to grasp smoke.

And yet, another life surfaced alongside it, vivid and agonizingly clear.

A hospital room. The sterile scent of antiseptics. Gunfire ripping through the air. He remembered shielding patients with his body, the sharp, burning pain of bullets tearing into his flesh. He saw his own blood spreading across the pristine white floor, felt the life slipping away as the sound of frantic voices and the beeping of machines dimmed.

I died... didn't I?

The realization hit him like a physical blow. His knees buckled, and he sank back onto the bench, clutching his head as the weight of two lives pressed down on him. Two identities, two sets of memories, all at once. The confusion was suffocating.

For a long moment, Mat sat in silence, his breathing shallow and erratic. Then, he exhaled slowly, forcing the chaos in his mind to settle. Panicking won't help. I need to think.

He raised his head, his dark eyes sharp with determination despite the pain. The questions loomed, heavy and unanswered.

Why was he here, in this world that felt as alien as it did familiar? What was the purpose of this second chance--if it could even be called that?

Mat's fingers tightened into fists.

The life he'd lived before had ended in selfless sacrifice, but this life, no matter how strange, was still his to shape.

First things first, he thought, his resolve hardening. I need answers.

Mat stood, steadier this time, and cast a final glance around the room.

Seconds later, Mat's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the creak of a door. His body tensed instinctively as his gaze snapped toward the sound. A young woman stepped into the room with measured strides, her armored boots clicking against the stone floor. Her dark hair was tied back into a loose ponytail, and her piercing eyes carried a sharpness that demanded attention. There was an air of authority about her that made it clear she wasn't someone to be trifled with.

Trailing behind her was a more familiar figure—the Ganesha Familia guard who had carried him from the gate earlier. The guard gave a brief nod, but it was the woman who commanded Mat's attention.

"You're awake," she said, her voice cool and calm, though her curious gaze studied him intently.

Mat's breath hitched as recognition dawned. Her presence, the insignia on her armor—it all screamed of the Ganesha Familia. His pulse quickened. The Ganesha Familia… protectors of Orario's gates. Law keepers. The realization that he was now under their scrutiny made his stomach churn. He swallowed hard and forced his expression to remain neutral.

"Is something wrong?" she asked sharply, her eyes narrowing.

Mat shook his head quickly, willing his voice to remain steady. "N-no. Just… a bit disoriented."

Her brow furrowed slightly, as though weighing the truth of his words, but she didn't press further. "Are you well enough to answer some questions?" she asked, her tone firm but not overly harsh.

Mat hesitated for only a moment before nodding cautiously. "I'll try."

The questions came swiftly, each one precise and deliberate.

"What happened to you at the gates?" she asked, her arms crossed. Her tone carried an edge of authority, but there was no malice in her voice.

Mat's thoughts raced. I can't give too much away. This world is dangerous, and one wrong word could land me in trouble. He kept his gaze lowered, carefully choosing his words.

"I... I slipped," he said hesitantly. "I accidentally brushed against an adventurer's armor. He got angry and—well, he hit me. I fell and must've hit my head on a stone."

The woman's expression darkened, a faint scowl tugging at the corners of her lips. She muttered something under her breath, something that sounded suspiciously like 'Typical adventurers.' Her sharp eyes flicked back to him, and her voice softened, if only slightly. "You're lucky. A direct blow like that could have been fatal for someone untrained."

Mat nodded mutely, offering a weak smile. His heart raced, but he forced himself to maintain his composure. The last thing I need is to look suspicious.

After a few more probing questions—his name, where he was from, and whether he had any connections in the city—she seemed satisfied. She gestured toward the guard, who stepped forward and offered a curt nod.

"You're free to leave," she said, her tone brisk but not unkind. "But heed this warning—Orario isn't kind to those who can't defend themselves. If you want to survive here, learn to stand your ground. Otherwise, you'll find yourself in worse situations than this."

Mat swallowed hard, her words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. He gave a small bow, murmuring his thanks, and turned toward the door.

Outside the treatment station, Mat stood at the edge of Orario's sprawling streets, clutching the small bag of provisions the guards had handed him. The city was alive with movement and color, a world of towering stone buildings and vibrant market stalls stretching as far as his eyes could see. The air smelled of sizzling street food, leather, and faint traces of oil and metal from the blacksmiths' forges. Voices rose in a cacophony of bartering merchants, adventurers boasting of their exploits, and the melodic tunes of street performers scattered among the crowd.

Mat felt a pang of unease as he walked, his feet carrying him aimlessly. Each step seemed to widen the gap between himself and the familiar comforts of his past life. Snippets of his old world flitted through his mind: the sterile walls of his hospital, the faces of patients he'd saved—and those he couldn't. And then there was his final act of bravery, standing as a shield against death until it claimed him.

Now, here he was. Mat—just Mat. A man adrift in a world he only knew as fiction.

The weight of realization hit him again, halting his steps. His fingers clenched tightly around the bag in his hand.

I'm in Orario. This is... Danmachi. This world isn't just a story anymore.

The bustling crowd moved around him, indifferent to his turmoil. Adventurers in leather and steel walked confidently toward the dungeon gates, their weapons gleaming. Vendors called out to potential customers with rehearsed enthusiasm, while children darted between the legs of passersby, their laughter rising above the din.

For Mat, it was all a reminder of how utterly unprepared he was for this life.

Why me? And how?

The questions clawed at his thoughts, threatening to overwhelm him. But he forced the panic down, inhaling deeply to steady himself.

No. I can't fall apart now. If this is my new life, then I need to adapt. Figure out why I'm here and what I'm supposed to do.

Lost in thought, he wandered through the streets, each step hesitant but resolute, as though he were stepping into a story that had yet to reveal its plot.

Eventually, Mat's aimless wandering brought him to Orario's central plaza, where the grand fountain stood at its heart. The sunlight danced across the fountain's cascading water, sending rippling patterns of light onto the surrounding cobblestones. Mat sat heavily at its edge, his shoulders slumped. The cool mist from the fountain offered a momentary reprieve from the relentless midday heat.

Around him, life bustled on, a living mosaic of adventurers, merchants, and commoners going about their lives. The chatter and clamor filled the air, a symphony of voices and motion that felt both exhilarating and overwhelming.

Mat, however, was lost in his own thoughts. His morning had been spent wandering the city's winding streets, gathering fragments of information wherever he could. Snippets of conversation, merchants' gossip, and adventurers' boasts painted a rough picture of Orario's current timeline.

He pieced it together with growing certainty.

According to the rumors swirling through the Streets, it had been just a day since Bell Cranel—the white-haired underdog who was the heart of this world's story—had stunned the city by defeating a rampaging Minotaur as a Level 1. The story was on everyone's lips, a tale of defiance and grit that had already begun to inspire awe.

Season 1, Mat thought grimly, the timeline aligning in his mind. He recalled the events of the series with uneasy clarity. The Loki Familia is likely on their expedition to the deeper floors of the dungeon right now. Orario is still enjoying a relative calm.

For now, at least.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his fingers brushing over the still-tender wound on his head. "At least I have time," he murmured, though the words felt hollow.

Time to prepare. Time to figure out how to survive.

But the problems remained. No money. No allies. No weapons or skills to his name. Even the simple bag of provisions he held felt like a lifeline that wouldn't last long.

His stomach growled loudly, pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. Mat grimaced, the memory of his meager meal of bread and watered-down soup still fresh in his mind.

Food costs money, shelter costs money… and gear? Forget it.

The daunting reality of his situation bore down on him. He leaned back against the edge of the fountain, the cool stone pressing into his spine as he stared up at the sky.

He needed a plan.

As his thoughts swirled, a faint memory surfaced—Hestia. A scene from the series where the goddess worked at a food stall to support herself and Bell. The image struck a chord within him.

If even a goddess could roll up her sleeves and work, why couldn't he?

Mat's lips curled into a faint, self-deprecating smile as he sat up straighter. The thought reminded him of something else—the potato croquette stand from the show, the one Bell and Hestia had frequented.

"Potatoes..." he muttered aloud, the spark of an idea forming in his mind. His smile widened, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

He stood abruptly, clutching his provisions bag with renewed determination. "I need to find that stall."

This world may not have offered him much, but if he was going to survive, he would start small—just like the underdog hero of this story.

And maybe, just maybe, a simple croquette could be the first step to carving his place in Orario.

After a bit of asking around, Mat found himself standing in front of a small food stall tucked away in a corner of the busy market. The stall's awning was worn, its colors faded, but the aroma of freshly fried food was irresistible, seeping through the air and making his stomach growl in protest. Behind the counter, a middle-aged woman worked with practiced ease, her hair tied back in a simple kerchief as she deftly moved between baskets of potatoes and sizzling oil.

Mat waited for the crowd to thin out before stepping up to the counter. "Excuse me, ma'am," he called, his voice polite but carrying a hint of uncertainty.

The woman glanced up briefly, her eyes sharp but neutral. "What is it, kid? If you're here for food, get in line."

"No, no," Mat quickly shook his head. "I'm not here for food. I was hoping to ask if I could work for you. Just for a week."

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "A week? Why only a week?"

Mat hesitated, trying to phrase his words carefully. "Well… I'm new to Orario. I don't have any money, and I need to find a way to get back on my feet. I can help out with anything here—cleaning, cooking, whatever you need."

The woman studied him for a moment, her arms crossed. "And after a week? What then?"

"I'll move on," Mat said, his voice steady. "I just need enough to get started."

She eyed him for a moment longer, then leaned in, her expression still wary. "You're not the first to ask for handouts. Why should I take a chance on you?"

Mat clenched his fists at his sides, but kept his tone calm. "Because I can bring in more customers. I've got an idea that could boost your sales."

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, though she didn't show it. "Oh? And what's this great idea of yours?"

"Potato chips," Mat said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Potato... chips?" she echoed, a frown crossing her face. "What are those?"

"Thinly sliced potatoes, fried until they're crispy, and then seasoned with a mix of spices. Simple, but different. People will love it."

She didn't look convinced, but Mat was undeterred. "If it doesn't work, I'll pay for the ingredients I use. But if it does, you'll have something no one else in the market is selling."

The woman crossed her arms again, tapping her foot. After a long moment, she gave a reluctant nod. "Fine. You've got one chance. If this 'potato chip' idea works, I'll let you stay and work for a week. If not, you'll pay for what you used."

Mat grinned, his heart racing. "Deal."

The woman handed him a small batch of potatoes, and he got to work immediately, slicing them into thin rounds with a sharp knife. His hands moved with precision, a skill born of years of working with delicate tools, though now it was applied to something simpler. The slices piled up in neat stacks as he worked quickly.

Once he had enough, Mat heated oil in a pan, making sure it reached the right temperature before gently lowering the slices in. The oil hissed and crackled, sending a cloud of steam rising into the air. He turned his attention to the spices, mixing a few together—a pinch of salt, a dash of pepper, and a local herb that he hoped would add a unique kick.

The aroma hit him first—rich, savory, and enticing. And then, the scent began to spread through the market, swirling around the bustling stalls and attracting attention.

"What's that smell?" a passerby murmured.

"It smells amazing," another voice added, drawn in by the fragrance.

Even the woman behind the counter leaned forward, her nose twitching as the scent reached her. She inhaled deeply, then narrowed her eyes, surprised despite herself. "That's... not bad," she admitted grudgingly.

Mat grinned to himself, knowing he had their attention. As the chips turned golden-brown and crispy, he lifted them from the oil, sprinkling his seasoning blend over them with a careful hand.

"Can I try one?" a voice called out from the crowd.

"Me too!"

Before long, a small crowd had gathered, curious about the new creation. People were talking, pointing, and asking for a taste. The stall's usual customers, along with adventurers and even a few gods who had been strolling through the market, stopped to investigate.

Mat offered the first sample to the woman, who hesitated but then took a bite. Her eyes widened in surprise as the crisp texture and bold flavor hit her tongue. "This... this is good," she admitted, her voice betraying a hint of awe.

The buzz around the stall grew louder. More and more people lined up to try the new snack. Mat worked quickly, his hands moving with practiced speed as he fried batch after batch of chips, his heart pounding with the thrill of success.

The crowd continued to grow, their chatter mixing with the sizzling sound of potatoes in oil. Even the gods who had paused to watch were murmuring among themselves.

"Where did he come from?"

"This is unlike anything we've had in Orario before."

Mat's heart swelled with pride. This was just the beginning. He had found his footing, at least for the moment. The taste of success was sweet, but the journey was far from over.