I Got Isekai'd to Another Planet

The shops were quieter than expected.

June walked through the aisles with slow, calculated steps, scanning each display. Everything gleamed in neat rows behind transparent alloy cases... knives of every length, batons with energy nodes, sleek composite spears, even blunt steel bars sharpened at the tips.

But the prices.

Her eyes narrowed.

1,000 tokens. 1,200. 2,000. 1,450.

Even the smallest knife, a jagged rusted shiv, was 850 tokens.

She clenched her jaw.

Not a single weapon under four digits.

She remembered the look on that thug's face before the bullet reversed into his skull. The rage. The promise of payback. His friends had been watching.

She needed a weapon.

Soon.

Leaving the weapon shop behind, she made her way through the main hall. Survivors whispered in clumps. Some gave her wide-eyed looks. Others stared in silence.

She didn't react.

But she noticed.

The attention.

The fear.

The hate.

When she finally reached her tier, she was alone. Or so she thought.

Meanwhile, at the Medica.

Miguel stood in front of a glowing terminal as a cheery voice listed treatment options.

"Full bone regrowth, 1,300 tokens!" "Organ stabilization therapy, 800 tokens!" "Tissue Mend Kit, 60 tokens!"

Miguel's battered face lit up.

"Sixty?" he chuckled. "Yes please. Lucky I didn't buy me a drink."

He accepted the transaction, the pink piggy on his wrist grinning as his token count dropped from 60 to 0.

A panel slid open, and a compact red-and-white kit dropped into a metal tray. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, nodding with approval.

"This is so cool... I gotta show June this."

He clutched it in one hand and began limping back to their cells, humming lightly despite the bruises stretching across his ribs and shoulders.

A group of survivors passed him, frowning.

One muttered under his breath, "What's this guy so happy about?"

Miguel just smiled wider, ignoring them.

Back at the residential tier.

June opened the gate to her cell.

But didn't step inside.

Two men were waiting for her.

Not strangers. Not unknowns.

She recognized their faces.

The other two thugs. The ones who had been with the man who tried to assault her. The one who tried to shoot her with the gun.

The one who was now dead.

June froze.

Too late.

One of them lunged.

Her head slammed into the frame of the iron gate. Pain bloomed behind her eyes. A strong hand wrapped around her throat and shoved her into the wall in the back of her room. Her spine hit metal. A knee drove into her gut.

"Bitch," the bigger one hissed. "You killed our boy."

She gasped for air, already tasting blood in the back of her throat. But her eyes never changed. Flat. Focused.

"You think you're special?" the other growled, slapping her hard across the face. "You think that just 'cause the gods like you, we can't touch you?"

They didn't wait for an answer.

Fists.

Knees.

Boots.

It started clinical.

Then it got cruel.

Blows to the ribs. Elbows to the face. Stomps onto old bruises. June didn't cry. She didn't scream. But she folded. Slowly. Her body couldn't absorb the pain forever.

Blood splattered to the floor. Her breathing grew ragged.

She still didn't beg.

Until she whimpered.

One of them laughed. "There it is."

Another kick to her side. Something cracked.

She raised her hands, instinct taking over. Not to fight back, not yet but to protect her face. A survival reflex.

They didn't stop.

A stomp to the knee. A punch to the temple.

Her ears rang. Vision doubled.

And just as her body started to go limp...

CLACK.

The sound of something plastic hitting metal.

They stopped.

Turned.

At the doorway stood Miguel.

He wasn't smiling anymore.

He wasn't even breathing.

He had dropped the Tissue Mend Kit at his feet.

And he was staring at them with a face no one had ever seen on him before.

His jaw clenched. His knuckles cracked. Bloodlust seethed behind his eyes.

One of the thugs sneered. "What, you here to save your..."

Miguel stepped forward.

Not rushed. Not screaming.

Just walked.

Each step controlled. Measured.

Like a man who had already decided what kind of violence he was going to do.

The thugs backed up slightly, uncertainty flickering.

Miguel didn't speak.

He didn't have to.

Because every inch of his body radiated murder.

Miguel reached the threshold of the cell.

No hesitation.

No mercy.

He exploded forward, a blur of violence and his fist crashed into the bigger thug's face with a straight right that landed like a hammer blow. The man's nose erupted in a spray of blood. He staggered back with a strangled cry, holding his face, dazed.

The second thug roared and swung wildly at Miguel.

But Miguel didn't just dodge, he slipped the punch with the grace of a pro. A jab fired into the attacker's nose, breaking it with a wet crack, followed by a vicious right hook into the man's ribs that made him double over.

The big one tried again, limping forward in blind rage.

Miguel turned smoothly and drove an oblique kick straight into the thug's knee.

CRACK.

The leg buckled, twisted sideways, and the man collapsed with a scream, clutching his shattered knee, agony written across every feature.

Miguel didn't stop.

He turned back to the second man and unleashed hell.

Jab. Straight. Hook. Low kick. Roundhouse.

Each strike was clean. Precise. Devastating.

By the time the final roundhouse landed against the thug's ribs, he was collapsing to the floor, bloody, groaning, barely conscious.

Miguel's eyes were fire now.

He walked calmly back to the bigger man, who was trying to crawl away, whimpering.

Miguel grabbed his head.

And kneed him in the face.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Until the man went completely limp.

No words.

Just rage.

Then Miguel dragged both bodies by the collars.

They whimpered, barely able to speak.

"P-please..."

Miguel didn't stop.

He reached the railing outside June's cell and, with a grunt, hurled one over.

THUD.

A scream below.

Then the second.

THUD.

More shrieks.

Above the atrium, the glowing board updated instantly:

999,904 Survivors Online → 999,902

999 Games Remaining

The silence that followed was cold.

June lay half-conscious, bloodied and trembling, staring from the ground at the cell door where Miguel stood.

He was breathing hard now.

But calmer.

His eyes found her. He rushed forward and picked her up and gently put her on the bed.

He rushed backwards, scooping the Tissue Mend Kit from the ground and then forward again, kneeling beside her.

"You're okay," he whispered, brushing the hair from her face. "You're okay."

Then everything went dark.

When June woke, it was 18:03.

Her head throbbed, but the sharp pain was gone.

Her breathing was shallow but not broken.

The cell lights glowed faintly. Her blanket had been draped over the front bars, blocking the view from the outside.

She stirred.

Miguel was there, sitting on her bed, holding her hand. His face lit up the moment her eyes fluttered open.

"You're awake!" he beamed. "Thank the stars..."

June's gaze drifted to the blanket covering the bars.

"Why's... that there?" she croaked.

Miguel flushed deep red.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, uh... the ointment... from the mend kit... it's external. So I kinda had to... well... you were unconscious and your ribs were bleeding and I had to…"

He trailed off.

Then added in a rush, "I didn't look... Only a peak."

June blinked.

Then laughed.

For the first time in ages, truly laughed. It hurt her ribs, but it was real. The sound was ragged, dry, but there.

"Idiot," she whispered.

Miguel chuckled nervously. "I know."

She sat up slowly. Still aching. Still sore.

But alive.

He watched her with cautious pride.

Then she asked, "Why did you save me?"

Miguel's smile softened.

"Because you're my friend," he said simply. "That's all."

Her chest tightened at those words.

Friend.

It echoed in her like a word she hadn't heard in years.

She looked away.

But the corner of her mouth tugged upward, almost imperceptibly.

Later that night, at exactly 20:00, the curfew alarm sounded.

Together, they returned to their own cells.

The gates closed with a hiss.

Locks sealed.

Lights dimmed.

And for the first time in this twisted prison, June lay on her bunk not fearing the next day...

…but wondering what kind of friend would risk everything like that.

And why it felt like the beginning of something more.