Tensura: Discovering the eastern part

Unlike what I used to see in movies and light novels, there was no truck-kun. I wasn't hit by an accident, no magical portal opened for me, and I didn't perform any strange ritual. It just... happened. Abruptly.

I had just finished a long day at university. Media and journalism might not be the most exhausting major, but it's terribly boring, especially when you have zero passion for it. While rummaging through my wallet for change to buy juice from the vending machine, I was struck by something odd: the vending machine wasn't there.

No, more accurately, it was no longer there. In its place stood a large bronze statue of a man in a long robe, his sword plunged into the ground. I looked around in a frenzy and found myself in what seemed to be a public square, with families and ordinary people all around. The clothing, the buildings, the streets, and even the sky—everything was different. Unnaturally clear.

To say I panicked would be an understatement. I rubbed my eyes multiple times, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. It was real. Too real. I slumped against the statue's base, my mind completely overwhelmed.

Did I just get isekai'd?! Just like that? No truck, no summoning circle—just boom, new world?

Minutes passed. I began to recover from the initial shock. I realised there was no use in overthinking. All those films about parallel worlds helped me, gave me a strange sense of excitement and anticipation.

I stepped out of the large, circular plaza, full of flowers and plants, and headed toward the main road. The city was bustling with life, and ornate, luxurious carriages filled the streets, drawn by creatures I'd only seen in video games. Shops and stalls of every kind stretched as far as the eye could see. Facades loomed like stone giants, carved with dragon scales that seemed to ripple in the dying light.

Then something caught my eye, people who looked human, but were wrong. They were chained, burdened with enormous bags and crates that made them stumble with every step. My fists clenched. Slavery. Here. And no care. Should I do something? Bystanders glanced away, quickening their steps. In fact, it felt normal to them.

I turned my gaze away and continued wandering down the street. Sure, world-hopping is cool and all, but I had no idea what to do now. I mean, if there are other races, then there must be magic, right?! I've always imagined myself as a wise, powerful mage, wielding a grand staff made from rare materials. And now that I'm in a magical world, maybe that dream isn't impossible?

"I bet you'd look great in a red cloak."

Oh, yes. I'd look like one of those legendary heroes from the old tales, the kind that's born once in a millennium.

"It'd have to be made from the hide of a dragon you slayed yourself."

Yeah yeah, stories will spread about how I defeated the ancient dragon that terrorised the world for centuries and—

"Who the hell are you?!" I flinched, turning left toward the voice beside me in panic. When had he even started walking next to me? He was about my height, maybe a bit shorter, wearing a short-brimmed hat that partially covered his shoulder-length black hair. His funeral-black silk drank the light, pooling shadows around him with a matching black tie. A small smile tugged at his lips, but the rest of his face was strangely hazy. For some reason, I didn't feel comfortable trying to focus too hard on his features.

"Relax, Relax," he said with a soft voice that had a slight feminine edge to it. "It's not like I'm holding a knife to your throat or anything."

Despite my hesitation, I approached him warily. He found that amusing, letting out a short chuckle that revealed sharp, predator-like teeth.

"I thought you'd be happy to have a guide after your little trip, ones like you shouldn't wander alone here, after all. But clearly, I'm annoying you. My bad," he said, turning to walk away, heading across the street.

A guide? Little trip? Does he know I'm not from this world?

"Wait! I didn't say that! I was just... surprised, that's all. Please, help me!" I grabbed his arm to stop him before he crossed, surprised by how light it felt, like holding a feather.

"Alright, alright. If you're that insistent, I guess I don't have a choice," he said, apparently refusing to choose a gender. I slowly let go of his arm as he continued. "I'll take you to your starting point. Follow me."

Wait... just like that?

Before I could even react, he was already several meters ahead.

"Ah—wait for me!"

And just like that, we wove through the crowd together toward my so-called 'starting point', weaving through the crowd. I tried to strike up a conversation, ask a few questions, but he either ignored me or responded with the faintest of nods. A growing sense of unease settled over me. Was I being tricked? Was this a scam? Was it a good idea to blindly follow someone like this?

"Remember, I never forced you to follow me," he said suddenly, his voice calm and almost mocking. "It was your own choice. And of course, it still is. You can turn back and forget all about me. Whichever you choose, just remember—whatever comes next, it's your decision. Nothing more, nothing less."

His hat tilted up, revealing eyes like tarnished silver. Though the brim of his hat hid his eyes, I could feel his gaze pierce right through me like a blade. But it wasn't aimed at me, it was directed at something farther away. Something I might never be able to comprehend.

My anxiety spiked. Every instinct in my body screamed for me to stop, to run. Anywhere—anywhere would be better than staying with this man.

"Hahaha." The laugh ripped from him—raw, jagged, a deep, raw laugh that seemed to rise from the depths of his being. It felt like the only genuine thing I'd heard from him so far.

"No need to worry. As long as you follow me, so long as you believe in me and trust me—I'll make sure you win... in the end." His whisper slithered into my ear.

Trust him? Win in the end? What victory was he talking about? What end?

I clenched my fists. My nerves were unravelling, thread by thread. Everything had happened so fast since I arrived in this world. I hadn't even had time to adjust. And this guy... this thing... refused to give me straight answers and kept playing games with words.

"This is absolute nonsense! You claim you want to guide me, yet you won't even tell me where we are! You ask me to trust you, but you keep acting secretive and ignoring my questions! You know what? I'm leaving!" I said, having completely lost my patience with this thing in front of me.

"Good luck to you! Not that it'll help!" he said, waving from afar as his smile grew wider with every second. He's insane. I needed to find real help, but how?

Even though I'd gotten rid of whoever that person was, I doubt he's a human; it seems I was back to square one. I kept walking up the street, hoping to find something—anything—that might help me somehow. The noise of the city surrounded me: people buying goods from shops and street vendors, some rushing by with briefcases, like office workers late for their jobs. Thankfully, I too was wearing a suit and tie—otherwise, I might've stood out too much. Unfortunately, my bag, despite its size, held nothing useful. Just a notebook, a pencil, and some cash, which I had a feeling wouldn't help me here.

I noticed signs on carts, stores, and street corners, but none of them made any sense to me. That made me wonder—how was I able to talk to that man earlier? Was it some side effect of world-hopping? Or one of his powers?

...I was starting to regret leaving him. His arrogance had pushed me over the edge; I've always hated arrogant people, so dealing with him was frustrating. Maybe if I'd just held on a bit longer... I looked back, hoping he might've followed me or something, but I didn't see him. I'd already gone too far. And I was the one who walked away.

"Just remember—whatever comes next, it's your choice."

His words kept echoing in my mind. I began to realise how badly I might've messed up. I'd made the biggest mistake yet. I turned back to retrace my steps, but he was nowhere to be found. I thought about searching more thoroughly, but I figured wandering deeper into these alleys and streets might be dangerous. I didn't even know where I was.

Then I remembered, the 'guide' had been leading me somewhere, down the street. I had no other destination in mind, so I decided to continue in the direction we'd been going. The sun was starting to set, painting the sky orange as night approached. The streets were beginning to quiet down. I hoped to find some help soon; I didn't want to sleep outside, exposed and vulnerable.

I stopped for a moment and turned my head toward a small grocery store to my right. I had nothing to lose by trying. I stepped through the entrance and was greeted with a warm smile from the shopkeeper.

"Good evening, welcome to our store," she said in a calm and friendly tone. I understood her! I wasn't sure how, but perhaps my theory about this being a side effect of dimensional travel was right? It didn't matter. I was just glad I could communicate with someone.

"Excuse me, I'm not here to shop. I just wanted to ask where I am, I think I got on the wrong cart or something, haha," I said with a nervous laugh, hoping she'd believe the lie and give me an answer.

"Oh, you poor thing! This is the city of Marcaine. Unfortunately, it's unlikely you'll find a cheap ride at this hour. But you can find an inn to stay the night. The 'Gold' district is full of affordable inns, it's about a 30-minute walk west of the city," she explained, expressing sympathy. At least now I knew where I was, even if it didn't help much.

"Thank you so much, and excuse me now," I said with a small nod. She returned the gesture and wished me a safe journey. I'll head toward this 'Gold District'. Hopefully, they'll accept cleaning work as payment. If not, I'll be in trouble.

I walked west quickly; I didn't want to waste time before it got dark. I doubted the nightlife here was particularly safe. I kept expecting to see armoured guards or men with guns or anything resembling law enforcement, but I didn't.

I know I shouldn't assume things based on anime and games, but I couldn't help comparing. Despite my earlier assumption about the existence of magic, other than the fact that other races seemed to exist, I hadn't seen any real magic yet. If it doesn't exist, then I'd rather go back to my world. Though I don't think that's an option anymore.

After about twenty minutes of walking, I arrived at what looked like a residential district. The area was quiet, with a few restaurants and taverns scattered along the road. I slowed my pace, examining the buildings around me. Most of them looked nearly identical, some with clothes hanging from the windows and soft lighting inside, while others were completely dark, probably empty apartments.

I wasn't sure what to do. Should I just go up and ask if I could stay without money? That didn't seem like a good idea. How would I even meet the landlord?

*Grrr*

The sound from my stomach reminded me that I'd gone the whole day without food or drink. I was starting to feel a bit cold, too. I found myself drawn toward what looked like a tavern; the smell of food wafting from it was strong and mouthwatering.

"Hey, who are you? You need to be checked before going in," came a gruff voice from a fat man with a thick beard and moustache and bulging eyes. He was sitting on a chair near the tavern door. Damn, I'd been so focused on the smell I didn't notice I'd stopped for too long.

"Well... I'm Julian. I was wondering if I could rent a place to sleep," I said, denying any intention of entering the tavern.

"Hmm..." He stood up and began inspecting my clothes and bag. I wanted to run, but I didn't want to seem suspicious. I noticed his confusion about the contents of my bag, but he said nothing and eventually returned it. "Alright, everything's fine. Follow me inside." He turned and headed in.

I hesitated for a moment, but then followed him, the memory of that madman from earlier still lingering in my mind.

Inside, people were devouring food and drinks with wild enthusiasm. The tavern buzzed with chatter and laughter. In one corner of the tavern, I noticed a crowded table, and the man who searched me was heading straight toward it.

"Edgar! You've got a tenant!" He shouted to a man standing by the corner. An old, fat man poked his head out from the crowd. It was immediately clear from his expression that he was completely drunk.

"Hey! Why don't you come and have some fun? You might make some easy money!" He said, before greedily emptying a bottle of beer into his mouth. I approached the table and found them playing cards. Were they gambling?

"Well, good luck getting him to stop drinking," said the man with the moustache as he walked out of the tavern. I stepped a little closer, trying to get his attention, but he had already turned his focus back to the table and dismissed me entirely.

*Grrr*

I wonder if there's anything free around here, even just a little water. Anything would be good.

I stood there, watching them shuffle cards and laugh with wild abandon. The clinking of coins rang out with each round, and curses flew with every reveal. Classic gambling, not strange, just… unfamiliar to me.

"Hey, kid," one of the players said, staring me down. "You here to gawk or to play?"

"I don't have any money," I replied coolly, hoping that would be the end of it.

But another drunk man leaned forward with a lopsided grin, several teeth missing. "Fresh blood, huh? We always like a little new luck. First hand's on the house."

My stomach grumbled again. First-hand? Free? I'd never gambled in my life, and I never intended to. But I knew enough from the occasional gambling movies I'd watched.

"If you win, you keep the pot. If you lose, well… you owe nothing. Not yet, anyway," said a lean man with a scar on his cheek.

Julian hesitated. "I really don't have any money."

"That's the point," Edgar chuckled, wiping foam from his lips. "First taste's always free. That's how we make friends. Come on, sit down. Aren't you tired of standing there hungry?"

*Grrr*. My stomach betrayed me again. I hesitated. I didn't want to get involved. But food? Even if it was a trap, I didn't have much to lose.

"...One game," I said. "Just one," I muttered. A chair scraped back with a screech, too eager, too prepared.

"Let's hear it for the brave young man!" shouted the man across from me, followed by cheers and whistles. I sighed and sat down.

Edgar slapped a pile of silver onto the table.

A thick, worn-out deck of cards slid across the surface. The man beside him shuffled them with a quick flick of the wrist, then dealt three cards to each player.

"Simple rules," said the scar-faced man. "Three high cards. Pick one face down. Everyone reveals at once. The highest card takes the round. Best of three wins. Got it?"

"Yeah," Julian muttered, though he only half understood.

He picked up his cards. A four, a ten, and a queen. No matching suits—just numbers. From what he could guess, the queen was strong. Hopefully.

"Lay down your first card," Edgar said.

I pushed forward the four. The others did the same.

"I'll judge, then," said an old man in a sharp suit and neutral expression. His formal look was oddly out of place in a bar full of what seemed like gangsters.

Edgar: "Alright then, let's begin."

Referee: "Three… two… flip!"

I revealed the four. Edgar had a seven. Scarface showed a three. The fourth player, a huge, silent man, flipped a jack.

The jack took it.

"Damn," Edgar muttered.

Referee: "One for Craig."

Second card. I picked the ten.

Referee: "Three… two… flip!"

Edgar had a five. Craig, the quiet one, got a six. Scarface had a nine.

Julian smiled. "Finally."

"Alright, one for the newbie," Edgar grumbled.

Last card. Just the queen left. Surely unbeatable? I pushed it forward with confidence.

Referee: "Three… two… flip!"

Edgar: 8.

Craig: 7.

Scarface: Ace.

Julian: Queen.

My chest tightened. "Seriously?"

Scarface threw up his hands and laughed. "Luck, man. It's all in the cards."

Edgar poured another round of beer. "Tough break. But that was just the warm-up. Want to really play? One drink buys you in."

Julian stared at his empty hand.

"I'll tell you what," Scarface said. "Bet something else. That fancy bag. Looks valuable. Win, and you get ten Drinns, fair trade, yeah?" He nodded toward the pile of silver. Drinns? Must be their currency. My jaw tensed with indecision. It's not like the bag was useful—honestly, it was more annoying to carry around. At worst, I'd be shedding dead weight. I glanced around. The bar was loud, buzzing with chatter and drinks, but something felt off. It was as if I was… surrounded.

I stared down at the cards spread across the table. Then back to my bag.

My choice...

"One more game," I said at last. "But if I win, you give me dinner and the money. Deal?"

Edgar burst out laughing. "Deal! And if you lose, you'll wash mugs till midnight and hand over the bag! The old man will make sure it's fair, right?" He glanced at the judge.

Referee: "...Of course."

"Then let's start the ga—"

"Whoa, whoa, I'm out. Had enough for today," Craig said, rising slowly from his seat, hands raised.

"O-okay then, we'll play with thre—"

"Me too," Scarface cut in. "Getting sleepy. And I think my luck's dried up—I couldn't even beat a rookie."

"Good, Good," Edgar said, stretching a grin across his face, "looks like it's just the two of us. What do you say we play something a bit more interesting, then?"

"Huh? You didn't say anyth—"

"Oh, come on, don't be a coward. We all want to see the kid's luck shine, don't we?" He glanced around the table.

No need to turn. I couldn't. I didn't dare. Only now did I realise I was truly surrounded. And the man beside me… he dangled my bag in his hand like a hostage. Was that a threat?

A cold truth slammed into me—every cheer, every grin, every clink of coin had been a lie. I wasn't a guest. I was prey. And this wasn't a game; it was a performance, staged for my fall.

Ice flooded my veins. Every laugh now sounded like a knife being sharpened. Had I walked into a trap? That easily? Too late to regret it. Fine. Whatever. I didn't care about the bag anyway. Yeah—once this game's over, I'll walk out of here.

At this point, screw the prize; walking out alive was reward enough.

"Alright then… what are we playing?" I said, sweat rolling down my forehead.

"Hmm… do you know 'Old Maid'?" he asked, resting his hands under his chin.

"Y-yeah, I know it…" The real question is: how do you know it?

If my memory is still serving properly. We take a deck of cards and draw one queen. That's the Old Maid. We're left with 51 cards. Shuffle and deal five cards to each player.

Players discard any pairs, same number or face, regardless of suit. Then each player takes turns drawing a card from the other's hand. If you make a pair, toss it. If not, keep it.

You keep going until all the pairs are gone. One card remains, the Old Maid.

"I'll explain briefly, just as a reminder: Deal out all the cards, discard any pairs immediately, then take turns drawing blindly. The last one holding the lone queen loses," said the judge as he shuffled the cards and set a queen aside. He dealt the cards evenly among us, well, not quite evenly since fifty-one isn't divisible by two, someone ended up with an extra card. That someone was me.

The sheer number of cards at first was overwhelming, but as I discarded pairs, the pile dwindled. I was down to five cards: a nine, an eight, a two, an ace, and... the 'Old Maid'. No need to panic. Stay calm, stay calm.

If I lose this one, will they let me leave?

Edgar: "Alright, I'll go first."

I held my cards out to him, face down. He reached out randomly, placing his fingertips over a few cards, clearly trying to read my expression. It was hard to keep a straight face, especially when he hovered over the queen twice.

"I think I'll go with... this one," he said, picking the ace and discarding another pair. He was left with just three cards. My turn now. Since I had the Old Maid, it didn't matter what I picked. I chose a card at random from his hand, a two, and tossed it with the matching pair from my own. Now he had two cards, and I had three.

His turn again. He reached slowly, a confident smile spreading across his face. That's when it hit me, a terrifying realisation.

"Wait, wait! I want to change my seat!" I quickly shoved my cards under the table. That was close. Those men behind me must be feeding him my cards!

"Huh!? What nonsense are you babbling about?!" Edgar shouted, slamming his hand on the table. Oh god, I'm going to die here!

"I'd appreciate it if you kept your voice down, Edgar. There are other customers," the referee said calmly, locking eyes with him. Then he turned his gaze to me. "And you, boy... May I ask why you want to change your seat?" he asked in a monotonous, almost dull tone. I thought he was on Edgar's side, but maybe he's neutral. I might be able to count on him.

"It's just that... I think he's cheating with help from the men behind me." The moment I finished speaking, I heard boos and threats from behind, yelling, even threats to beat or kill me. I almost jumped out of my seat when I felt a hand on the back of my neck.

Edgar: "What's this, kid? Is this how you repay kindness? Seems like I've been treating you too ni—"

"Quite." The referee's voice sliced through the air like a knife. Calm as it was, it sent a chill down not just my spine, but everyone's. Edgar sat down quietly, though his face was still burning with rage. The rest of the onlookers around the table also fell silent.

Referee: "It seems our young friend here has uncovered your cheating. And as the rules dictate, you are to be disqualified. In other words, the boy has won."

...Huh?

"What kind of bullsh—" Edgar's protest was cut short by the referee's cane crushed Edgar's windpipe, a hair's breadth from piercing flesh. I hadn't even seen where it came from.

"Edgar, perhaps I should refresh your memory. Usually, when a player catches another cheating, 'disqualification' has a much... harsher meaning. But since I'm in a good mood, let's just pretend that... none of that happened." The referee paused for a moment, studying Edgar's panicked face. Then continued, "Still, we need to rewrite the ending a bit. Hmm, let's see... Ah, I've got it: The beginner defeated you soundly, and you treated him to dinner and gave him the ten Drinns you promised." He finished with a soft smile, like a grandfather playing with his grandkids.

I had no idea where these rules came from or who made them, but they worked in my favour, and that's all that mattered. Edgar shot me a glare so fierce, I could almost see flaming arrows shooting from his eyes.

"Tch. Take your damn money and get out of my sight," Edgar growled before tossing me a small leather pouch, the clinking of coins unmistakable. My bag landed at my feet, dropped like garbage.

Naturally, like any sane person, I bolted from the table at full speed. Once I was outside the tavern and sure no one was following me, I finally let out a deep, heavy sigh. My heart thundered in my chest. If I'd stayed a minute longer, I would've died from a heart attack. First time gambling. Last time, too. I'd like to live, thanks. I opened the small coin pouch and started counting 'Drinns'. Was that the name? I found ten Drinns, just like the referee said.

Speaking of him... what even was that man? I nearly died of fear back there!

"Gambling does have its perks, don't you agree?" came a voice from my left, an old man's voice, tinged with amusement.

"W-What the—?! Can't anyone show up like a normal person?!" I yelled at the old man, realising it was the same referee from moments ago, the very one I'd just been thinking about. How did he sneak up on me? Though I'm alone and everything's so quiet, how didn't I hear him approaching? Some kind of stealth ability?

"My apologies, it seems I didn't introduce myself properly," the referee said, chuckling lightly. Then continued, "I am Luthern Varn. You'll have to wait to know more than that. For now, just know—I'm at your service. Mr. Julian Volkov"