The sun was setting, painting the city in golden and orange tones.

  **Souta Kihara**, the ice cream vendor, adjusted his cart for the last time that day.

  Another shift ended. Another simple, yet dignified day.

  The smell of hot asphalt mixed with the gentle evening breeze.

  Children ran through the streets. Laughter. Life. Peace.

  While counting his last coins, something caught his attention.

  Across the street, a little girl was chasing a colorful ball.

  Small. Distracted.

  A truck was approaching at high speed.

  Souta didn’t think.

  He let go of the cart.

  He ran.

  — Get out of the way! — he shouted with all his strength.

  He pushed the girl onto the sidewalk.

  The impact hit him like a crushing wave.

  Silence.

  Darkness.

  ?

  The sound of the wind woke him.

  He blinked against the intense light.

  The ground was soft. Vibrant grass. Flowers he had never seen before.

  He sat up.

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  Touched his own body.

  No pain.

  Firm muscles. Young.

  Very young.

  — Where… where am I? — Souta murmured.

  Mountains in the distance. Dense forests.

  Pure air.

  He ran to a stream.

  The reflection in the water didn’t lie.

  — What… what happened to me?!

  — I look like I’m 18…

  Even though he clearly remembered being thirty-nine.

  Voices in the distance.

  Knights emerged from the forest.

  Shining armor.

  Swords and spears pointed at him.

  — You! From which region do you come? Identify yourself!

  — I… I don’t know… — Souta hesitated. — I just… was… where am I?

  Suspicious looks.

  Murmurs.

  They decided to escort him to the castle.

  ?

  The castle looked like something out of a fairy tale.

  Towering spires.

  Crests with a crowned bee in every corner.

  In the main hall, a woman awaited on the throne.

  Majestic.

  Sharp eyes.

  — This is… the last of the summoned?

  Souta didn’t answer.

  He didn’t know how.

  He and nineteen others had been chosen.

  Their mission: defeat the Demon King and his nine celestial generals.

  The others received magical weapons, titles, reverence.

  He… nothing.

  He tried to hold a sword.

  The metal slipped away.

  As if rejecting him.

  He tried a shield.

  The same.

  Whispers.

  Contempt.

  — It must be a mistake — said a minister.

  — No mana. No weapons. No magic. How can he be a hero?

  The queen frowned.

  No title. No role.

  He was sent to the kitchen.

  ?

  Another humiliation.

  Cutlery slipped from his hands.

  Knife, fork — everything broke in his grip.

  Everything he touched was rejected by his body.

  He ended up eating with his fingers.

  The guards laughed.

  The cook too.

  Souta only lowered his head.

  He murmured to himself:

  — I was chosen… I was chosen…