TFCG 6

Chapter 6 

---

---

“Oh, is this the one? The goddess one?”

Next to Clemence stood a handsome young man who resembled her. With his short brown hair and round head, I couldn’t help but think he looked a bit like a chestnut burr.

It was Clemence’s grandson, Darren Chervik.

“…Darren, watch your tongue.”

Clemence ground her teeth and snapped shortly at her grandson’s flippant remark. At once, Darren clasped his hands together and stood meekly, as if he had never been fooling around.

“Sorry about that. My grandson is still immature.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine. Please don’t worry about it.”

Being called “this one, that one” wasn’t exactly pleasant to hear, but I already knew Darren had that kind of frivolous personality. Honestly, it was better than being called by name. At least I wouldn’t have to curl up in shame.

But Clemence, unaware of my thoughts, seemed to find me magnanimous and looked at me with approving eyes.

“Belinda, Darren. Could you two leave us for a moment? I’d like to speak with our guest in private.”
“Ah, yes.”

At the commander’s request, Darren and Belinda promptly left the room.

Once we were alone, Clemence moved to the sofa and offered me tea. Sitting on a soft couch by a window that opened to a view of the blue sea beyond the white buildings, I sipped the fragrant tea and felt quite at ease.

“I hear you’re twenty-four. Still very young, yet very composed. I was told a bit about what happened on the airship on your way here. That must have been quite a shock. And being given such a heavy responsibility at your age, surely that must also be overwhelming.”

“…”

The game itself never specified the protagonist’s exact age. Probably to let each player imagine their hero however they wanted.

But the body I had entered now—‘Strongest Shooter Elaine’—just so happened to also be twenty-four, same as me. Was that really just coincidence?

Well, considering I had died and somehow ended up inside a game world, quibbling over details seemed pointless.

Outwardly I might look calm, but in truth, I wasn’t. After one absurd event after another, I was so drained that I only seemed composed.

I decided to be honest about it.

“Of course it’s overwhelming. I suddenly feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. Maybe I look calm because I was so shocked and nervous.”

“My, even humble as well.”

The commander smiled warmly and praised me again.

It felt like with every word I said, my “stock value” in her eyes was going up. Embarrassing.

“Hardships will come. And there will be many things only you can do in the midst of those trials.”

Just as I was thrown off by lines I’d never heard in the game, suddenly a familiar one returned. Clemence had said this to the protagonist at their first meeting.

Back then, players were given two dialogue choices: either a confident “Leave it to me,” or a modest “I’ll do my best.”

I’d grumbled that I didn’t like either, then picked the modest one—because who brags like that at level 2?

But this wasn’t the game anymore. I wasn’t bound by choices.

“Well, what can you do? If it has to be done, it has to be done.”

I shrugged. I didn’t like it, but if I was the only one who could, then I had to. Somehow I had ended up as a hero in this strange world; surviving meant doing something.

Clemence laughed heartily.

“That wasn’t what I expected. But I rather like your answer.”

Of course she hadn’t expected it—there had only been two fixed choices. A third one would never have occurred to her.

“Well then, I’ll be counting on you, Strongest Shooter Elaine.”

She extended her hand with a kind smile. Startled by the sudden attack of that ridiculous name, I flinched, then reluctantly shook her hand.

No matter how many times I heard it, I couldn’t get used to it.

Just then—knock, knock. A knock came at the door.

What? Nobody had shown up at this point in the game…

While I was flustered, Clemence calmly invited the visitor in.

“Come in.”

And the person who stepped inside was—

“Commander, I have something to report… Oh, you have company. A new face, I see.”

Light blond hair tied low, skin white as snow. Clear eyes shaded pale blue beneath long lashes. Crimson lips and a soft, melodious voice.

Rather than handsome, he was beautiful.

His high collar, perfectly knotted cravat, and spotless white gloves gave him a neat, ascetic air.

“Ah, Adrian. Welcome.”

It was Adrian Flierus, the librarian. My favorite character in Edaphosia!

‘He’s so beautiful…’

Calling him just “handsome” felt criminally inadequate. His beauty was dazzling, almost intoxicating.

“Let me introduce you. This is the new recruit who just joined the Hero Corps. You’ve heard of them, right?”
“Ah, the one. The poor soul whose life was mortgaged to the goddess.”

“Mortgaged to the goddess,” huh. Crude, but not exactly wrong.

Adrian always treated the protagonist like this: not as a destined hero, but as an unfortunate person forced into hardship by divine whim.

While other NPCs accepted the hero’s sacrifice as natural, Adrian would coldly remind you to look after yourself—yet still worry for you.

Every hero story needed at least one NPC like that. And I had fallen hard for his mix of aloofness and kindness.

He even sacrificed his life to save my character later. Since he died mid-story, he wasn’t a “traitor NPC” candidate either. In a world where I had no one to trust, he was the one person I could.

“I suppose I’m intruding on a private moment. I’ll return later.”

Adrian’s pale blue eyes lingered on me as he spoke in that gentle voice.

“Oh, no, no. I was just about to let her go. A geezer like me shouldn’t keep a new hero from their journey for too long.”

At Clemence’s words, I excused myself with a bow to them both and slipped out.

‘Wow, that scared me.’

To run into my favorite character like that, out of nowhere!

NPCs in the game usually stayed in fixed locations. Belinda at the first-floor office, Clemence in her room, Adrian in the library.

So seeing Adrian here was shocking. Proof, perhaps, that this wasn’t a game but a real world.

I pressed my hand to my thumping chest as I descended the stairs.

“Ah, Strongest Shooter Elaine.”

Belinda adjusted her glasses with a snap as she called my name.

Only in a Korean game would they tack “-ssi” onto a ridiculous name like that.

“Over here. I’ll help you register.”

Nervous, I approached Belinda. She rummaged through a drawer, then pulled out something card-like and handed it to me.

“Here you go. Your member ID.”

It looked like an employee badge, with a strap to wear around the neck.

And written in bold letters was a horrifying phrase:

[Strongest Shooter Elaine].

“Uwaaaaagh!”

The moment I held it, I screamed.

Better than having it floating over my head like in the game, sure—but still, wear this around my neck?!

“Wh-why are you screaming? Is something wrong?”
“The name, the name…!”
“It looks fine to me. Strongest Shooter Elaine.”

Belinda checked calmly while I writhed in humiliation.

“That’s exactly the problem. How can anyone be named Strongest Shooter Elaine…?”

Didn’t anyone here think it was weird?

“…Well, I did think it was a bit unusual. But since the Hero Corps gathers talent from all over the continent of Edaphosia, you get lots of cultural diversity. Names vary, too.”

She cleared her throat, trying not to laugh.

Still, not mocking me outright already made her a saint. If it were me, I’d be rolling on the floor by now.

Then, just as I thought I was safe, she hit me with it.

“Well, I suppose it shows your ambition to become the greatest shooter. It’s a splendid name.”

The shame. Too much shame. Not the “I’ll never forget this disgrace!” kind—more like “please, let me forget this forever.”

“…I’ll change it.”

I declared seriously.

I was going to change my name. I would.

I’d already failed my first goal in this world—preventing the airship crash—but since I saved people, that was half-success.

Now, my second goal as a so-called hero was clear: rename myself.