Romance Fantasy is Hell for a Commoner
I posted a nasty comment on that novel I was reading, and boom—got isekai'd into it. But hey, I've got my side of the story too. What kind of romance fantasy rips the heroine into five pieces and hands her off to five different male leads? That author pulled it off. So I'm innocent. Isn't getting pissed the normal reaction?
"That fucking author—I'm gonna kill 'em."
"……Flint. At it again?"
Mom pressed her fingers to her forehead with a deep sigh.
"Still haven't recovered from that carriage accident that bashed your head, huh?"
I'd become an extra commoner from that very novel I'd trashed online.
A commoner's life is brutal. Up at dawn to head to the fields, hoeing all damn day. By sunset, when you finally drag yourself home, your palms are cracked and your back feels snapped in two. And tomorrow? Rinse and repeat. Gotta eat to live.
Weekends? Holidays? Those are fairy tales. Skip a day, and the crops might fail. For tenant farmers like us, one bad harvest means game over. No new land next year—you starve in a heartbeat.
"Ugh… It's a romance fantasy, so why drop me into a commoner? That fucking author… I'm really gonna kill 'em."
"Flint, cut the nonsense and sleep."
"Yes, Dad."
"Haa… Didn't think the aftereffects of that accident would drag on like this. If it weren't for the Gos Merchant Group's carriage, I'd have chased that driver down and grabbed him by the collar. Damn it all."
"No, it's not that. Really. G'night, Dad."
I pulled the blanket over my head and waited for Dad to doze off. Once his snores hit a steady rhythm, I let out a quiet breath and sat up.
Now it's my time. My secret hobby that only a few know about.
Today's find: a rusty, bent spear shaft tossed in the blacksmith's backyard. The metal grain was still intact. Beside the workbench, the mana stone smelter glowed with a low red light. A chunk of industrial-grade mana stone, bought with the settlement from that traffic accident. Hard to believe a commoner like me had access to this stuff.
Mana leaked from the stone, sparking in the air and generating heat. Temperature control was crap, but it was enough to melt scrap metal. I clamped the spear shaft in tongs and shoved it into the smelter's maw.
A few minutes until it glowed cherry-red, but sweat already slicked my palms. When one end softened and drooped, I slammed a prepped fat bolt home with the hammer.
Clang! Boom! Metal shards flew, sparks danced. After pounding it solid, the bolt sealed the melted hole perfectly. As the bolt head met the tube's end, I doused it with cold water.
Hiss— White steam billowed, shrouding my face. Lifting the plugged scrap tube, the cool metal kissed my palm. Temporary, sure—but my first gun barrel had taken shape.
"Ha… haha! Yes! Finally nailed the form!"
No trigger, no ammo… but this was my first piece of a gun. The dream that started with metal scraps was becoming real under the forge light.
-Cock-a-doodle-doo!!
Got so absorbed I pulled another all-nighter.
"Flint, up early today. Let's head out."
"Ah… yeah."
Eyelids weighed a ton, but the fields don't wait. A commoner's day starts at dawn.
Dawn air bit cold. Dew-heavy earth scent stung my nose.
"Flint, grab the hoe. South field first today."
"Yes, Dad!"
Out before sunrise, hoeing away. Plant seeds, cover soil, yank weeds. Simple, endless grind. Slack off even a bit, and yields tank. Straighten up, and your shoulders scream; dirt chills your knuckles.
But every time my fingers trembled, it came back: the feel of last night's barrel.
Next, the bolt. Then the spring…
I recited parts in my head, hefting the hoe again.
"Flint, focus!"
"Yep."
This goddamn world treated even a moment's thought as luxury. Morning dragged on in backbreaking toil.
"Lunchtime~!"
Amid sweat and soil, a bright, cheerful voice cut through. Anna dashed up with tin mess kits, half her face a grin. Sun-tanned cheeks, sweat-damp brown hair stuck to her forehead.
Unlike her sunny tone, lunch was the usual: hard bread and limp veggies.
"Thanks."
"Ehehe. Hang in there, mister."
Dad's serving done, mine was up.
"Flint! No slacking today, right?"
"Look at me. Total wreck."
"Pfft. True. Skin's all dark now. Working hard lately?"
She giggled like it was the funniest thing.
"Thanks."
Bread and onion loaded, I headed to Dad's spot.
"Ack. Wait."
Anna scampered over primly.
"Secret, okay?"
Grinning wide, she slapped two thick cheese slices on my bread.
"Uh…"
Before I could speak, she bolted back, ears beet-red.
"Hey, Flint!"
"Oh, Uncle Hans. Been a while."
"Yeah. Off selling north, got back yesterday. So, when you marrying Anna?"
"Huh? Me and Anna aren't dating."
"Come on. That pretty-boy face of yours—don't get cocky, or you'll regret it. Grab a good girl quick. Uncle's speaking from experience."
"Uncle Hans, you just got divorced."
"…"
"…"
"Hans, let my boy go. Flint, eat."
Hans looked mentally shattered. I sat quietly by Dad, slipping a cheese slice onto his bread.
Dad eyed it, pondered, then spoke.
"I'm all for you marrying Anna."
"Dad, seriously. Eat up."
How old was marriage age here? Side effect of past and present lives mixing? Common sense clashes hit sometimes.
"But army first, obviously."
"Pfft!! Cough, cough!!!"
…Army?
"Huh? What's up, Flint? You're an adult now—draft age."
…Army again?
"Dad, just to confirm… how long's the service?"
"We're commoners, so five years, duh."
???
"That psycho author…!! No mention of the male leads doing army duty!! GRAAAAH!!"
"At it again. Hans, grab him."
"Kid's seizures show no sign of stopping."
"GRAAAAH!!"
…That author. Gonna shoot 'em with my gun.
After today's grind, I buried my face in the pillow, tears soaking it.
No wonder—magic beasts and demon lords everywhere, yet novel characters lounged carefree. Built on commoners' blood and sweat.
Révolution! Revolution!!!
Pillow got soggier.
"Flint. Hate the army that much?"
No hesitation.
"Yes."
Dad scratched his head, thought, then said:
"How about… the Academy?"
"Huh?"
He pulled a folded letter from his pocket.
"Came from Gos Merchant Group. Asked after you, said they'd write a recommendation if you want in."
"Huh?"
"You know Academy grads get service cut to one year. Produce something of high academic value… and you're exempt."
I bolted up.
"I'm in."
"Flint, calm down. Commoners at the Academy get—"
"I'm in, I'm in."
"Fail to graduate, it's wasted—"
"I'minI'minI'minI'minI'min."
"Fine, just calm."
Snapped to: me shaking Dad's shoulders like a maniac.
"Ah, gasp! Sorry. Got carried away."
"Ahem. Alright. We'll mail it tomorrow. Sleep."
"Yes!"
Academy, huh… Day I realized this was a romance fantasy world, swore never to go. Psycho psychos crawling everywhere.
But vs. five years army? Fairy heaven. Worst case, frontline soul-trading with beasts or demons—who wants that?
Better play dead at the Academy.
Ahh, Gos Merchant Group. My savior. Light of my life. My god.
Gos forever.
Up at dawn, hit the post office, then en route to work passed Anna's ranch. Cows lowed, white breath puffing; faint dry grass and manure scent wafted from the fence. Dew-kissed blades brushed my ankles, clearing my foggy head.
"Flint!"
Familiar voice from the ranch.
"Why you out here? You don't take this path."
"Post office detour."
"Post office? What you mailing?"
"Gos offering Academy rec letter. Heading to ask."
"Whaaat?! Academy? So no more work?"
Anna stomped, fidgeting.
"If I pass the entrance exam."
"Ugh… but you're a commoner, Flint. No mana, can't sword… You'll get bullied for sure."
What kinda talk is that, Anna dear…
"You see me that way?"
"N-no! I mean, I'm worried…"
"Kidding. Treat you if I make it."
"Yeah… Fighting! See ya!"
Heading to work, thoughts swirled. Rec letter from Gos doesn't guarantee entry.
Entrance exam. Novel started post-enrollment, so no clue on content. Theory and practical only hints.
Rec skips some, just practical and interview? Prep was foggy.
Anyway, nail practical: finish the gun. Exam format changes yearly—who knows.
Main characters? Classmates, seniors, juniors? No idea.
Head heated. Think guns to cool it. Metal oil scent, trigger resistance. World simplifies: sightline, trajectory, load, fire. No kings, nobles, magic, swords needed.
Hoo… Mind eased a bit.
Good. Let's grind.
Sun up: plow under blaze. Sun down: scour village forges for scrap. Palms split and bled, but no stopping. Academy was survival.
And finally, today. The first button to shatter this cursed romance fantasy's rules was complete.