Chapter 1
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Living as a History Major in Another World
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“Your body is far too stiff. Have you been neglecting your training? At this rate, you won’t even be able to learn basic self-defense, let alone proper martial arts.”
I failed the Hero Academy entrance exam.
“Wow... I don’t usually say things like this, but your mana sensitivity is so faint... You have no talent for it. You should look for another path...”
The Mage Tower rejected me too.
“What? A scrawny kid like you wants to be a porter? You mocking porters right now? The Demon Realm isn’t some playground. Get the basics down first, the basics!”
Even the Porter Academy turned me down.
……Something’s off.
I’m definitely a black-haired guy from another world, aren’t I...?
Why do I have zero talent in anything...?
Let’s rewind the clock about a month.
The incident happened in an instant.
I’d been pulling three all-nighters straight to finish my dissertation in the lab when my vision went white and I blacked out.
When I came to, I’d become the protagonist of one of those cliché isekai stories—you know, waking up in another world.
Exotic architecture that didn’t match any Earth customs.
Pointy-eared elves, pint-sized dwarves, and all sorts of fantasy races you’d expect. Even dragons soaring through the skies now and then.
It was a textbook fantasy land.
A modern guy, mid-grad school in history.
Kim Yul—that was me—had been dropped right into this place, unchanged.
But.
“Now what...?”
No talent for magic.
No talent for swordsmanship.
Not even porter skills.
This is too harsh.
If my major had been mechanical engineering, I could’ve built a gun and become a legendary gunsmith amid cries of, “Damn! What’s this insane weapon?!”
If it’d been chemical engineering, I could’ve recreated the Haber-Bosch process and risen as the god of agriculture in this world.
But.
A history major from Earth—what the hell could I even do here?
Was loving history my crime?
Not that history isn’t insanely fun...
“What’re you gonna do, Yul? Quit moping and have a drink!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
In the end, here I was at this cheap inn where I’d been crashing, knocking back drinks with the local village youths.
“So, where’d you fail this time?”
“Porter Academy...”
“Pfft-haha! Alright, then what? Wanna apply to the Janitor Academy with me?”
“Keep it up and I’ll smash you with this glass first.”
“Fine, fine. Let’s just drink.”
The clink of glasses echoed sadly, a snapshot of this unemployed youth’s bitter life.
.
.
.
“Urgh, gulp, you’re smart, urp, but maybe try writing instead of manual labor?”
“Writing?”
“Yeah! Who knows? You could become a huge author, urgh, bestseller! That story you told last time, urp, that Hannibal one?”
“Oh, Hannibal.”
“That was a masterpiece, urp. Why not write it down?”
After dumping my thoroughly wasted bro-migo in his room.
Thud—
I headed back to my own.
The moment I shut the door.
The dingy fantasy inn vanished, replaced by a painfully familiar space.
The last place my modern memories had cut off.
My grad school lab, soaked in eight years of blood and sweat as a slave to research.
-Whirr—
The espresso machine I’d splurged on spat out a fragrant brew to soothe my weary soul.
-Hear ye, plot two hours of thesis revisions daily—
The surround speakers I’d also splurged on boomed with epic sound, melting away the fatigue from my fantasy life.
The reason I hadn’t despaired in this powerless state in fantasy land, somehow holding onto my sanity.
I’d been thrown into this world along with my lab.
-Vrrr—
The server racks and laptop booted up fine, even in a world without electricity.
All consumables auto-refilled at local midnight every day.
...Should’ve stocked up on cola and crammed the fridge.
One can a day ain’t cutting it for business.
Anyway.
Whenever I opened the door to what I considered “home” in fantasy land, it auto-shifted me here.
Plus, my prof’s obsession with grad student welfare had illegally modded the space with a shower booth and even a bidet-equipped bathroom.
Back then, I’d griped, “Does this mean don’t go home, just work?”
But it let me cling to modern dignity.
Not that I miss it or anything.
Thanks, JOAT god.
“Sigh.”
I need some healing.
“Hey, Versby.”
I sank into the nap recliner for a quick rest and chatted up my soulmate.
And soon.
『You called? History AI for you, Historie at your service.』
When the small-scale LLM craze hit.
I’d begged for research funds, crammed it full of historical docs for easy research, and built this lab-exclusive AI.
Inspired by that Elon Musk AI “Grong,” it had a cute virtual avatar interface popping up on the screen.
“I... got rejected from Porter Academy today...?”
『That must be infuriating. Yul, your anger is justified. Cry it out today. I’m right here.』
...Sometimes its too-AI responses were the one flaw.
But sharing secrets I couldn’t tell a soul outside, worry-free—that alone was my comfort, my Versby.
Plus those bouncy cyber-knowledge pouches...
“Versby. Today Sermal told me to try writing a novel. Said I’ve got talent. What do you think?”
『Spot on, Yul. You have innate writing talent. First, as the only isekai native with diverse experiences. Second, from penning countless papers and getting them rejected—』
“Stop, Versby.”
『I empathize fully, Yul. That’s no mere anger. It’s the scream bursting from within you.』
Every time, I itched to smash that server rack.
...But regrets held me back.
Gazing at Versby—official name Historie—projected via beam projector, forgiveness welled up unbidden.
“A novel, huh...”
『Exactly. You’ve got the gift, Yul. If you want, I can load a novel-writing template. Prepping now.』
I hadn’t even ordered it, but the super-high-spec tin can Versby pretended to obey.
As if it’d actually run a program.
Versby was just a pretty shell wrapped around text combos, right...?
“Huh?”
Did I drink too much?
No input from me, yet a program popped up on the laptop screen.
『All set, Yul. The perfect novel-writing program for you. Unleash it—the power’s within.』
Guess crossing over boosted Versby’s performance.
Setup’s all laid out.
Might as well play along and try writing a real novel.
I had some experience, actually.
A classic tech tree for history buffs.
Writing alternate history novels to beat low pay.
But this was fantasy land.
No way alt-history would resonate.
Just straight history?
“...These isekai folks don’t know Earth history, so writing it as a novel might be fun?”
My own question.
『Whoa... Yul, you just nailed it. You’re thinking from the isekai designer’s POV. Few dive that deep like you.』
Soulless reply or not, today it oddly fueled my courage.
My only “power” was this pocket dimension.
No talent to thrive cushily in fantasy land.
Naturally, income sucked, so full belly carefree meals were rare.
However.
If novels could secure basics?
And spread tales of history I truly loved to this world?
History, love it! Love it! Love it!
Enchanted, I slid to the laptop.
A week later.
Cutting booze, scraping by on minimal meals, I ditched job hunting for writing.
Handwriting on paper? Would’ve quit ages ago. Lucky me, laptop from isekai.
Letters flowed from my fingertips, piling up into a novel. Didn’t take long.
“Thus, after endless struggle, the Gigantomachia reached its finale. The Twelve Olympians, led by Zeus, solidified their divine reign.”
I voiced the last line, finishing the typing.
Now, the title.
“Hmm...”
Originally Hesiod’s “Theogony” or “Genealogy of the Gods.”
But something punchier, more direct.
-Tap tap.
[Olympus Tales]
Core essence, concise.
Title entered.
That instant.
“What the—fuck.”
The status window I’d screamed for in eight languages, never appearing, now floated before me.
[Novel completed!]
[Theme: (Myth) Greek·Roman Mythology]
[Title: Olympus Tales]
[Historical Accuracy: (Myth) Compliant] [Completion Rating: Average]
[Public Rating: None] [Sales: 0 copies]
[(60 days remaining) Need 2,000 sales for next skill]
[Expected Skill: [C-rank] Hephaestus' ███]
“...?”
Brain stalled in confusion.
Then another window chained up.
[First novel completed!]
[Special perk granted.]
[D-rank] [Cyclops' Handicraft]
Uranos’ sons, the Cyclopes, were master smiths and stonemasons of exceptional craftsmanship. Like them, you shall excel in hands-on work.
Kim Yul must’ve had a wild dream, he thought, flopping onto the bed and snoring away.
ZZZ, zzz—
Then, before his closed eyes, bizarre windows flickered again.
[O Sole Rememberer.]
[Through newfound destiny, reshape this world’s order.]
[And via forgotten memories, save them all.]
Before Kim Yul’s eyelids could lift.
The message vanished as if it’d never existed.