The Story of How I First Met That Man -1-: When I First Fell into This World

I flipped off whatever god had dumped me here, somewhere in the void.

Does this make any sense...? I lived a good life, slaving away as an orphan abandoned by my parents, only to get stabbed in the back by a god.

Even in my meager circumstances, I'd done my bit with donations, playing the angel. For a so-called god to screw me over like this wasn't right, so with all the piety I could muster, I spat curses at the heavens.

Bullshit... fuck...

If you're gonna reincarnate me, at least stick me in the protagonist or some rich bastard. But no, I end up possessing a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠slum rat. How could I feel good about that? No way in hell.

After a brief wander, I started blending into slum life.

Cursing the god didn't change a damn thing, and blindly raging when I didn't even know why I'd been dropped here seemed pretty pathetic.

I had no choice but to accept it.

And so began my slum days, which turned out easier than expected.

What I'd imagined as grim drudgery was actually kinda fun.

"Hey, newbie!"

Casual talk already?

"You see a senior, you greet him."

Ah... short-tempered one.

Thwack!

If I didn't like something, I'd fight.

If someone picked a fight, I'd fight back.

If the size difference looked bad, I'd grab a weapon and fight.

No different from the orphanage in my past life. It was a brutal world where the strong survived.

Sure, instead of teachers breaking up big fights, you had thugs, and zoning out could get you sold into slavery. But being alone? Same shit in past life or this one.

That made me a nasty piece of work.

I fought a lot.

I didn't go easy just 'cause I looked like a kid. I knew from past-life orphan experience: give 'em an inch, and the little shits climb all over you. So I kept it ice-cold on purpose.

Plus, back then, my temper wasn't the saintly thing it is now. I flared up easy.

"My bad."

"I don't know if that's sincere."

"I said sorry!"

"I said I don't know."

A solid beating from my fists sometimes became a life lesson for the kids.

"Won't mess with you again."

"Good."

Maybe it was the elite orphan course I'd ground out step by step back home, but when I snapped to it, I was king of the alleys.

Of course, I'd taken plenty of lumps too.

A kid's body had limits against adult thugs.

Bakery uncles.

Delinquents collecting protection money.

Asshole nobles.

I'd gotten beat by countless folks.

Still, what let me claim alley king? Probably just one thing: pure grit. Get hit once, hit back twice as hard.

I watched the delinquents' eyes, sure, but they watched mine too.

Not some shady business genius or—

"This month's tribute."

"You ever think about working under us for real?"

"Fuck off."

—brutal revenge like that.

"Hey, snake eyes."

"Snake eyes? That psycho kid?"

"Yeah."

I grew into someone nobody approached lightly, so few messed with me.

I had better hustle than the other kids.

"Pretty eyes!"

"Oh? You talking to me?"

"Yes! Pretty big sis, spare some coin?"

"You're cute."

With my past-life begging creds, I was the perfect shameless beggar, showing kids the career potential and becoming their sugar daddy through targeted panhandling.

"Alright, begging goes like this."

So lots of kids followed me.

Some hated my guts, but I looked out for them too, grinding away at survival.

I met all sorts.

The novel's future villain kid.

Nobles kicking my beggar cup, calling it filthy.

Even the novel's protagonist, hand-in-hand with her dad on the street.

"Daddy!"

"What, Yuria?"

"Does the capital sparkle like this?"

"Daddy hasn't been in ages either, so hold tight."

"Okay!"

It was surreal.

I'm really possessed, huh. Felt grand, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like I'd become something.

The status window right in front of me.

The ability to see others' favorability.

Seeing novel characters in the flesh.

All so novel and thrilling at first.

But the one that sticks most? Probably the young lady.

Never dreamed I'd run into the person I least wanted to tangle with—right in the street.

The day I first met her was utterly ordinary.

One of those quiet days begging, stealing bread, getting thrashed.

That's when I first saw the girl in her fancy dress.

Ah, life's such shit~!

The noble lady in dazzling finery strode up, muttering about missing democracy.

When I first glimpsed her favorability window, I was terrified.

She probably has no clue.

With over ten guards, her interests screamed more villainess than any brat I'd seen.

She kicked my beggar cup and yelled.

"Shut up, you beggar!"

"And you are?"

Back then, I feared no one, so I didn't back down.

Figured it'd be a one-and-done anyway, so I went full savage.

"Brat? You just called me a brat?"

"Who else?"

"Eeeeek!!!"

Victory was mine.

Slum seasoning plus past-life street brawling experience clinched it.

Not easy against a socialite who'd yanked hair from countless nobles, but I won.

Dust-caked, she wiped her mouth and glared, looking utterly wronged.

"You... I'm gonna kill you."

"Go suck mommy's tit first."

"You go suck one!"

"Don't have a mom."

"Uh.... Th-that...! I'll give you money, go buy some!"

And that's how I bonded with the young ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lady.

Not your normal meet-cute.

Fighting our way to friendship? What a pair of idiots.

But that's how Olivia and I got tight.

"Back again?"

"Yeah! Today I'm beating your ass raw."

Pfft.

The daily-visiting villainess.

And her annoyed me.

"You mangy mutt!"

"Mangy mutt~"

"Don't copy!"

"Don't copy~"

"Sniff... guh-huh-huh..."

"Don't cry. My bad."

I was a lunatic.

A commoner scrapping with a high noble? Instant execution.

If her guards hadn't held back 'cause she screamed, "Don't touch him! Touch him and I'll kill you!" I'd probably be a street corpse by now.

Anyway.

We got close like that.

"Asshole!"

"What."

"What's that?"

"Beggar cup limited edition."

"Ooh... gimme."

"No. What you gonna do with it?"

"Gimme it!"

"Said no."

She once plopped beside me, fascinated, learning to beg.

"What're you doing."

"Begging."

"Why."

"Seemed fun."

Her chubby cheeks planted on the pavement, thrusting the cup at knights—I laughed plenty.

"Put it in!"

"..."

"I said put it in!"

Thinking back, her guards had it rough.

Dealing with her whimsy-turned-madness? Brutal.

That's why they slipped me bribes.

"Today's liver shot."

"Pardon?"

"Hit her... right in the side. Young miss pulled another stunt."

"Haha..."

She was my main cash cow.

Innocent about the world, she'd hit me up, snag ten gold from a knight, hand it over, and I'd chat as her sounding board.

Whatever, she was my benefactor.

"You fight real good."

"I know."

"Who told you?"

"I figured it myself."

"Ooh... why learn?"

"Had to get strong to survive."

I hit her with some chuuni shit like, "You greenhouse flower can't understand me," but she clapped back bold.

"'Cause you're a beggar."

"This bitch—"

"Eek! Why hit! It's true!"

"Fine. Time I teach you judo."

"Eeeeek!"

The villainess was dumber than I thought.

Naive, idiotic.

Sure, she still grabbed what she wanted, but up close post-possession, my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠view shifted to She's not half bad.

Our friendship grew.

We started looking forward to meeting.

Then disaster struck.

A rainy day.

Pouring relentless rain.

No-show young lady had me grumbling under a bridge for shelter when I spotted a familiar boy.

Oh shit.

That's the story for today.

About my first meeting with Mikhail.