Beggar

It must have been about a year ago now.

When I was dragged into this world.

You could call it an unfortunate accident, I suppose.

From that moment on, I did my best to survive—

"Mm, bread tastes good."

—and now I was a beggar, panhandling on the streets of the city.

If I were the only one who'd fallen into this world, I might have accepted my circumstances, counted my blessings, and scraped by well enough. But that wasn't the case.

That was because there existed a so-called board, overflowing with posts just like those.

Though we called it a gallery, of course.

Why ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this board existed, however, nobody knew.

All we knew was that at some point, we had all crossed over into this other world together.

"Ah, blatant bait."

Whenever I had nothing to do, I usually holed up in some corner and browsed the gallery.

Well, there wasn't exactly anywhere I could call home.

I was munching on bread in a hidden alleyway, mulling over such things, when I spotted a group of figures walking down the road in the distance.

Ah, better move.

It was the guard patrol that circulated this area.

For reasons I never understood, whenever they spotted a beggar, an "event" would occasionally trigger where they'd give us a beating.

I had been a participant in that event myself.

Which was why, from then on, hiding in dark corners had become my daily routine.

So I ate my bread and kept scanning the gallery a little longer.

"Hm?"

But when I refreshed the posts, something strange caught my eye.

The instant I saw it, I scrambled to the comment section without a second thought.

It didn't matter who had written it.

If it was bait, I could just treat it as stepping in dog shit and move on; if it was real, that was a win either way.

Whatever the case, it would be a better life than the one I had now.

"...It's bait, isn't it."

Still, the odds leaned heavily toward bait.

With that thought, I checked the post again.

"Hm?"

The conditions were better than I'd expected.

Room and board provided, and all I had to do was clean?

Truthfully, since arriving in this world, I hadn't particularly wanted to do anything at all.

Back in my original world, my life had been nothing but scraping by from one day to the next anyway.

But there was something suspicious here.

...Only five comments, including mine? Seriously?

Something felt off.

A post like this should have drawn comments in droves.

This "board"—this gallery—was full of well-off people, but it had just as many poor ones.

That was why recruitment posts like this one would sometimes pull in a crowd.

After all, begging on street corners while hunting for work was far less appealing than trusting a job posting written by someone from your old homeland.

Though it could be a scam...

Still, there was always the chance it was a con.

The necromancer guys posted fishing posts like that all the time.

Something about needing test subjects. Truly rotten people.

"Never seen that username before."

It's a modest point of pride, but I'm a regular here—I know just about every fixed name on the gallery.

Being a beggar left me with plenty of time, after all.

And I'd noticed something since coming to this other world: once I'd seen something, I more or less never forgot it.

So while I knew nearly all the regulars, "ItsExplosiveStealth" was a name I had never seen.

A total newcomer, you could say.

"Hm..."

Just in case I'd somehow missed them, I searched their post history—

Nothing came up.

Which meant, quite literally, that the account had been created moments ago.

The implication was simple.

"...They changed their name."

I had no idea who they might be, but it was obvious they'd deleted their old posts and rebranded.

The original world's gallery had a memo function for tracking name changes, but that didn't exist here, so there was no telling who this person used to be.

And yet...

This is unsettling.

It was unsettling to no end.

People who were active on the gallery here didn't, as a rule, delete their old posts.

It felt like leaving a record of yourself, in a way.

So most people left their history intact—and if someone had wiped theirs, it clearly meant they had something to hide.

So I went through the gallery, page one through page ten.

Looking for whether any regular I remembered had vanished.

There.

There was.

"IAmTheStealthBoss"—the name of a user who did nothing but spam garbage posts all day.

That name alone was gone.

There was a slim chance it was coincidence, so I searched their post history.

And—

That's them.

I could confirm it.

Not a single post by "IAmTheStealthBoss" turned up in the search.

Normally there would have been at least ten pages' worth.

Everything deleted—I could be certain now.

So, having established that IAmTheStealthBoss = ItsExplosiveStealth, an even bigger question arose.

"Why?"

Why on earth would they do that?

I was curious.

Even accounting for the constant shitposting, that user had never written anything that would actually get them in trouble.

But no matter how I turned it over, no answer came.

Instead, I did figure out why the new post had drawn so few comments.

Because it was an unfamiliar name.

How was anyone supposed to trust a recruitment post written by a brand-new name with zero post history?

That, clearly, was why the comments had been so sparse.

As a matter of fact, comments were being deleted in real time right now.

People who'd commented early like me, then checked the author's history, were evidently getting nervous and deleting theirs.

I almost deleted mine too—

...They weren't really a bad regular, though.

Their usual posts hadn't been particularly bad, either.

Nothing but complaints that their magic research wasn't going well.

Writing one every five minutes was the problem, granted.

But regardless.

By gallery standards, they hadn't seemed like a bad person at all.

Certainly not the type to lie, or to run human experiments or anything of the sort.

Well... there was always the chance I was wrong.

As I mulled it over, all the comments but mine had vanished before I knew it.

Everyone had spooked.

...Why is everyone such a coward.

People seemed awfully attached to their lives.

Not that I didn't have my own attachments, but mine weren't as deep as everyone else's, apparently.

Living well would be nice, sure, but if I died—well, bad luck, then.

That was roughly how I'd always thought about it.

It had been that way since long before this world.

So I waited for a comment.

If the conditions ItsExplosiveStealth had posted were accurate, there was no reason to refuse.

They were good conditions for me, after all.

And then, at that moment—

Ding—!

A notification arrived: someone had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠replied to a post I'd commented on.

I checked it immediately—

There it was, a reply posted almost instantly.

"..This fast?"

A reply, this quickly?

Just how badly did they need someone to clean?

I had a pretty vivid image of what that house must look like.

With that thought, I left my reply.

The replies came flooding right back.

I had no idea why they were so shocked.

They'd asked for my location, so I gave it.

As I sat there wondering if something was wrong with me, staring up at the sky—

Whoosh—!

Someone appeared out of thin air.

A silver-haired woman who looked about my age.

She looked me over, then—

"So you're CertifiedBeggar, then?"

"Oh, and you're ItsExplosiveStealth?"

"That's me, but... do refrain from using my full name."

"...Hm. Understood."

Granted, she'd used mine in full first, but I didn't quibble over such trifles.

This was the person who'd be providing me with room and board from now on, after all.

With that in mind, I asked.

"So, what exactly will I be doing there?"

"Do not speak to me so casually. The gap in our ages is considerable."

"How old are—"

"Quiet. I shall take you with me for now."

And with that, my vision blurred for a moment—

and I was whisked away somewhere in an instant.

When I opened my eyes again, my surroundings looked remarkably old-fashioned.

Anyone could tell at a glance that this was a place where a mage conducted research.

Though it was a bit... dirty.

"Um... where exactly is this?"

So I looked to the silver-haired woman and asked for an explanation.

Using polite speech, of course.

And in response—

"Barukh District 3. My laboratory."

came her remarkably cool reply.

A mage, most likely.

She had teleported all the way here from Lukfelton, and she kept a separate laboratory in Barukh District 3—a place far from any bustling city center.

With that thought, I chose my words carefully.

"What... should I call you?"