I Came to Another World with Liver Cancer

My name is Bel. My parents ran a beer-related business, so they named me in hopes that I would grow up to be a heavy drinker just like them. It was a strange name, but I lived with it pretty happily. At least my last name wasn’t something awful. Anyway, today was no different. I was spending the day drinking the beers my parents had brought home.

I never just gulped them down, though. I paid attention. What kind of flavor profile did this one have? Was the hop bitterness strong or subtle? How many IBUs? Was the bitterness level appropriate for the style? Thinking about those little details while I drank let me enjoy beer on a much deeper level.

The one I was drinking today was a rich, dark stout. But not just any stout. This was a barrel-aged stout that had been matured in whiskey casks. The beauty of barrel-aged stouts is that the beer’s own deep flavors become even more complex, and you get that powerful whiskey finish with its bold aroma and taste.

Psst. The sound of carbonation escaping as I opened the bottle filled the air. The roasted, chocolatey scent of the stout rode that fizz straight into my nose. Right behind it came the unmistakable whiskey-like aroma from the barrel aging. Yeah, beer was never just about drinking. You had to look ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at it, smell it, hold it in your mouth, taste it with the tip of your tongue, and only then swallow. That was when a truly perfect sip was complete.

I held back the drool that was practically flooding my mouth and tilted the bottle toward my glass.

Throb! There it was again. I ignored the sharp pain in my right side and kept pouring. It had started about ten months ago. At first it was occasional, but lately the sudden spikes in pain had become much more frequent. Maybe I really should go to the hospital. That thought crossed my mind as I drank the beer I’d just poured. Once it was in the glass, I couldn’t let it go to waste.

“Liver cancer.”

“Excuse me?”

The next day I went to the hospital, got a CT scan, and heard those devastating words from the doctor. Stage four. Incurable.

“Because it’s ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠already stage four… there’s nothing we can do. I’m truly sorry.”

I just stared at him. This had to be a scam, right? What the hell had I done to deserve liver cancer?

“Do you… have any thoughts on how you’d like to proceed?” the doctor asked carefully.

“Thoughts?”

“Yes. For most patients at this stage, we usually focus on palliative care rather than aggressive life extension. If you’d like, we can—”

“No. I’m fine.”

I stood up from the chair.

“At least let me give you some painkillers. I’ll write you a prescription.”

“Thank you.”

I left the examination room with the doctor’s pitying gaze on my back.

I set the painkillers on my desk, sat down heavily on the bed, and let out a long breath.

“Haa…”

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

When the doctor had said the words “liver cancer,” they hadn’t felt real. How could a perfectly healthy person suddenly be told they had terminal cancer? Even now it sounded like a bad joke, but my body was already proving it wasn’t.

Throb! Now that I knew the reason for the pain, it seemed to mock me by growing even sharper.

“Guess I should take the medicine.”

I opened the bottle, swallowed the exact dose the doctor had prescribed, and chased it with water. As I turned to head back into my room, my eyes landed on a bottle of whiskey my father had given me for my birthday—the Dalmore King Alexander III. I’d heard it was an absolutely incredible dram.

He had told me to save it for a special occasion, but… dying of liver cancer counted as a special occasion, didn’t it?

“If I’m going to die anyway… I might as well enjoy the good stuff.”

I tore off the paper seal, pulled the cork, and was greeted with a rich, peaty aroma.

Pop!

I grabbed the Glencairn glass from the shelf and poured myself a generous measure. The powerful scent spread throughout the room.

“Haa…”

I raised the glass in a silent toast, using the strong whiskey smell as my only companion.

Ding!

My phone alarm went off. It was the notification from the webtoon app saying a new chapter of my favorite series had dropped.

“Sigh… Guess I won’t get to see how it ends.”

I picked up the phone and brought the glass to my lips at the same time. I scrolled through the chapter while sipping the whiskey. The story was as gripping as ever. Then I reached the author’s note at the end.

Due to the author’s health issues, this series will be on hiatus for the next month.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I had thought I could at least read a few more chapters before I died. Four whole chapters I’d never get to see. That was just my luck.

I poured another glass of whiskey.

“If there is a next life…”

“I hope I get a body that doesn’t get liver cancer… so I can drink as much as I want.”

I drank alone, letting the whiskey burn down my throat.

The loud buzzing of cicadas woke me.

“Ugh… so noisy.”

I frowned at the sudden sound. Why were cicadas screaming in this weather? Then a thought flashed through my mind. Wait… wasn’t it October?

I opened my eyes.

A gigantic cicada the size of a grown man was staring down at me.

“What the fuck—giant cicada!”

I scrambled to my feet. Only then did I realize I wasn’t in my room at all. I was in the middle of some unknown forest.

“Where the hell am I?!”

I despaired.

Two years after waking up in that nameless forest, I had more or less accepted that I had been reincarnated into another world—the kind you only read about in novels.

After running from that massive cicada, I had met a party of adventurers. That encounter led me to a small city where I began life as an adventurer, slowly adapting to this new reality.

Life in this other world wasn’t bad at all. Whether it was a perk of reincarnation or not, I could understand the language perfectly, and my body was dozens of times stronger than it had been on Earth. Thanks to that, I had grown into a promising high-ranking adventurer in just two years. With support from both the adventurers’ guild and the local lord, I was living quite comfortably.

This world didn’t follow the usual tropes. The adventurers’ guild wasn’t corrupt, and the lord wasn’t a scumbag. Sure, there was an ongoing war with the demon race, but that was happening on the front lines. Nothing I needed to worry about.

No, there was only one thing I truly cared about.

“Ugh.”

The beer in this world tasted like absolute garbage.

At first I had been excited. When I shouted “Status,” a semi-transparent window had appeared and kindly explained everything. Sure, yelling it in the middle of the street had made people look at me like I was crazy, but that was beside the point.

According to the status window, people from Earth who came to this world received unique abilities based on their greatest specialty from their previous life.

And what was mine?

That’s right. A goddamn heavy drinker. I had died of liver cancer from drinking too much in my last life, and now I was going to get it again? That was what I thought until I saw the words “immunity to health deterioration caused by alcohol.”

At the time I was ecstatic. I literally did two backflips in celebration. But that joy was completely shattered the first time I visited a tavern in the city.

I had expected something amazing—maybe beer infused with magical herbs or a handmade brew by a dwarf master. What I got instead was lukewarm, flavorless swill.

This world might have a medieval aesthetic, but did the beer have to taste medieval too? I tried to tell myself it was fine. Ales were traditionally served at room temperature, after all. But the moment that first sip hit my tongue, my dreams were obliterated.

It was so bad it was almost impressive. Maybe my palate had been completely spoiled by modern beer. Whatever the reason, the beer of this fantasy world tasted like nothing but bland, watery disappointment.

I forced a smile for the kind dwarf who had guided me there and bought me a drink—Oakfoot—but I couldn’t take it. I had been given the Heavy Drinker trait and sent to another world, only for the beer to be undrinkable? I cursed whatever god had done this to me.

At the same time, I set a new goal.

I would find truly delicious beer in this other world.

So I traveled whenever I had money from adventuring, buying and tasting every beer I could find. The results were heartbreaking. Almost every brew was subpar. Even the famous beers crafted by renowned dwarf brewmasters tasted like nothing more than carbonated water with a hint of flavor.

Two years passed like that. After drinking countless terrible beers from across the continent, a new semi-transparent window suddenly appeared before my eyes.

Brewery?

The moment I thought the word, an entirely new window popped up. The explanation that followed left me stunned.

Brew any beer I wanted? As a skill?

I forgot all about heading to the adventurers’ guild and immediately pressed the Brew button. Countless options appeared. I spent a long time carefully selecting every characteristic for the crisp, refreshing lager I had been desperately craving for the past two years.

Thump! My heart pounded.

I ignored the racing heartbeat and slowly moved my finger toward the Complete and Brew button.

A new window greeted me.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

I screamed louder than I had when I received my cancer diagnosis.