I'm the Hero? Then Why Are There So Many Heroes?
I recovered the memories of my past life when I was five years old.
In that instant, I understood.
This life was already a win.
Why? Because I'd been reincarnated.
In my previous life I'd been an ordinary office worker. Mornings meant commuting, afternoons meant getting chewed out by my boss, and evenings meant overtime. After work, my entire existence boiled down to games, web novels, and comics.
And that guy had been reborn into a fantasy world?
No matter how you looked at it, this was the protagonist route.
A status window. A hidden class. Legendary talent. A regressor, a reincarnator, a possessor—and a beautiful-girl harem. At the very least, one of those had to show up, right?
So the first thing I did was stretch a hand toward empty air.
"Status Window."
Nothing happened.
"Well, first try. That can happen."
I steeled myself and tried again.
"Status Window!"
Still not so much as a flicker.
By then, pure stubbornness had kicked in. I poured my whole soul into one more shout.
"Status Windo-o-o-ow!!"
Nothing, of course. In the awkward silence that followed, I slowly lowered the arm I'd stuck out so dramatically.
"What the hell. Is the internet just slow because we're in the sticks?"
It took me a little longer to process the fact that this world had no internet at all.
Then my mother's voice came from behind me.
"Zick."
I turned my head slowly.
"Yes?"
She was holding a laundry basket and looking at me like I was an idiot.
"Come eat. You can look for that status window or whatever after dinner."
"Yes, ma'am."
That day's failure was only the beginning. I refused to give up. If the status window wouldn't appear, I'd just find a bug. Games always had bugs, after all.
The next day I walked up to the wall of the house—and shoved.
Push. Puuush. Puuuuush.
The wall did not let me through. Instead, my father opened the door beside it and walked in. Coming back from behind the house with an armload of firewood, he spotted me fused to the wall and stopped dead.
"Zick."
"Yes."
"What are you doing?"
Still pressing my cheek to the wall, I answered, "Taking a walk."
Father was silent for a moment.
"With the wall?"
I had no reply. That evening I got a thorough thrashing across the back.
Even after that, my fierce campaign continued. Hanging upside down over the well. Rolling toward trees. Jumping from the edge of cliffs. Shouting skill names at the empty sky.
"Fireball!"
Not a single spark.
"Ice Arrow!"
Not even an ant froze in the ensuing quiet.
"Lightning!"
The sky remained smugly clear.
"Kamehameha—!"
"Zick!"
"Yes, Mom!"
All I earned for my trouble was a vicious sore throat.
Years slipped by like that. There was no status window. No bugs, no cheats, no hidden traits. At last I accepted reality.
"No way."
Lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, I muttered, "Did I just get the past-life memories and nothing else?"
And just like that, my glorious protagonist life came to an end.
The real problem started after that. I'd accepted reality—the villagers hadn't.
"Hey, Zick's at it again."
"What's he looking for this time?"
"Dunno. Status window, maybe?"
"Still?"
The boys snickered every time they saw me. They still liked me, though—we'd gotten into plenty of trouble together as kids.
The girls were another story.
"Look, it's Zick again."
"The kid who used to yell at empty air."
"Pervert."
That was unfair. Truly unfair. I'd only been searching for a hidden piece tucked near the women's bathhouse. Of course, from the villagers' point of view I'd just been a suspicious little brat lurking around the women's baths.
"Haaah."
I let out a long sigh. This wouldn't work. There was no comeback for me in this village. As long as people remembered my dark history, I could never re-debut as a normal person.
Time to run. Time to strike out on my own. I'd go to the city, become an adventurer, make it big, and come back in triumph. Then everyone would say, Zick really is amazing!
Perfect plan.
That night I stood before my parents.
"Father."
"Hm?"
"Mother."
"What is it?"
"And little brother."
"Bwuhh!"
I made my solemn declaration.
"I'm going independent."
"Sure."
"Go ahead."
"Bwaah!"
Permission arrived without a single second of hesitation.
"Excuse me?"
I was thrown. Honestly, I'd expected opposition. Tears, maybe—at least some attempt to stop me. Their reaction was far too bland.
Father kept spooning soup as he spoke. "A man ought to go independent at least once."
Mother nodded. "Stay healthy out there."
My little brother just kept eating. "Munch munch."
I was speechless. This wasn't the scene I'd imagined. I'd been hoping for something moving.
The next day I packed my things and left the village, vowing to myself that I would succeed and return. Back then I had no idea what the villagers were saying behind my back.
"So Zick's gone."
"Shame."
"Yeah. The village chief was pretty fond of him."
"Could read, good with numbers, smart head on his shoulders."
"A little weird, though."
"A lot."
"Extremely."
A brief silence fell.
"Still. He was a good kid."
I never heard those warm-yet-brutally honest comments. I simply walked toward the city, dreaming of a brilliant future.
The moment I arrived, I headed straight for the Adventurers' Guild. The reason was simple. Adventurer—how cool was that? Slay monsters, explore dungeons, find treasure, get famous. Honestly, wasn't that a job every reincarnator had to try at least once?
The guild building was bigger than I'd expected. A massive sword-and-shield emblem hung over the entrance, and inside, just like every guild from every story I'd ever read, crowds of adventurers were drinking and making noise.
"Familiar scene."
I rolled my shoulders for no reason. "All right. Finally starting. The protagonist's life."
I approached the reception desk, and a clerk asked, "Here to register as an adventurer?"
"Yes."
"You'll need to take the exam."
"No problem."
I answered with confidence. I'd played plenty of games and read plenty of web novels in my past life. Fantasy knowledge? I was loaded.
One hour later.
"You failed."
"What?"
"You failed."
"Why?"
The examiner sighed and flipped through the papers. "Swordsmanship: pathetic. Archery: pathetic. Magic: no talent. Stamina: below average." He looked at me with genuine pity. "Perhaps you should stick to farming?"
My heart shattered into pieces.
"Hold on! That can't be right! I aced the written test!"
"You did score full marks."
"See?!"
"But monsters don't solve arithmetic problems."
I shut my mouth. No counterargument there. In the end I was unceremoniously kicked out of the guild.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I wandered the streets aimlessly, digging through my pockets. After turning out everything I owned, all I found were a few coins.
"Ah."
Right. Most of my travel money had gone to the guild exam fee.
"I'm screwed."
I hadn't even been gone a full day and my life was already over. If I went back now? The village chief, Father, Mother, and every kid in the village would laugh in my face. Went to the city and came back in a day? How'd the adventurer thing go? Find that status window yet?
I'd rather die on the roadside than crawl home in shame.
I clenched my teeth. Fine. I'd sleep rough if I had to. While searching for a decent place to crash, I spotted a small building tucked in a corner—more ruin than building, really. The roof was half collapsed, weeds grew everywhere, and dust lay thick. Yet something about it felt strangely mysterious and sacred. When I drew closer, it turned out to be a tiny shrine that had once belonged to some god.
"There was a temple here?"
No—too small for a temple. Shrine? Chapel? Prayer house? Something like that.
"Still, it'll keep the rain off."
I stepped inside—and immediately went quiet. The dust was no joke. Sleeping like this, I'd probably choke to death.
In the end I sighed, borrowed a broom and rag from a nearby restaurant, and got to work. I had nothing else to do and needed a place to sleep. Sweep, sweep. I cleared the dust, yanked weeds, and shoved aside broken chairs. Then I found a small statue deeper inside.
Palm-sized. A god whose name I didn't know. Worn so badly I could barely make out the face. And the chest was huge.
This is important, so I'll say it twice. The chest was ridiculously huge.
"This is a god, right?"
How did a divine statue end up with the sensual curves of an otaku's beautiful-girl figure? Curiosity got the better of me; I checked underneath, just a little. Fortunately—or unfortunately—it wasn't detailed that far down.
"Shame."
No—what exactly was I disappointed about? I cleared my throat and set the statue upright again.
"Whoever you are, I'll be imposing for one night."
I plopped down beside it. My body felt heavy. I was exhausted. And hungry.
"What am I supposed to do tomorrow…"
I'd flunked the adventurer exam. I had no money. No place to stay. Going home would be so humiliating I'd rather die. Tears pricked at my eyes—then I slapped both cheeks hard.
Smack!
"Get a grip, Zick."
Right. I didn't have to be an adventurer. Kitchen hand, porter—anything that paid. I'd save capital, then start a business. Open a restaurant, become a peddler, invent some killer product with my past-life knowledge. There was no law that said a reincarnator had to grab a sword and kill monsters.
"All right. Plan B."
I was busy rebuilding a hopeful future when the day's fatigue hit all at once—probably because the tension had finally drained out of me. My eyelids grew heavy.
"Ah…"
I leaned against the statue and drifted off.
That night, inside the empty shrine, the long-forgotten little statue glowed faintly—as if it had been waiting for centuries. The light slowly sank into the back of my hand, and a single pattern was carved there.
The next morning, fierce sunlight stabbed straight through my eyelids.
"Ugh, my eyes!"
I covered them with both hands and rolled over. Wait. Something was off. I'd fallen asleep in a half-collapsed shrine. Even with a hole in the roof, the sun shouldn't have been hitting me head-on like this.
Puzzled, I slowly opened my eyes—and my brain flatlined.
"Huh?"
The shrine was gone. The broken roof, the dusty walls, the old chairs, that weird statue—all of it had vanished. I was lying on the cold alley floor of a big city. The only thing left was the unfamiliar mark on the back of my hand.
"Aaaaagh!!"
A ghost. One hundred percent a ghost. I bolted straight for the city center, destination clear: the grand temple. Ghost problems belonged to the professionals.
"Please save me!"
I shouted the second I burst through the doors. A priest slowly lifted his head. Dark circles hung heavy under his eyes.
"How may I help you?"
The words were polite; the eyes were completely dead. Exactly like the civil servants I'd seen at complaint counters in my past life—the look only people who'd endured overwork, overtime, and an endless parade of nightmare citizens could wear. I was weirdly intimidated, but I got to the point.
"I've definitely been possessed by an evil spirit or a curse!"
The priest nodded as if this was routine. "Are you injured?"
"No."
"Do you have an illness?"
"Not that either."
"You suspect a curse or demonic possession?"
"That's the one!"
The priest quietly sighed. His face clearly said, Here we go again.
"What exact symptoms are you experiencing?"
"I was fine until yesterday, and then this weird mark appeared!"
"Do you hear voices?"
"No."
"Do you see hallucinations?"
"No."
"Have you recently eaten any strange mushrooms or herbs?"
"I have not!"
"Then would you show me the area you believe is cursed?"
I thrust out the back of my hand. The priest's gaze landed on it—and in that brief instant his expression froze solid.
"Uh?"
"Is it serious?"
He didn't answer. He looked at my hand, then my face, then my hand again. Then he shoved his chair back and shot to his feet.
"P-please wait just a moment!"
"It is serious, isn't it?!"
"No, that's not—"
He didn't even finish the sentence before bolting deeper into the temple. I went pale. It was over. This was some truly vicious curse.
Not long after, an old man in ornate vestments entered. Clearly someone high-ranking. I prepared my last words with solemn gravity.
"Mother, I love you. Father, leave the fields to the second son."
The old man listened to my will, then finally couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing. "Hohoho."
"A man is dying and you find that funny?"
"Who said you were dying?"
"The atmosphere sure felt like it."
Still smiling, the old man shook his head. "You're not dying, so stop fretting over nothing." Then, with a kindly face, he said, "Congratulations."
"Excuse me?"
"You have been chosen by a god."
"Excuse me?"
"You have become a hero."
A heavy silence settled. And then—
"For real?!"
I nearly toppled over backward, chair and all. Hero. Protagonist. Chosen one. Legend. Harem—every glittering word in existence flashed through my mind. My era had finally arrived. At the same time, the merchant plan I'd drawn up the night before was completely reformatted out of my head.
Kitchen work? Business? All canceled. I sneered inwardly. A reincarnator, peddling goods? If you were born a man, you took up a sword, felled the Demon King, and saved the world. That was the true romance. Money? That was just a free bonus that came after saving the world. And after that: fame, wealth, harem—details omitted.
Perfect. I was certain. The goal of this life wasn't getting rich. It was becoming a hero. Becoming a legend. And building a harem!
"Heh heh heh."
An unhinged little laugh slipped out of me. The priests edged backward, but that was none of my business.
A few days later, with the temple's full support, I rode a carriage toward the Capital, grinning out the window as I pictured my brilliant future.
I arrived in the Capital bursting with anticipation—and the moment my feet hit the central plaza, my mouth fell open on its own. What I saw was not a glittering imperial banquet hall, not a noble welcome ceremony, not a knight order of beautiful girls waiting only for me.
The Capital's central plaza. And packing that plaza so tightly there was barely room to stand were hundreds of people. Marks similar to mine were carved all over their bodies—arms, necks, faces, the backs of hands. Different places, different shapes.
"What the…"
I looked around in pure bafflement. "Is this some kind of continental thug convention?"
The face of a nearby imperial guard knight went rigid. "What did you just say?"
"I mean, that guy over there has a tattoo smack in the middle of his face."
"That is a hero blessed by the God of Morning Light."
"Morning Light?"
"A subordinate deity under the Sun God."
"Then what about the one with the axe?"
"Hero of the God of the Charge."
"Not the War God?"
"The War God sits at the peak of the combat domain. The God of the Charge is merely one of the countless lesser deities beneath him."
I scanned the plaza again. Hundreds of heroes. Hundreds of marks. Hundreds of miscellaneous gods.
"Aren't there… way too many gods?"
The knight answered as if it were obvious. "There are as many gods as there are things in the world that have names."
That was when something felt off.
"Why are there so many heroes?"
I still had no idea how brutal the hero life I'd dreamed of was actually going to be.