The ship's roll was barely perceptible, but for Yumiko Miura, this school cruise was already a living hell. Leaning against the railing, she gazed at the infinite horizon with a vacant expression, her arms crossed.
A few meters away, leaning against a corridor wall, Hachiman Hikigaya let out a sigh that perfectly summed up his state of mind.
"Damn, I want to go home."
His voice, barely a whisper, floated in the salty air. He didn't really intend to be heard, but Yumiko, despite her apparent indifference, had sharp ears. She turned her head slightly towards him, a sardonic smile on her lips.
"Me too, Hikio. This cruise sucks."
Hachiman didn't even bother to reply. They were stuck here, a handful of students from their respective classes gathered on this boat for an inter-class activity that reeked of obligation. Chance — or rather, misfortune — had placed them both on the same side of the deck, fleeing the noisy crowd.
But chance hadn't always been so indifferent.
Without warning, the sky, clear until then, darkened. A suffocating heat gave way to an icy wind. Then, the sea began to rage.
"What…?" Yumiko started, her eyes widening as she saw the immense wall of water rising before them.
It wasn't a wave. It was a liquid rampart, inevitable, devouring the horizon.
The impact was brutal. The ship's hull shattered like glass. In the chaos of screams and deluge, Hachiman felt the deck give way beneath his feet. The freezing water engulfed him, disorienting him and stealing his breath.
In that whirlpool of debris and foam, a strand of light hair danced before his eyes. Yumiko. She was struggling, carried by the current, panic distorting her features.
Hachiman didn't have time to think. His body acted before his mind. There was nothing romantic or heroic about it. It was purely instinctual. Like a reflex as useless as it was urgent.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him, struggling to keep her above the water as the current dragged them into the depths. His lungs burned. His vision blurred.
…At least I won't die alone and stupid, he thought, as darkness completely swallowed him.
When she regained consciousness, it was neither in a sterile hospital room nor on a sandy beach. It was to the smell of damp earth and stone.
Yumiko abruptly opened her eyes and coughed up imaginary seawater. She was lying on her back in a narrow, dark, cobblestone alley, lined with stone buildings with tiled roofs.
"Where…?"
She slowly sat up, her clothes soaked and clinging. Her clothes. A school uniform. Everyone wore one back there… but here?
Her heart tightened. This wasn't Japan.
As she tried to gather her thoughts, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed at the entrance of the alley. A boy, around her age, ran in, a cardboard box in his hand.
He wore a strange, garishly colored tracksuit: black, white, and orange. An outfit that contrasted sharply with the medieval clothes of the few passersby she had glimpsed in the distance.
Out of breath, the boy stopped dead when he saw her. His gaze shifted from her Japanese school uniform — perfectly recognizable — to his own tracksuit. He understood immediately.
"You too, huh?" he said in a monotone voice, tinged with a nervous laugh. Then he cleared his throat, stepped back abruptly, and struck a pose. "My name is Natsuki Subaru! Ignorant and incompetent, reckless and completely powerless! In short, a young man devoid of all necessary qualities! And to top it all off, I am absolutely and proudly penniless," he declared with a theatrical, triumphant smile.
Yumiko stared at him for a moment, then looked at her own hands, her clothes, and the strange architecture surrounding her.
A long, deep sigh escaped her lips.
She had no idea where she was, how she had survived, or what had become of Hikio. One thing was certain: this was absolutely not a cruise, but a fantasy medieval world, and she was stuck with a rather enthusiastic, albeit unfortunate, companion.
"What kind of trouble have I gotten myself into now…? At least I'm not dead, and with any luck, neither is Hikio…" she murmured, while the boy in the tracksuit still wore a sympathetic but resigned smile upon hearing her response.
(To be continued)