"Two Kaoli, please."
A young man stood in front of the vendor, his clothes torn and stiff with dirt, his presence as worn as the fabric clinging to him.
His fingers, darkened with grime, held out a crumpled one-dollar bill, the edges damp and smudged from days of being carried without care. He didn't speak again, just waited, as if used to being ignored.
The vendor grimaced the moment the smell reached him. It hit sharply, like something rotten left too long under the sun. He recoiled slightly, his face twisting with open disgust.
"Damn it, just take this," he snapped, tossing two Kaoli onto the ground instead of placing them in the young man's hand. "Keep your money. Maybe use it to take a bath. You smell like absolute shit."
The young man, his hood pulled low over his head, crouched down without protest and picked up the two Kaoli. He handled them carefully, brushing off bits of dust as if they were something precious.
"Thank you, sir," he said quietly.
The vendor kept staring at him with the same expression before letting out an irritated sigh.
"You better wash yourself. Don't come back here like that again. You'll scare off my customers."
The young man nodded, lowering his head in acknowledgment. He didn't argue, didn't defend himself. He simply turned and walked away, heading toward a narrow, shadowed alley. People passing by covered their noses or stepped aside to avoid him, their discomfort obvious. Some muttered under their breath, others didn't bother hiding their looks of disdain.
He didn't react. If anything, he seemed accustomed to it, as though this kind of treatment had long ago stopped meaning anything to him.
He entered the dark alley and sat down beside an overflowing trash bin. The smell there was no better, but it was familiar, almost comforting in its consistency. He held the two Kaoli in his hands, examining them briefly before taking a bite.
"Well, this should keep me going for a while," he murmured.
Kaoli had become his usual meal. Dense, compact, and designed to last, it was a simple ball of dough packed with high-calorie ingredients and enough protein to sustain someone for days. It wasn't delicious, but it was practical. For someone in his situation, practicality mattered more than taste.
As he finished the last bite, he glanced down at his hands. They were filthy, caked with dirt and streaked with substances he didn't bother identifying.
"Damn, I should've washed my hands first," he muttered with a small sigh. "Not that it matters… I'll be summoned soon anyway."
He lifted his gaze, and in front of him appeared a translucent interface, glowing faintly in the dim alley.
[Congratulations, Vaelan. You have been chosen.]
[You will be summoned in 8 minutes and 47 seconds.]
For a moment, he simply stared at it. Even now, he could hardly believe it. Him, a homeless nobody, chosen. Being summoned to become a hero wasn't something just anyone received.
And yet, despite everything, he didn't smile.
Because he knew better.
Being chosen didn't mean your life would suddenly improve. It didn't guarantee happiness, or even survival.
"If only you could sell an opportunity like this…" he muttered under his breath.
He stood up and made his way to a metal ladder attached to the side of the building. Climbing it with steady movements, he reached the rooftop. From there, he could see across to another building where a massive public screen flickered to life.
It displayed people offering encouraging messages to those chosen this year, their voices filled with rehearsed hope and distant admiration.
{The only thing I can say to those selected this year is this: know that this is the opportunity of a lifetime.}
Vaelan watched the man on the screen, his expression unreadable. Then he repeated softly,
"An opportunity of a lifetime…"
A faint, humorless smile touched his lips.
"True," he said quietly. "It's not like I had a future planned anyway… haha."
Vaelan stared at the last sentence displayed on the massive advertising screen, its bright colors flickering slightly against the dull concrete of the surrounding buildings.
{You already know everything about the summoning. Now it's up to you to decide to become a great Hero.}
"Heh? Know everything…"
He let out a quiet breath, almost a scoff, as his eyes lingered on the glowing words. Know everything, they said, as if repeating the same polished lines on giant screens somehow counted as knowledge.
Still, he couldn't deny it. Even living on the streets, he had picked up fragments of information over time. Those screens were everywhere, impossible to ignore. Whether you had a home or not, they made sure you learned something about the summoning.
From what he understood, every year a group of humans was selected by the System and summoned to another world.
That world was called Gaia.
A place that sounded like something out of a dream, or a badly written story people told themselves to feel better.
In Gaia, the summoned humans fought monsters. By defeating them, they could unlock titles, and with those titles came power. Real power. The kind that turned ordinary people into something else entirely.
Heroes.
At least, that's what the screens liked to call them.
He also remembered hearing about the other races living there. Not just humans. There were beings with long, elegant ears called Elves, creatures often described as beautiful, almost unreal. And others too… races he couldn't quite recall, their names slipping through his memory like everything else that didn't directly help him survive.
Information came and went. Hunger stayed.
There were rules, too. Always rules.
Humans who returned without earning a title were disqualified by the System. No second chances. No dramatic comeback. They lost the opportunity to be summoned again, to level up, to become heroes. Just like that, they were thrown back into normal life.
If they even had one to return to.
"And then what?" Vaelan muttered under his breath. "Back to nothing."
But the part that stuck with him the most was what happened if you died.
If a human died in that other world, they would be sent back to Earth. Not as a hero. Not as anything special. Just sent back… while waiting for another chance to be summoned.
Except there was a catch.
They would remain forever at the level they had when they died.
No progress. No growth. Just… stuck.
"Sounds fair," he whispered dryly, his tone laced with quiet irony.
[You will be summoned in 30 seconds.]
The sudden appearance of the System's message cut through his thoughts like a blade.
A burst of noise erupted from the direction of the advertising screen. Vaelan turned his head slightly. Groups of well-dressed youths had gathered nearby, surrounded by cheering crowds. Some waved, others laughed, their confidence almost blinding. Families stood close, proud and emotional, while fans shouted their names like they already mattered.
Future heroes. Or at least, future entertainment.
Vaelan watched them for a moment, expression unreadable. They looked so alive, so certain that something good was waiting for them.
"An opportunity…" he murmured softly.
The word lingered in the air, heavy and uncertain.
[You will be summoned in 4, 3, 2, 1.]
The countdown echoed silently in his mind.
Then, without warning, a blinding light engulfed him.