Ghost 1: Sasajima Kyoya

I have always been someone who lacked flexibility compared to others.

I persist in doing what I believe to be right.

Some have called it pride, or resolve, in a positive sense. But most likely saw me as an annoyance.

In kindergarten, I fought alone to defend playground equipment that older children were trying to monopolize.

They arrived after us and attempted to push us away, even though we had been using it first.

I resisted desperately, making the older boy cry.

The fight ended only when a caretaker aunt intervened.

Naturally, I was scolded.

Why was I punished for doing what was right?

At the time, I could not understand.

Now I understand. My fight caused the other children playing with me to be caught in the conflict and injured.

One child even cried.

The fault lies with the older children who arrived later and attempted to seize the toys.

That is certain.

But was it right for me to fight those children?

It remains without an answer.

Yet, at that moment, I vaguely understood that what was right did not necessarily equate to absolute righteousness.

At the time, I could only grasp it vaguely.

I continued to brandish my righteousness with each passing event.

Literally, brandishing a fist.

She ended the bullying at the elementary school.

Defeated the schoolyard extortionists in return.

There is no end to listing small examples.

I did not specifically train in combat arts.

Yet, despite appearances—unimpressive in stature—she had never known defeat.

She had a natural aptitude for it—moving her body precisely as envisioned.

She might not have been able to defeat someone truly trained in combat, but she never lost to amateurs.

That was the problem.

By the time I graduated middle school, I had already stood apart from everyone around me.

I even earned the unwanted nickname "kid."

I didn’t believe I had done anything wrong.

But in hindsight, I suppose the outcome proved otherwise.

Perhaps relying on fists for resolution in a legalistic nation like Japan meant the concept of "right" had already been abandoned.

Just as I entered full adolescence.

I found myself questioning: what even is right?

I was isolated in my hometown, so I chose to attend a high school farther away.

There, I tried my best to remain unnoticed.

Fortunately, the school I ended up attending—Hei Shin High—had a calm atmosphere, and bullying was not excessive.

There were whispers behind her back—calls of "real horror" and other insults—but nothing that directly harmed her.

Perhaps the greater issue was how some girls openly mocked Wakaba in a performative manner.

Yet since Wakaba herself seemed unaffected, I managed to endure.

I made friends. Two of them invited me to an online game.

I had never played games before, but the act of playing with friends proved enjoyable. I quickly became engrossed.

In the game, I specialized in frontline assault and blacksmithing.

I forged weapons for our group, then used those weapons in combat.

I crafted various types of weapons, constantly switching equipment.

Sophia and Yuta were told to standardize their weapons, but using different weapons offered its own new discoveries—enjoyable in its own way.

Yet behind every enjoyable thing, there remained something unforgivable.

A player with poor manners.

A bulletin board that made one feel ill.

Such things existed.

They were like the conflicts of middle school days—unresolvable by fists.

I knew this.

By high school, one should understand that not everything in the world is right.

Still, anger arose.

I directed that anger toward the game.

Thus, I lectured myself.

Even so, a knot remained deep within.

Truly, inflexible.

Thus, I spent high school without raising a fist.

Had I known that this would end so easily, would anything have changed?

Unsure.

Either way, I am dead.

Cause of death is unclear, but the fact of death is comprehensible.

Because I have been reborn.

Honestly, at first I could not accept that.

Reincarnation was something I knew from a light novel borrowed from Yatata.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I understood that what I experienced was indeed reincarnation, though it seemed implausible.

Understanding and acceptance are separate matters.

Especially so, given that it is clearly not Earth, but a different world.

I have been reborn into what appears to be a typical fantasy world.

A world where goblins appear.

Civilization level is unclear, but likely not high.

Moreover, it seems magic exists here.

I witnessed magic being used firsthand. If it was not a trick, it was undoubtedly genuine magic.

For the first few days after birth, I passively contemplated these things.

It was impossible to proceed without mentally distancing oneself from the situation, as if observing someone else’s circumstances.

That was escapism.

But it was no longer possible to deny it.

What was visible around was a modest house.

A small village, with simple, unadorned architecture.

Villagers passing by.

Well, not quite people.

Shorter in stature than humans.

Green skin.

Pointed ears.

Sharp canine teeth.

Undeniably, a classic goblin from a game.

This was a goblin village.

And I was born in this goblin village.

Looking down, the green skin.

Yes.

I am a goblin too.