## Scene 1: The Incident

  The Athens National Museum was quiet and cool, a stark contrast to the blazing Greek sun outside. It was the third day of the Sakuragaoka High School senior trip, and while the rest of Class 2-B was currently roasting on a beach in Glyfada, Haruto Tanaka had slipped away.

  "Finally," he whispered, adjusting his glasses. "Peace."

  He wasn't here for history. He wasn't here for culture. He was here because the itinerary said "Free Time," and for Haruto, free time meant avoiding his classmates at all costs. The museum was the perfect refuge: air-conditioned, silent, and devoid of judgment.

  Or so he thought.

  He wandered through the Hall of Sculptures, his sneakers squeaking softly on the polished marble. He checked his phone. The class group chat was flooded with photos of blue water and shirtless guys playing volleyball. Haruto grimaced and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

  He turned a corner and froze.

  There she was.

  Standing on a pedestal in a cordoned-off section near the back was a massive marble figure. The placard read *Statue of Rhea - 2nd Century BC*.

  "No way," Haruto breathed.

  He walked closer, mesmerized. It wasn't just a statue. To Haruto, it was a 1:1 scale replica of the SSR unit he had spent his entire allowance chasing in *Mythos Grand Order*. The details were incredible. The draped fabric, the serene expression, the... proportions.

  "Just to verify," Haruto whispered, his hand shaking slightly.

  The security guard was nowhere to be seen. The gallery was empty.

  A stupid, impulsive curiosity took over. He simply needed to know if the marble texture matched the description in the wiki.

  His fingers brushed the cold stone of the goddess's breast.

  He smiled. It was a nervous, satisfied smile of someone who had gotten away with something forbidden.

  His sneaker squeaked on the freshly polished floor.

  "Whoa!"

  Haruto flailed. In a desperate attempt to stay upright, he shoved his weight forward, his hands slamming into the statue's chest to catch himself.

  It tipped backward under his weight. But it didn't fall. It rocked back, then forward, then back again, gaining momentum like a tumbler toy.

  Haruto stood frozen, watching the two-ton block of marble sway with terrifying grace.

  Back. Forward. Back.

  Forward.

  Directly toward him.

  Haruto looked up just in time to see the stone figure tilting down.

  "Oh no," he whispered.

  *CRUNCH.*

  ## Scene 2: The Waiver

  Haruto peeled his face off the floor.

  One second ago, he was being crushed by a priceless artifact. Now, he was face-planting onto cold stone.

  He blinked, adjusting glasses that were miraculously unbroken. He was in a massive circular chamber made of white marble, but it looked less like a sacred temple and more like a chaotic government office. There were lines of people—dazed, confused, some wearing pajamas, others in business suits—shuffling toward a desk manned by a bald man in purple robes who looked exhausted.

  "Next!" the man barked, not looking up from his paperwork.

  Haruto froze. He looked around. everyone in the line was staring at him. He was at the front.

  "N-next?" Haruto squeaked.

  The priest didn't look up. "Name?"

  "Haruto. Haruto Tanaka."

  "Okay, Haruto. Congratulations, you are Hero number four-thousand-and-twenty-three. Your objective is the eradication of the Rebel God. Here is your waiver." He shoved a piece of parchment into Haruto's hands. "Sign here, here, and initial here. This states that the Kingdom is not liable for death, injury, mental trauma, or permanent disability."

  "Rebel God?" Haruto blinked. "Wait... is this an isekai? Did I get summoned?"

  "You get a standard-issue weapon voucher and a map. Look, are you signing or not? The line is long."

  Haruto looked behind him. A guy in a pizza delivery uniform was tapping his foot impatiently. "Buddy, hurry up, my shift ended ten minutes ago."

  "I... I don't know how to fight!" Haruto stammered. "I'm just a high school student!"

  The priest sighed, rubbing his temples, and stamped a form. "Standard Summoning Package C. Cannon fodder tier. You get access to the Royal Armory to pick out gear. If you survive the first week, we'll talk about a salary. Now move."

  Two guards grabbed Haruto by the arms and dragged him through a side door before he could ask anything else.

  ## Scene 3: The Discount Aisle

  The Royal Armory was not the gleaming hall of legendary weapons Haruto had seen in anime. It was a chaotic warehouse that smelled of rust and sweat. It looked like a bargain sale at a surplus store.

  "Move it!" a burly man in a tank top shouted, shoving past Haruto with a glowing battleaxe. "I saw the Fire Smasher first!"

  "That's a cursed item, you idiot!" someone else yelled. "It drains your life force!"

  "I don't care, it looks cool!"

  Haruto hugged the wall, trying to make himself small. This was insane. There were hundreds of summoned "Heroes" here. Some were crying in corners. Others were swinging swords with frightening enthusiasm. A group of girls were taking photos with a shield that was dripping green slime.

  "Attention!" a knight in dented armor bellowed from a podium. "Listen up, recruits! Everything on the shelves is free. If you want the premium gear—Mythril, Orichalcum, Holy Enchantments—you have to defeat a Rebel Commander first to earn credits. Until then, you take what you can find!"

  Haruto scrambled away from the crush of bodies. *I'm going to die,* he thought, his chest tightening. *I'm going to die in a fantasy world and my parents will never know what happened. They'll just think I died doing something perverted in a museum.*

  He needed to hide. He needed to find a corner, curl up, and wait for this nightmare to end. Maybe if he just didn't participate, they'd forget about him.

  He ducked down an aisle marked **"Misc / Defective / Hazardous"**.

  The crowds thinned out here. Most people were fighting over the flashy swords and glowing staves near the front. This section was dark, dusty, and smelled like ozone.

  "What is all this junk?" Haruto muttered, stepping over a pile of bent spears.

  He picked up a mace with a lion's head pommel. It felt heavy, wrong. As soon as his fingers touched the metal, a wave of unjustified anger washed over him. He felt like smashing something. Anything.

  "Nope." Haruto dropped it immediately.

  He picked up a bow. The wood felt weirdly sticky. As he held it, the string began to curl around his wrist like a constrictor snake, tightening with a possessive grip.

  "Pass." Haruto shook it off and backed away.

  He reached the end of the aisle. There, shoved behind a crate of knifes, was a display stand.

  It held six items. They weren't glowing. They weren't humming with power. They looked... old.

  There was a breastplate, dull and tarnished, made of some heavy, antique gold metal.

  A pair of greaves, blue-green with oxidation.

  A sword, with a blade of dull white metal.

  A helmet, a shield, and a pair of gauntlets.

  They looked like a set, but mismatched in style. The breastplate was Greek bronze. The sword looked like a medieval longsword. The greaves were ornate and fluid, like frozen waves.

  But beneath the surface rust, they were silent. Dead silent. No magical hum, no pulsating aura. Just cold, discarded metal.

  Haruto frowned. The style mismatch bothered him—Greek breastplate, medieval sword, ornate greaves. It looked like a history textbook had exploded. Yet, something about the specific combination triggered a memory.

  *Wait.*

  He stepped closer, wiping dust off the breastplate. The etching wasn't random. It was a specific, stylized symbol of a lioness.

  He looked at the sword. The crossguard was shaped like a set of scales.

  The greaves had a fluid, wave-like pattern that shouldn't exist in metallurgy.

  *Rhea. Themis. Tethys.*

  He didn't need a high-level *Identify* skill to know what they were. He’d spent countless hours grinding for these exact designs in *Mythos Grand Order*. The mismatched aesthetics—Greek lines, medieval steel, fluid organic curves—were iconic.

  They were the *Titaness Regalia*.

  As soon as the recognition locked into place in his mind, the air shifted.

  *CLICK.*

  It was the sound of a lock engaging.

  Before Haruto could blink, the items moved. They didn't just rattle; they *flowed*, streams of liquid metal seeking a host.

  "Whoa—!"

  The breastplate snapped onto his chest. It didn't crush him; it shrank mid-air, reshaping itself to fit his frame perfectly. The heavy antique gold settled against his ribs like a second skin.

  The greaves locked onto his legs, feeling weightless.

  The sword flew into his right hand. It wasn't heavy. It felt like an extension of his arm, perfectly balanced.

  The helmet settled over his head, the visor adjusting to his sightline with a soft *hmph*.

  Haruto stood there, fully equipped. He expected to be crushed, but instead, he felt... complete.

  "Pfft."

  The armory went silent. Then, someone giggled.

  "Yo, check out this garbage."

  Two other summoned heroes—a guy with a glowing spear and his friend—were pointing and laughing.

  "Who mixes Bronze Age armor with a crusader sword?" the spear-guy laughed. "It's like a cosplay fail."

  "Total trash," his friend agreed. "Look at those mismatched textures. Zero drip."

  "Nice cosplay, buddy!"

  Haruto's face burned inside the helmet. *I want to die. I want to die again.*

  Then, a voice spoke. Not in the room, but in his head. Warm, lazy, and amused.

  *{Oh my. You're a tiny one, aren't you? But... you feel warm.}*

  Haruto froze. The voice echoed inside his skull, vibrating against his thoughts.

  *{Focus, sister,}* a second voice interrupted—cool, stern, and sharp as a blade. *{We require a base of operations. The barracks are unacceptable. Secure that portable structure immediately.}*

  "Structure?" Haruto whispered, looking around wildly.

  A mental image flashed in his mind: a massive, rolled-up canvas tent sitting in the "Oversized / Logistics" pile nearby. It looked like a circus pavilion folded into a log.

  *{The tent,}* the stern voice (Themis?) commanded. *{We cannot rest in this filth. Take it.}*

  "That thing weighs a ton!" Haruto hissed. "I can't lift that!"

  *{You are equipped,}* the voice replied simply. *{Proceed.}*

  Haruto swallowed. The spear-guy was still snickering.

  *Fine. Whatever. I'm already a laughing stock.*

  He marched over to the massive canvas roll. It was easily twice his size. He grabbed the thick leather straps, braced his legs, and pulled.

  He expected to pop a vein. He expected to dislocate his shoulder.

  Instead, the tent flew up as if it were made of styrofoam.

  "Eh?" Haruto blinked. He was holding a five-hundred-pound military tent with one hand. The gauntlets on his arms hummed faintly.

  *{Excellent,}* the lazy voice purred. *{Now, take us away. Somewhere quiet.}*

  Haruto looked at the door. He looked at the spear-guy, whose jaw was now hitting the floor.

  "Right," Haruto muttered. "Leaving. Now."

  Ignoring the physics-defying absurdity of his situation, Haruto hoisted the tent onto his shoulder and sprinted for the exit, clanking like a runaway kitchen cabinet.

  ## Scene 4: The Base Camp

  Haruto didn't stop running until he reached the edge of the castle grounds. He found a secluded spot near the outer walls—a patch of overgrown grass shielded by some ancient olive trees.

  "Okay," Haruto panted, dropping the massive tent with a *thud* that shook the ground. "This... this should be far enough."

  He collapsed onto the grass, his metal-clad limbs sprawling. The run had been a blur of adrenaline and clanking noise. He expected to be exhausted, but his breathing steadied in seconds.

  *Is this the armor?* he wondered. *Infinite stamina? Super strength?*

  *{Well? Are you going to set it up?}* the stern voice asked.

  "I'm doing it, I'm doing it!" Haruto groaned. He scrambled up and began wrestling with the canvas.

  To his surprise, his body moved on autopilot. His hands knew exactly which pole connected where. His eyes saw the geometry of the frame before he even touched it.

  *Mnemosyne?* he guessed. *The Titaness of Memory? Is she giving me the manual?*

  In ten minutes, a tent that should have taken a squad of soldiers an hour to build was standing perfectly erect. It was huge—a pavilion fit for a general.

  "Done," Haruto wiped sweat from his brow—or rather, from the visor of his helmet. "Okay. Safe. Secluded. Now..."

  He tapped the breastplate. "Can you come out now? I know you're in there."

  For a second, nothing happened.

  Then, the armor sighed.

  *CLICK.*

  The pressure vanished. The "second skin" feeling evaporated instantly.

  Haruto stumbled back as streams of golden and silver light poured off his body. They swirled in the air, solidifying into shapes.

  Six shapes.

  Haruto blinked, adjusting his glasses.

  Standing before him were six women.

  Rhea stretched her arms above her head, her massive twin-tails swaying. She was wearing a golden armored dress that defied physics in several interesting ways. "Mmm. Fresh air."

  Themis stood next to her, brushing imaginary dust off her white military uniform. She had silver-white hair and sharp gray eyes that immediately began scanning the perimeter. Her gaze was intense, judging every blade of grass.

  Tethys was wringing out her blue hair, sending droplets of water onto the dry grass.

  Theia was smoothing her glowing golden hair, ensuring every strand was perfect.

  Phoebe and Mnemosyne were already inspecting the tent.

  "Wait a minute," Haruto said, pointing a shaking finger at them. "You... you could have done that back in the armory!"

  Rhea smiled—a slow, teasing expression that made Haruto's stomach do a flip. "We could have."

  "Then why didn't you?!"

  "Walking is tedious," Tethys said, drifting over to poke Haruto's cheek. "And you looked so determined."

  "It is acceptable tactical doctrine," Themis added, crossing her arms. "Transporting assets via armored carrier is more efficient than individual mobilization."

  "I am not an armored carrier!" Haruto shouted. "I'm a human being!"

  "You're a very strong human being," Rhea purred, stepping into his personal space. She smelled like milk and honey. "You carried all of us *and* the house without complaining. Good boy."

  She patted his head.

  Haruto stood there, a seventeen-year-old boy in a school uniform, surrounded by ancient goddesses who treated him like a pack mule.

  He looked at the tent, then at the goddesses who were now crawling inside it without asking for permission.

  "Darling!" Rhea's voice drifted out, muffled by the canvas. "It's surprisingly roomy in here. Come on."

  "And we need some snacks, Handsome," Tethys added.

  Haruto sighed, adjusting his glasses. The sun was setting on his first day in a fantasy world. He hadn't fought a dragon. He hadn't saved a princess. He’d just moved furniture for a bunch of lazy immortals.

  "Coming," he muttered, stepping toward the flap.

  He didn't know how he was going to survive tomorrow, but for tonight, he had a tent... and six goddesses waiting for him inside.

  The prologue was over. The real headache was just beginning.