Deflecting five stones at once?
For an experienced tennis player, that didn't even count as a proper warm-up. In high school tournaments alone, top-tier talents were trained to rally against ten balls simultaneously.
This wasn't even close to difficult.
If Echizen Ryoma were here, he'd surely say:
"Mada mada dane." (You've got a long way to go.)
The five rocks—spinning back on their original trajectory—slammed into the goblins who threw them, followed by four heavy thuds. Each impact ended with a burst of black smoke as the goblins were wiped from existence.
One goblin managed to avoid the strike—likely due to the rock's uneven edge—and staggered backward, visibly trembling at the sight of its comrades vanishing before its eyes. It turned and ran.
Fwip.
A flash of silver zipped through the dark foliage.
A throwing knife pierced the fleeing goblin's skull with ease. Black smoke burst again.
Clap, clap, clap.
The sound of clapping echoed through the darkness like a polite, mocking applause.
Shaka, gripping his bruised arm, narrowed his eyes toward the source of the sound.
Sweat mixed with the blood trickling down from his temple.
"Astounding. Even though these surface monsters have lost some strength and speed over time, they've gained intelligence compared to the 'newborns' in the Dungeon. For a lone adventurer to defeat so many on his own… that's quite the spectacle."
A figure emerged from the shadows, clapping slowly.
As the darkness peeled away, the man came into view.
He wore a traveler's feathered hat, his golden hair tousled and wind-blown, his matching golden eyes gleaming with amusement. His features were sharp and charming—almost too perfect.
At first glance, he didn't appear particularly strong. His smile was warm and relaxed, but—
Shaka's instincts screamed.
There was something wrong with this man. He looked ordinary—aside from his ridiculous good looks. But the sense of pressure pouring off him was immense.
This was not the kind of strength seen on a tennis court. It wasn't even something human.
It was like standing in front of a being from an entirely different dimension.
Shaka didn't even stop to marvel that they were speaking the same language.
Instead, he barked, "What are you!?"
Eyes flashing crimson, Shaka's muscles tensed as he instinctively leapt back several steps. In that moment, he entered a state only a handful of prodigies could access—the Zone.
In the Zone, everything sharpened—strength, agility, reaction speed, awareness—all pushed to their peak.
But even so, Shaka could feel it: the man before him was still impossibly far beyond reach.
"Relax," the man said, adjusting the brim of his hat, a grin curling his lips. "You're not in danger."
"My name's Hermes. Just a traveler, really. But you're not wrong about the feeling—you're standing before a god.
Nice to meet you… little wanderer from another world."
A god…
Shaka hadn't expected to meet God Himself on the first day of his second transmigration.
Hermes' words, however, did more than shock him—they confirmed Shaka's long-held suspicion:
This world was the setting of "Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon?"—nicknamed DanMachi, or more accurately, Familia Myth.
The story revolved around a massive underground Dungeon, where gods, having sealed away their divine powers, descended to the mortal world to bless and guide their human followers.
In Shaka's previous life—or the one before that—this was a top-tier anime and light novel series. He was a huge fan.
Especially of the world's incredibly logical power system that blended classic RPG elements with surprising realism.
…Also, the girls were hot.
Lots of them. Generous. Kind. Beautiful.
Take notes. This will be on the test.
Knowing where he was settled Shaka's nerves a bit. After all, gods in DanMachi were a lot less terrifying than beings like Haruhi Suzumiya or Nyarlathotep. Most had voluntarily sealed their power and were just… chilling in the mortal realm.
Even the revelation that Hermes knew Shaka was a transmigrator didn't faze him.
In fact, it was kind of expected.
This world was practically leaking with holes in the multiverse. People popped in from other worlds so often it was almost routine. And the gods?
They were basically interdimensional travelers themselves, sometimes dropping in on other anime worlds just for fun.
Still…
"Kid," Hermes said cheerfully, pointing at the campfire. "Care to chat for a bit?"
Transmigrators might not be rare, but that didn't mean the gods weren't interested in them.
Hermes, in particular, loved new faces—and new toys.
To him, running into Shaka in the woods was like pulling a limited-edition SSR card from a gacha banner. No way he was letting that go.
"…Sure."
Minutes later, Shaka and Hermes were sitting by the fire, exchanging names.
By that point, Hermes had already swiped Shaka's bento box and the entire pack of instant noodles.
"Ahh~ So this is what was giving off that delicious smell," Hermes said while expertly unwrapping the ramen. "Clever move, cooking food this way. Mind selling some of this to me?"
He slurped the noodles like he'd done it a hundred times before.
Why are you so damn good at this?! Shaka thought, twitching.
He answered respectfully, "Take them. In exchange, I want you to lead me to the nearest city—and provide some rations for the road."
Shaka knew the value of instant ramen here.
Most expedition food in this world was bland, dry, or hard to carry. Ramen solved all of that.
Still, he didn't try to drive a hard bargain. It wasn't like he had a production line—this was just one idea, and once revealed, it was easy to copy.
Hermes, being a god of commerce, would absolutely exploit that.
But gods had boundaries. If it wasn't their domain, they didn't interfere. And Shaka didn't plan to stick his nose in divine affairs anyway.
"Much appreciated."
Hermes downed the rest of the noodles in three bites, then suddenly grew serious.
He adjusted his hat and, for the first time, asked a question with gravity behind it:
"Shaka, tell me. What are your plans now?
Or more specifically…
What do you desire in this world?"
Shaka blinked.
He started to shake his head instinctively, but a strange pressure pressed down on him—he couldn't lie. Not in front of a god.
As the thought hit him, his mouth moved on its own.
"I… I want a harem…
To make them all part of my wings…"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
His face froze.
Sure, every man might dream of it deep down, but actually saying it out loud? To a god?
Yikes.
His skin flushed crimson, his toes curled. He mentally punched through the floor of his own dignity and kept digging.
His body began twitching uncontrollably, contorting like a glitchy pixelated mosaic.
Before he could spiral any deeper, a booming laugh filled the forest.
"BAHAHAHAHA!"
Hermes clutched Shaka's shoulder like a long-lost drinking buddy. "That's the spirit! That's what I'm talking about! A man's romance is the harem, after all!"
Laughing wildly, he added, "Shaka, my boy, how about joining my Familia? Once we get back to Orario, I'll take you to see all the fun places!
It'll be the adventure of a lifetime!"
His voice echoed through the forest, full of joy.
And just like that, the god and the wanderer struck an unexpected bond—sealed over instant noodles, shared dreams, and the ultimate male delusion:
Romance, adventure… and a harem.