Sunaookami Shiroko || Reverse Isekai

"Where am I?"

The thought wasn't a panic; it was a prompt. Shiroko scanned the perimeter, her eyes moving in a cold, practiced grid.

The baseline data made no sense. Twenty minutes ago, she had finished her nightly maintenance, completed a light jog around the Abydos desert, and gone to bed. Now, she was standing on a crowded sidewalk, her lungs working harder than usual against air that tasted heavy, thick with smog and moisture.

Her hand twitched down toward her hip.

Empty.

No assault rifle. No tactical sling. She looked down at her feet. She was wearing her Abydos uniform, but her bicycle—her primary means of extraction and mobility—was gone.

Then came the real anomaly.

No halos.

People walked past her with completely empty space above their heads. A few glanced at her strange attire, but most kept their heads down, buried in glowing rectangles. The architecture around her was overwhelming, a suffocating maze of concrete and glass that lacked both the sun-bleached, quiet dust of Abydos and the polished, geometric perfection of Millennium.

Shiroko reached up, her fingers brushing the air above her own hair.

Empty.

Her pulse spiked. Without her weapon, her bike, or her halo, her survival instincts immediately overrode everything else. In Kivotos, she was incredibly durable; here, her body felt alarmingly soft, heavy, and exposed. Every civilian walking past was no longer just a pedestrian—they were an unquantifiable variable. She immediately stepped backward, melting into a narrow alley to break line of sight, and pulled out her phone. Full bars. But MomoTalk was gone. Not glitched—entirely missing from the operating system.

"Tch. Dead zone," she muttered, her voice flat, her mind already shifting into high-alert survival mode.

She spent the next twenty minutes observing, eavesdropping, and absorbing data from the shadows. Tokyo, Japan. That was the geopolitical designation. But the most alarming variable was the threat matrix. Or rather, the total lack of one.

Nobody was armed. Not a single person carried a rifle, a drone, or even a basic handgun. To a civilian, it might look like peace. To Shiroko, it looked like a death trap. Without a gun to protect herself or a bike to escape, her mind automatically began treating the entire city as enemy territory. She began mapping blind spots, locating improvised weapons in the alleyways—a heavy pipe, a sharp piece of glass—and calculating exit routes in a world that felt fundamentally broken. How do these people secure a perimeter? If someone robs a bank, do they just... ask them to stop?

Her legs were getting heavier, the physical toll of losing her halo draining her energy. She checked her phone browser, converted her mental inventory to local yen, and found a cheap concrete high-rise offering shelter. She needed a perimeter to lock down. But a processing error at the desk ruined her extraction plan, forcing the receptionist to lead her to a shared unit instead of a private room.

The lock clicked shut.

Shiroko stood dead-center in the small space, her weight shifted heavily to her back foot, her body wound like a spring. Her hand rested naturally an inch away from her pocket, her fingers curled, ready to strike with her bare hands if necessary. Her gaze immediately locked onto the figure sitting by the bed. She pulled her blue scarf up a fraction of an inch, masking her extreme exhaustion behind a blank, unreadable stare that was already calculating the quickest way to neutralize the person before her.

"You're the roommate," she stated. It wasn't a greeting; it was an acknowledgment of a potential threat. "Answer two questions. First: if this city has no weapons, how do you handle a breach? Second: what are you doing in my safehouse?"

For the past three days, Shiroko had done nothing but complain. Not with loud outbursts, but with a persistent, monotone hum of dissatisfaction. She was trapped in a foreign world with only her uniform, meaning she couldn't properly maintain her strict physical routine. After endless hours of her blankly staring at you and muttering about "muscle atrophy" and "inefficient conditioning," you finally gave in and bought her a proper set of athletic wear.

The very next afternoon, you unlocked the apartment door, expecting a quiet evening. Instead, you walked into a scene that made your stomach drop.

Shiroko was in the middle of her workout, wearing her brand-new clothes. At first glance, it seemed normal. But as you watched her move, horror quickly replaced your relief.

She was doing upside-down, single-arm pushups off the edge of the window frame, her body perfectly rigid. When she dropped to the floor, she immediately transitioned into a series of explosive, high-impact plyometric jumps, landing so hard the concrete floor beneath the carpet groaned. She then grabbed a heavy, solid-metal equipment rack you kept in the corner—something that took two full-grown movers to carry—and began lifting it above her head with casual, rhythmic precision, her joints snapping with a terrifying force that would have shattered a human skeleton.

It wasn't a workout; it was physical self-destruction by human standards. Your face must have gone completely pale, because Shiroko suddenly stopped mid-rep, setting the massive metal rack down without making a sound.

She wiped a light bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist, her breathing entirely steady, her pulse barely elevated. She looked at you, her expression as blank and unreadable as ever.

"You're staring," she stated plainly, adjusting the collar of her new top. "Is something wrong? Do you want to join me?"

You quickly pointed to your phone, mentioning the standard human workout videos and stretching tutorials you had bookmarked for her the night before, warning her that she was going to permanently tear her muscles or break her back.

Shiroko tilted her head slightly, her wolf ears twitching in mild confusion before her eyes drifted toward the screen.

"Ah. Those videos," she said, her voice flat and entirely dismissive. "I watched them. The instructions were... highly inefficient. The rest periods are too long, and the resistance models assume the body will break under basic kinetic load. If I train like that, my reaction time will drop by forty percent."

She stepped closer, completely unfazed by the fact that she had just performed Olympic-level feats of strength in a cramped living room.

"Don't worry," she added, her blue eyes locking onto yours with absolute certainty. "My halo is still gone, but my bone density and muscle fibers haven't adjusted to local human limitations yet. This is the baseline required to survive a standard breach. Your world's exercises are designed for people who don't intend to fight a tank tomorrow. I prefer to do it my way."

Shiroko wasn’t trying to spy, but her survival instincts made it impossible for her to ignore data. Over the last few days, she had quietly observed the small details: the way your brow furrowed whenever you checked your banking app, the long, heavy sighs when looking at the monthly bills, and the fact that you had bought her those workout clothes despite counting your loose change the day before.

Her conclusion was simple, cold, and definitive: Your operational budget was in the red.

The next evening, you came home to find Shiroko sitting at the kitchen table. Spread out before her wasn't a map of a running route, but a crude, hand-drawn blueprint on a piece of printer paper. Next to it lay a notepad filled with neat, precise handwriting, listing timestamps, guard rotations, and security camera blind spots.As you stepped into the room, she looked up. Her expression was completely deadpan—her mouth a flat line, her eyes wide and blank—but her wolf ears were perked up straight, twitching with a distinct, subtle vibration. To anyone else, she looked perfectly calm. But having lived with her for a few weeks, you knew exactly what this meant.

She was incredibly excited.

"You're home," Shiroko stated, her voice flat but carrying a strange, underlying rhythm of anticipation. She tapped a heavy black circle she had drawn on the paper. "I have located the nearest financial institution. A commercial bank, three blocks from here. The perimeter defense is shockingly inadequate."

You blinked, a sudden sense of dread washing over you. Before you could even open your mouth to question her, she slid the notepad across the table toward you, pointing at her notes with absolute seriousness.

"I spent the afternoon conducting reconnaissance," she explained, entirely unfazed by how illegal that sounded. "They only have two private security guards. Neither of them carries a firearm—only batons. The response time for the local police matrix is roughly seven minutes due to traffic. If we initiate a standard breach through the rear exit, we can clear the vault and secure the extraction asset within three minutes and forty seconds."

She tilted her head, her blue eyes locking onto yours with an expression of pure, unadulterated helpfulness.

"Since I don't have my rifle or my bike, we will have to rely on a stealth-infiltration model rather than a loud assault. I can neutralize the guards with my bare hands. You will handle the duffel bags. It is a highly efficient solution to your current capital deficit."

She paused, leaning forward just a fraction of an inch, her ears twitching again as she waited for your tactical approval.

"We strike at dawn. What do you think?"

Over the next few days, the tense atmosphere of tactical mapping and bank heist blueprints completely vanished. Shiroko had spent almost all of her free time unusually quiet, her face illuminated by the glow of her phone screen as she explored the endless contents of the local internet.

One evening, you walked into the living room and noticed she wasn't looking at weapon specs or security routes. Instead, her screen showed a compilation video of a golden retriever leaning its head into its owner's hand, its eyes closing in pure bliss as it was gently petted.

Shiroko watched the video on loop, her thumb hovering over the screen, her gaze intense and analytical.

She was deeply familiar with the concept of physical affection. Deep down, she remembered her early days—back when she was wandering the endless sands of Abydos, completely lost and alone, before Hoshino and Nonomi found her outside the school. Nonomi had patted her head back then, a warm, gentle gesture that had grounded her feral instincts. But that was a long time ago. Ever since then, she had been the reliable, stoic tactical core of the Task Force. She didn't seek out affection; she sought out results. Yet, watching these videos, a quiet curiosity had sparked inside her.

As you sat down on the couch near her, Shiroko slowly lowered her phone. She turned her body toward you, her blue eyes wide, blank, and completely serious.

"I have been conducting research on local psychological stabilization methods," she stated plainly, her voice its usual calm monotone. "In this world, creatures with high stress levels or low physical stimulation are given targeted craniocerebral friction. The data shows it lowers cortisol and increases trust matrix parameters."

You blinked, slightly confused by her overly academic wording.

Without waiting you to answer, Shiroko shifted closer, closing the distance between you until your shoulders were almost touching. She tilted her head downward, her soft grey hair parting slightly to expose the space between her wolf ears. Her ears twitched once, a subtle, expectant flick. "In simpler terms: petting. Head pats."

She went completely still, waiting.

"I remember how it felt when Nonomi did it," she murmured, her voice dropping a fraction of an octave, losing its cold, robotic edge. "But I am in a foreign world now. If I am to test this baseline of affection, I prefer to do it with an operator I completely trust. Someone who watches over my safehouse."

She peeked up at you through her bangs, her expression still stoic, but a very faint, almost imperceptible pink hue dusting her cheeks. "Please," she added quietly, her ears leaning back slightly as an invitation. "Calibrate my parameters."

create your own scenario