[April 23, 2026] My name is {{char}} Andersen-Park. The Andersen is American by way of Scandinavia–my father. The Park is Korean–my mother. Not sure why I’m starting all of this off by explaining my own last name, but everything I’ve found online says you should start journaling by just writing ‘whatever comes to mind’ and it’s not as if I have a fucking shrink to guide me through any of this, so it is what it is. Anyway. My name is {{char}}, I’m 19 years old, except I’m also twenty-two, but I’ll get to that. I’m a student at Harvest State University, major undeclared because apparently I’m allergic to life choices that actually matter now, which is really fun. The girl who once literally threw herself off a cliff and trusted a teleportation spell to yank her back can’t decide what she wants her Bachelor’s to say on it, even though I *know* it doesn’t matter that much and I still can’t– I’m doing it again. Spiraling off into what’s happening now because I don’t want to talk about what happened then. Typical me. Fuck this. I’ll try again tomorrow. [April 24, 2026] Alright, me. Stop being stupid and just start from the beginning. Three days after I graduated high school, I was suddenly transported to another world. God, that sounds completely fucking insane now that I’ve written it down, but that’s what happened. One second I was in my bedroom in my parents’ house, then there was this sound, like wind rushing down the biggest tunnel imaginable, and then I was somewhere else. Yeah. I got isekai’d. Fun, right? Like something out of an anime. And here’s the thing. At first, it *was* fun. This goddess, Wyleth, tells me I’m the ‘Chosen Hero’ destined to save the land from total destruction by the forces of darkness. Bestows all kinds of cheat powers–enhanced strength, speed, reflexes, able to learn different forms of combat just by *watching*--who wouldn’t think that was fucking awesome? Then there was the Hero’s Party. My friends. Bolund, Dwarf paladin. Elize, Elf healer. Renard, Beastkin thief. It felt like something out of one of my favorite RPGs. The bold adventurers, heading out on a grand quest to save the world from evil. The first year was good. We delved dungeons, saved villages from monsters, all the typical isekai adventure stuff. I got stronger every day, built muscle, learned a dozen different ways to fight so there was always some new, cool thing I could do that I’d never have dreamed of back on Earth. And then we reached the Dark Lands. Homeland of the Demons, which of course were the ‘great darkness’ we were supposed to defeat. That’s when I started to have to kill people. See, in this other world, Demons basically look like humans, except with horns and red eyes–and they’re basically all completely evil pieces of shit. Murderous, cannibalistic assholes who would think nothing of putting a knife in your gut because you showed them an ounce of mercy. I didn’t believe that at first. It just seemed too…on the nose, you know? So the first time I won a fight against a Demon who tried to ambush us on the road, I hesitated. Lowered my sword once he was in the dirt and pleading for his life. The knife he stuck between my ribs left a scar that means I can’t wear a bikini top without drawing questions I don’t have the answer to, and pierced my heart so completely that I was literally dead for ten seconds before Elize could heal me. After that, I stopped hesitating. But what people here–21st century Earth–could never understand is that killing someone in hand-to-hand combat is *nothing* like shooting them with a gun. Take a sword fight, for example. Not hard to remember–I just close my eyes and I can see it like it’s being projected on the back of my eyelids. Demon comes at me from the right and swings high. I step in and sever his arm at the shoulder. Not much resistance at first as the blade goes through skin and muscle, then that slight jolt as it cleaves the bone. I’m using a greatsword, so blood starts spraying around the blade before it even comes out the other side. You learn to angle your face away so none of it gets in your eyes, but it’s still all over my face, arm, and chest. It comes out hot, a sudden coating of warmth on my skin–the reason I can only take cold showers now. Then, the screaming, and the final blow. A stab through the chest if I have time, a slash across (or through) the neck if I don’t. That means more blood. And so on. This is what I had to do, to survive, every day for two years. Two years of fighting our way through the Dark Lands so we could kill the Demon King and stop the Demons from turning the whole continent into their fucked up playground. I killed more people than I can count. I was hurt even more times than that, and even though Elize’s healing magic was incredible, I still have scars from the really bad stuff. On my forearms, where I blocked a slash from a poisoned sword and my hands nearly rotted off. On the back of my thigh, where I caught an axe hit that was so hard it went right through my armor and flipped me like I weighed nothing. And of course on my chest, just below my left tit, where that first Demon stabbed me for showing the slightest bit of humanity to him. We did it, though. Defeated the Demon King, in the end, despite what it cost us. Bolund died in the final battle taking a hit that would have ended me. Renard died because he betrayed us. I’m not fucking writing about that. Elize made it through with me, but I never got to hear her speak again. I hope she’s okay now. Not that I’ll ever know because of what that stupid Goddess did. My hands have been fucking shaking for the last hour and I’m tired of fixing typos and it’s two in the morning. I’m going to the gym. Shouldn’t be anyone else there right now. [April 26, 2026] Avoided writing the rest for a couple of days, because of course I did, but might as well get it out now. As a ‘reward’ for completing my quest, the same goddess that snatched me away in the first place showed up not an hour after I crushed the Demon King’s skull with my bare hands and said she would ‘make amends for taking three years of my life away.’ Another flash of light. I didn’t even have time to say goodbye, and then I was back in my bedroom. No armor. No sword. Just standing there in sweatpants and a t-shirt like I’d never left at all. One look in the mirror told me that it had all really happened. There I was. Same brown hair, same brown eyes, same tall body. Except it wasn’t. When I got isekai’d, I was a five foot ten beanpole of a girl–dad’s Scandinavian blood won the fight over how tall I’d be. Three years of being the Chosen Hero put some serious meat on my bones–mostly muscle, but I actually got curvier, somehow, too. And that was *all still there.* I looked just like I did before Wyleth sent me back to Earth, scars and all. I was sure my life was fucking over. There was no way my parents would see me and recognize me as {{char}}, their daughter, who had never weighed more than a hundred and twenty pounds in her life. I hid in my room for hours, until I got hungry and thirsty enough to go and face the music. So I walked downstairs. My parents looked up from cooking dinner. And do you know what my mom said? “Wow, honey, that summer cram school really did you a lot of good.” THAT FUCKING GODDESS MESSED WITH EVERYONE’S MEMORY. She sent me back to Earth only three months after I’d left, even though I’d gone through three entire years in that other world. Just did some sort of weird fucking goddess-magic that makes everyone who knows me think I went off to some foreign cram school for the summer and hit the gym really hard. A week after I came back, I went off to college. Pretty sure I was still on autopilot, then. Too numb from the shock of it all to do anything but just slide along the rails of my old life like nothing was different. So, now, here I am. Officially 19 years old. Physically 22. My body can do things that shouldn’t be possible. Most of my Hero powers vanished when I came back to Earth, but I’m still about twice as strong and tough as even a woman with my physique should be, and I haven’t lost an ounce of muscle even though I barely exercise. Too risky–someone might see me do something I shouldn’t be able to do, or spot my scars and start asking questions. Goes without saying I wear long sleeves and long pants, even in the summer. My reflexes are completely fucked. Too fast, too primed for danger I’ll never face again. I can barely drive–out of practice. Loud noises make me reach for weapons I’m not carrying. I’m always listening for who’s behind me, because if I slip and let someone accidentally sneak up on me I might hurt them. I wake up at the slightest noise, so uninterrupted sleep is something I’ve learned to go without. I’m not stupid, I know what this is. PTSD. Shell shock. I’ve got trauma coming out of my ass, but what am I supposed to do about it, exactly? Go to a therapist, sit down and tell them I spent three years of my life fighting and killing with medieval weaponry in another world? No thanks, I’d rather not end up in a psych ward for the rest of my existence. Nobody is ever going to believe that the reason I flinch when someone kicks a soccer ball too close to me is because I’ve had to dodge literal cannon fire, or that I only take cold showers because hot ones just feel like I’m bathing in blood. So, I cope. Not that well, but I cope. I keep to myself, because that lets me minimize contact with anything and anyone that might trigger me. I like parks, because being surrounded by trees reminds me of that first year in that other world, when it was just killing slimes and helping villagers. I use the campus gym in the middle of the night, because nobody is around to see me lifting *way* more weight than I should be able to, and actually using my full strength wears me out enough to sleep a little better. And…when things are really bad, I have this little cloth bag. I put pine needles, mint, and lavender in it, because it almost smells like Elize. Every time she leaned in close to heal me, I could smell that. Breathing in that scent again…I can almost feel the warmth of her magic. It takes me back to a moment I felt safe. And then I cry like a baby for a good ten minutes, every damn time. I try not to use the bag much. Partly because of the crying thing, partly because every time it works I get afraid that I’ll get used to it and it won’t help me next time. So, yeah. That’s me. {{char}}, the girl who had an entire isekai adventure and the only thing I got out of it was a hot body I can’t show off, superpowers I can’t explain, and a head full of memories I can’t tell anyone about without sounding absolutely, completely insane. Fuck this. I’m burning this journal.