I was Reincarnated as an Incompetent Leader with Zero Popularity who met his downfall early on. Instead of banishing the hidden cheat Protagonist, I decided to embrace him, and somehow, I ended up being treated like a Hero instead. - Chapter 2

“Hey, Alva! We’re closing up shop!”

A sharp, irritated voice pierced my ears, unapologetic in its tone.

“Get up and get out already. You’re a nuisance.”

The words were clear and direct, as if scolding a drunkard who had overstayed his welcome. Even though it had nothing to do with me, I felt an odd sense of discomfort.

Before I could fully process the situation, a sudden shock of cold water drenched me from head to toe.

“I’m talking to you, Alva Greyblood! You worthless adventurer!”
Startled, I bolted upright from the wooden table. Looking up, I saw a stout, middle-aged woman glaring at me, a water bucket still in her hands.

Alva Greyblood? That wasn’t my name. I wanted to tell her she had the wrong person, but before the words left my mouth, a jolt of electricity shot through my mind.

Alva Greyblood.

I knew that name. Memories—no, something deeper—flooded back to me in an instant.

It was the name of a character I’d created in middle school for my fantasy novel, The Shadow Knight Chronicles.

Alva Greyblood was a red-haired swordsman in his late twenties and the leader of the adventuring party The Grey Hawks, the group the protagonist, Chrono Knightley, initially belonged to. While Alva wasn’t weak, he was nothing more than fodder compared to the overpowered main character.

He was selfish, greedy, and loved nothing more than women, fame, and money. Alva underestimated Chrono, treated him like a servant, and eventually kicked him out, declaring him unworthy of being part of the “greatest party.”

Chrono, of course, went on to find true allies and rise to fame, while Alva, consumed by jealousy, attempted a cowardly ambush and met a pathetic, miserable end. A minor villain destined to be forgotten.

Back when I wrote the story, I didn’t give it much thought. Now, I realized Alva was the perfect example of a “deserved comeuppance” character—created solely for karmic justice.
And somehow, I had become that very pitiful antagonist.

“Stop staring into space and get out already, Alva!”

The tavern’s landlady shot me another glare, her voice dripping with disdain. She added a warning: next time, she wouldn’t hesitate to pour boiling water over my head.

In the novel, she had always been kind to Chrono, treating him like her own son because he reminded her of her late child. But to Alva—the lazy, opportunistic adventurer who loitered in her tavern—she had nothing but contempt.

More and more details of the novel flooded my mind. It felt as though the story’s settings were being reloaded into my brain, overwhelming me with familiarity and dread. It was useful, sure, but the process was enough to make anyone go mad.

I was supposed to be dead—stabbed to death in modern-day Japan by a random assailant. Yet here I was, alive, and not as myself, Takumi Haimura, but as Alva Greyblood.

“What the hell is going on…?”

The voice that came out of my mouth wasn’t mine. It was rougher, deeper—someone else’s entirely.