The morning wind swept past the stone guard post, carrying the scent of damp earth and drying grass. The soldiers stood at their usual stations, leaning on their spears, killing time with the kind of idle talk that fills the gaps in a peaceful life.
“Quiet today, isn’t it?”
“Quiet is good. Quiet means we don’t have to run.”
Laughter echoed off the rough-hewn walls.
“I hear Lady Claval is still recovering inside.”
“As long as she’s alive and kicking, that’s all I care about. I’ve had enough disasters for one lifetime. I just want to finish my shift and grab a drink.”
Everyone’s eyes were heavy with the specific drowsiness of a morning shift. The rattle of wooden cart wheels drifted from the road below. Birdsong mixed with the breeze. It was an ordinary morning in every way. A picture-perfect slice of peace.
“…Hey. Did something just flash?” The first to notice was the oldest soldier. He squinted, tilting his head.
Nobody answered. Because the air had changed instantly. The smell of the wind shifted. It picked up a sharp, metallic edge—like placing a 9-volt battery on the tongue.
For a heartbeat, the border between day and night seemed to twist. The shadows stretched in the wrong direction. A pillar of light speared through the sky and vanished into the clouds before anyone could blink.
“What was that…?”
“…An explosion?”
The stone under their boots gave a faint, sickening shudder. A sword hanging on the guard post wall rattled and clanged against the stone. Clang-clang-clang.
“The clinic! Go check on them!” The shout came out less like an order and more like panic. Two soldiers bolted down the slope, their armor clattering. The wind reversed. A low, ear-ringing hum spread out around them, vibrating in their chest cavities.
“Is Goddess safe—!?” Their shout dissolved into the wind and rippled outward. And then— The world was swallowed by light again.
VOOOOOOOM.
A blue-white flash. It wasn't just bright; it was absolute. It burned the afterimage of the clinic into their retinas. The soldiers could only raise their arms, shielding their faces, and wait for the god-like force to pass.
When it finally did, there was only silence. Only the smell of crushed grass and singed air. From the clinic window, a faint blue afterglow still leaked out into the quiet morning, pulsing like a dying star.
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On the earth, it was streamed by EWS. Under the title [Soldier’s Daily Life], there were only twelve subscribers. A dead slot. A channel usually watched by no one. The comments had been frozen for days.
But the light still flowed. The data packets crossed the void. The blue and white flash. The soldier’s desperate shout. The clinic window, and the shadow collapsing inside. fragmented chaos. Yet somehow, that became “the clip that shook the world.”
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Comments started to scroll. Slowly at first, then faster. The view counter spiked. 100. 1,000. 10,000. The footage was short, grainy, with zero explanation. Even so, everyone who watched it said the same thing: “I saw it. It’s real.”
Social media trends began to fill up with hashtags: #SoldiersDailyLife #BlueFlash #GoddessClaval #YuIsReal
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When the light of Yu's Bind cut off, the wind and sound went with it. Time Patrol—the entity known as TP—found himself adrift. His consciousness floated in absolute stillness. No shape. No temperature.
TP should have been swept away by that torrent of mana. He should have been deleted. But he hadn’t disappeared. In that quiet, he understood. —Yu Shiro. That boy is becoming something that can interfere with the laws of another world.
TP smiled in the darkness. Fine. I cannot cross the world. The laws forbid direct physical manifestation.Then… I will just use other means.
From deep in the dark, an echo reached him. A digital ripple. —Is the goddess safe—!? On the heels of that voice, a blue flash streaked by in the void. Data. An image of the clinic roof. A falling shadow. An instant-long video clip surfaced in fragments and dissolved again.
TP felt it. Someone was watching. Some “something” out there—a system—was recording events in this world and transmitting them.
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“Oh? So this is what it’s like to be ‘seen’ by EWS app. I see.” His voice didn’t echo anywhere—it rolled quietly within his own awareness. Faint lights kindled in front of him, one after another. Particles drew lines. Lines formed a ring. An image floated in the dark. The soldiers. The edge of the frame. The flare of light.
“If there is a connection… then I’ll make use of it.” TP chuckled. A low, dangerous sound. In the darkness, a single line of light spread. For him, that was the beginning of a new field of view.
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A lens that streamed the world—a “magic eye.” It had picked up what the soldiers saw and carried it to Earth. In that case, all TP had to do was follow the flow in reverse. He understood how it worked, hacked it, and began interfering with EWS. It was observation, extended. He wouldn’t send his existence. He would simply be projected.
“Inter-world Upper-Being Broadcast—coming right up ☆” The flippant voice popped like a soap bubble in the void. Light began to gather. Lines traced geometry. Shapes formed from nothing. In the center of the empty space, a “frame” opened. It looked like a stage. Stars glittered across the backdrop in ultra-high definition. A ring of light hovered at the front, acting as a spotlight. Letters floated into place, rendering in real-time 3D.
[Channel: Higher Being From Isekai World]
The logo spun slowly, took on a soft, neon-pink glow, and settled.
“Not bad. A bit tacky, but effective.” TP nodded, satisfied with his mental construct. There was nothing beneath his feet, but the instant he imagined a seat, a luxurious leather armchair appeared.
“Well then. Let’s start with introductions.” He sat in empty space, propped his elbow up on the armrest, and let a slow, arrogant smile curve his lips. The comment feed on his mental HUD was empty. Zero viewers. But TP’s eyes gleamed with amusement.
“On second thought, I should stand. First stream nerves and all? Gotta make an impression.” Inside the ring of light, TP rose smoothly to his feet. The chair vanished into dust. There was no floor—but his figure was clearly there.
“My name is… Time Patrol!” He spread his arms wide, his trench coat flaring dramatically in an invisible wind. At his voice, the space around him shivered; red and yellow strobe lights flared, filling the circle with fanfare.
“Strictly speaking, I don’t have a name at all, but consider it a nickname. Nice to meet you, everyone?” His words burst into the void—and somewhere far away, in another world called Earth, they took form on millions of screens.
For the first few seconds, the view counter stayed at zero. No comments. No viewers. But the words he spoke floated up, became fragments of text, and embedded themselves in the metadata.
“Claval.”
“Rize.”
“Team Jask.”
And—“Yu Shiro.”
That was when the EWS analytics AI twitched. It captured the audio, parsed the strings, and began auto-generating tags.
#Yu #Claval #HigherBeingChannel
In some corner of SNS, someone muttered:
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A few minutes later. The view count spiked. Vertical takeoff. Notifications chained across smartphones. The phrase “Higher Being Channel” spread like wildfire. On the side of the EWS chat tab, comments started to pour like a waterfall. The text moved so fast it was a blur of white.
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“Tiny creatures beyond the screen!” TP watched it all, his shoulders shaking with laughter.
“Let's get started. This—this is what you call… Truth on the Internet☆” His voice rang high, processed and perfect; light spiraled behind him like a halo. At that cue, the viewer count exploded.
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At EWS Headquarters. Central Control Room.
Chaos. Wall-to-wall monitors glowed with data. Red warning lights blinked across the ceiling, casting the room in an emergency crimson. Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Alert triggered! Channel name… unregistered!” At the operator’s shouted report, another staffer glanced up, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Where’s the broadcast coming from? Trace the IP!”
“Unknown! An unidentified feed has cut directly into the other-world observation grid! It’s bypassing the firewalls! What's happening?!”
On the main screen, a single title hovered, mocking them: [Channel: Higher Being From Isekai World]
Beneath it, a man in a long coat laughed like he was having the time of his life. Video analysis spun up instantly. Audio streams broke apart into raw data.
“…Flagged keywords detected: ‘Yu,’ ‘Claval,’ ‘Team Jask.’ Match rate: ninety-five percent!”
“That’s bad. Oh shit! This is a worst-case scenario!”
“Mute it! Now! He’s dropping real names!” Tense voices flew back and forth like gunfire. Keyboards clattered violently.
“There’s a delay! The system Safety lag! We still have a window!” After a few seconds of desperate scrambling, someone shouted.
“Do it!”
Fingers flew. The program kicked in, inserting a strip of “silence” a few seconds ahead of the live feed.
“…Okay, the ‘Yu Shiro’ segment is muted!”
“Don’t touch the visuals! We can't cut the stream! Maintain a delay as long as possible!”
The air in the control room was suffocating. Even if the Defense Ministry had agents here, this was the limit of what they could do against a god hacking their server.
On the main monitor, TP kept smiling.
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The Internet. Within minutes, the SNS trends were overwritten.
#YuIsReal #HigherBeingChannel #WorldInterferenceTheory
News apps pushed alerts to millions of pockets. Message boards spawned thousands of new threads. Government channels across multiple countries lit up with encrypted traffic.
—Chief press secretary: “Currently analyzing footage. Priority Alpha.”
—Certain Foreign Ministry: “Investigating as a massive cyber-terror event.”
—Other countries: “Beginning unofficial information sharing.”
At the same time, someone clipped TP’s stream and uploaded it to other SNS. The views crossed ten million in a blink. Comments turned into a storm of confusion and awe:
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“So…Who the hell is this guy?” One staffer at EWS, staring at a monitor, muttered, half in shock and half in fear:
Voices from another world flooded the real-world network. At the center of it all, TP’s smile only wavered pleasantly—as if he were enjoying a private joke that only he understood.
By then, he had already become the internet’s latest [god-tier streamer.]
“Well then,” TP said, his voice silky smooth, leaning into the invisible camera. “Let’s talk about the fate of these two worlds, shall we?”