Sentenced to Be a Hero: Penal Hero Unit 9004 Records — Requiem of the Transmigrated Poet
Kuon Kanade had one dream: to be a poet. For that, his classmates laughed at him. For that, he learned to make himself invisible—eating lunch alone in the library corner, humming where no one could hear, surviving on poetry collections and silence.
Then a strange book called *Resonance* swallowed him whole.
He wakes in a world of towering bookshelves and pointed ears, where a burning mark has appeared on his neck—a holy mark. By the laws of this continent, all who bear one are conscripted as h
Sentenced to Be a Hero: Penal Hero Unit 9004 Records — Requiem of the Transmigrated Poet - When I opened a poetry collection, I ended up being sent to a prison in another world
"...Yeah."
Kuon Kanade let it slip in a voice no one could hear.
The clamor of the classroom sounded distant, like the cicada chorus outside the window. Lunch break. His classmates had pushed their desks together in their little groups, laughing. Happy voices. Voices calling out to friends. Shadows with arms slung over shoulders, heading out into the hall.
All of it flowed around Kanade, parting to avoid him.
It's like I've turned invisible, he thought. No—thinner than air. Even when he was right in someone's line of sight, no one paid him any mind. That was Kanade's place in this classroom.
Second year of high school. Three months since the class shuffle. He still hadn't had a single proper conversation with anyone.
It wasn't that he was being bullied. It wasn't that he was being ignored, either. People just didn't come near him. And Kanade didn't go near them. Somewhere along the way, this distance had become normal.
Kanade closed the bento box spread out on his desk, careful not to make a sound. He hadn't even eaten half. He had no appetite.
(Hurry up and get to the library.)
For Kanade, the library during lunch break was the only place he could breathe.
The far corner by the window, deep in the library. A dusty little nook no one ever visited.
There, as always, Kanade opened a book of poetry. He'd already read almost every poetry collection the school library had. Even so, he read them again and again. Because while he was following the printed words, he could forget about the classroom—forget about himself.
Kanade loved poetry.
He loved to sing.
For as long as he could remember, spinning words together was the only thing he was good at.
Back in elementary school, there'd been a class where they wrote essays about their dreams for the future. Kanade wrote, "I want to be a poet."
The whole classroom laughed. Even the teacher laughed, looking uncomfortable.
"Being a poet won't make you any money." "Gross—what kind of guy wants to be a poet?"
From that day on, Kanade stopped saying his dream out loud.
He stopped singing, too.
Singing in front of people just got him laughed at. Got him strange looks. So it was enough to hum quietly, where no one could hear.
In the corner of the library, Kanade hugged the poetry collection to his chest and let out a small breath.
After school.
Kanade left the school building and walked straight in the opposite direction from the station. His destination was the city's central library. Much bigger than the school library, much quieter—and a place where no one knew him.
The library in the early evening was cool, smelling of paper and ink.
As always, Kanade headed for the literature shelves. Partway there, his feet stopped in front of the return cart.
Deep on the shelf. As if someone had forgotten to put it back, a single book was wedged in sideways.
(...What's that?)
Kanade reached out. It was an old book. Dark leather cover. The corners were worn, and the lettering on the spine had faded beyond reading.
It was heavy when he picked it up.
He opened the cover.
There, engraved in gold leaf, was a single word.
—Resonance.
(Resonance...?)
A word he'd never heard. Tilting his head, Kanade turned to the next page.
That was when it happened.
Brilliant light came pouring out of the book.
"Wha—"
He didn't even have time to cry out.
The light swallowed Kanade whole. His vision went pure white. He felt his body lift. The floor vanished. Gravity vanished.
—He was falling.
No—he was being hurled.
He couldn't see. Couldn't hear. Only the poetry collection in his hands felt strangely hot.
Kanade lost consciousness.
Cold.
The chill of a stone floor seeped into his cheek.
Kanade slowly opened his eyes.
He saw a ceiling.
An impossibly high ceiling. Stone arches stretching on and on.
(Where... am I?)
He pushed himself up. He looked around—and stopped breathing.
Enormous bookshelves.
Towering shelves, so tall he had to crane his neck, stood in orderly rows, stretching endlessly.
It was a library.
But not the city central library he'd been in moments ago.
The scale was completely different.
Stone walls. Stained glass. A soaring ceiling.
And people, coming and going.
Kanade couldn't believe his eyes.
There were people with pointed ears.
There were short, stocky, bearded people too.
Their clothing looked like it had stepped straight out of a movie. People in cloaks. People in armor. People in robes.
And the language they spoke was a foreign tongue Kanade had never heard.
And yet—
Somehow, only the meaning slid smoothly into his head.
"—Did you hear? Another maou phenomenon at the northern fortress."
"Yeah. The yuusha are said to be marching out soon."
"The Holy Knights are at their wits' end—not enough people with holy marks, I hear."
Maou phenomenon. Yuusha. Holy marks. Holy Knights.
Unfamiliar words kept pouring in.
(What are they talking about...?)
He understood the meaning of the words, but his mind couldn't keep up.
Kanade realized the black poetry collection was still clutched in his hands.
(Did this book bring me here...?)
That couldn't be. Even as he thought it, he had no other explanation.
Then it happened.
A searing heat shot across the back of Kanade's neck.
"—Ah—"
The sound escaped him before he could stop it.
The right side of his neck. Just above the collarbone. It burned.
As if someone were branding him.
Kanade pressed his trembling fingers to his neck.
Just then, a woman passing nearby caught sight of his face and stopped dead.
"...Y-you there, that mark on your neck—"
Her eyes were fixed on his throat.
"A holy mark...? Why is it such a murky color...?"
Holy mark.
The word those people had been talking about.
Her face went pale, and she backed away, one step, then two.
"S-someone! The guards! There's a holy mark bearer here—and a defiled one at that!"
Her scream-like voice rang through the quiet library.
Murmurs spread like ripples.
People drew away from Kanade.
Curious eyes. Frightened eyes. Contemptuous eyes.
(What—what's happening...?)
Kanade could only stand frozen in place.
"Don't move!"
A sharp voice cut through the air.
With the clatter of metal, several guards came running.
Silver armor. Swords at their hips. Spears in their hands.
"You there, boy—the one with the defiled holy mark."
One of the guards grabbed Kanade's arm roughly.
"I-I didn't do anything! I haven't—"
"Silence!"
Kanade's protest was cut off by a single shout.
"Any who bear a holy mark are conscripted as yuusha. That is the law of this continent. Resist, and you won't get off lightly."
Yuusha.
Until moments ago, that had been a word from stories.
Now it stood before Kanade as something real.
"Your name? Where are you from?"
"K-Kuon Kanade... from Japan..."
"Japan? Never heard of it. Doesn't matter. Wherever backwater you were born, now that a holy mark has manifested, you're a yuusha."
"W-wait, please! I'm not a yuusha, I—"
"Quiet! Take him away!"
Kanade's arms were wrenched behind his back, and he felt cold metal close around his wrists.
Chains.
"Why... I didn't do anything..."
Kanade's voice was shaking.
Tears welled up.
He was scared.
He didn't understand any of this.
He wanted someone to help him.
But no one would.
The people around him just watched from a distance.
"A holy mark criminal, you say? Is that true?"
A low voice spoke, and the crowd parted.
What appeared was a stern-faced man in a black uniform.
"Oh, from the Yuusha Penal Bureau. We're grateful for your trouble."
The guard snapped to attention.
The Yuusha Penal Bureau.
Another unfamiliar term.
The man in black expressionlessly examined Kanade's neck.
"...It's a holy mark, all right. And look at that murkiness. The mark of a yuusha who's committed a crime."
"I-I didn't! I haven't committed any crime—"
"Silence."
The man's voice was cold as ice.
"A holy mark bearer with no known charges. This falls under the Yuusha Conscription Decree and the Yuusha Penal Code. Therefore, I place you under restraint as a penal yuusha."
The man declared it one-sidedly, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Penal... yuusha...?"
"The worst punishment in this world. Even if you're killed, you'll be resurrected—you won't even be allowed to die. You'll fight maou phenomena endlessly, a disposable soldier."
The man's words turned Kanade's mind blank.
(Killed, but I can't die...?)
(A disposable... soldier...?)
"Take him away."
The man gave the order.
The guards pulled on the chains.
Kanade was dragged out of the library, helpless to resist.
When they emerged from the massive stone building, an unbelievable sight spread before him.
A townscape like medieval Europe.
Cobblestone streets. Carriages. Street stalls.
In the distance, white castle walls.
And beyond them, a colossal royal castle towering into the sky.
(This is... really another world.)
Kanade gazed at the scene in despair.
What Kanade was thrown into was a prisoner transport wagon fitted with iron bars.
A cage-like cart drawn by horses.
There were already several figures inside.
When Kanade was shoved in, every eye turned toward him at once.
"Oh, a new guy?"
A cheerful voice spoke.
Its owner was a young man.
Around twenty, maybe.
Messy brown hair. A scruffy beard.
He wore a friendly grin, but his eyes weren't smiling at all.
"I'm Tsarv. Nice to meet you. What's your name?"
"...K-Kuon, Kanade..."
"Kanade. Weird name. Where are you from?"
"J-Japan... though I doubt you'd know—"
"Japan? Never heard of it. But hey, everyone in here's got some quirk or another. Where you're from hardly matters."
The man who called himself Tsarv laughed loudly.
His laughter was somehow more unsettling for it.
"Oi, quiet down, Tsarv. We're about to talk with the interrogator. Keep it down."
Another voice cut in.
This time, it was a small man trembling in the corner of the wagon.
He looked about Kanade's age.
No—maybe even younger.
"Hic... s-sorry... I-I really didn't do anything... I just, um, borrowed a few things, that's all..."
The small man's teeth chattered as he desperately made excuses to the man in black sitting beside him.
"Dotta Ruzuras. By 'borrowed a few things,' do you mean the more than one thousand thefts on your record? Excuses won't work anymore."
The man in black replied with a sigh.
Dotta.
That seemed to be the small man's name.
Theft. Over a thousand.
(This guy's a criminal too...)
Kanade looked around the wagon again.
Tsarv.
Dotta.
And one more, talking with the man in black.
"No, no, no, wait. This has to be some kind of mistake. My name is Benetim Leopool, and you've really got the wrong person. Fraud, embezzlement—I can't think of a single thing, which honestly leaves me at a loss."
A man grinning shamelessly, arguing back at the man who appeared to be the interrogator.
He wore something like a suit, but his tie was crooked and his hair a mess.
"Benetim, your charges are fraud, embezzlement, violation of holy rights, and incitement to rebellion. Give it up already."
"But I'm telling you, you've got the wrong guy. There must be some villain out there who looks exactly like me."
"...You said the exact same thing last time."
"Huh? Did I? Hahaha, well—when a man can't accept his fate, he just ends up repeating the same excuses."
A con artist.
This man was a con artist.
And at the very back of the wagon.
There was one man who said nothing at all.
He wore a rusted helmet pulled all the way down.
His face was hidden.
Through the gap in the helmet, only vacant, hollow eyes peered out.
The man just sat there, swaying silently.
(...Is he a penal yuusha too?)
Kanade felt a chill run down his spine.
Everyone here was a criminal.
Murderers. Con artists. Thieves.
And then himself—sentenced to yuusha punishment without having done anything.
(What's going to happen to me now...)
Kanade clutched the poetry collection tightly to his chest.
This alone was his connection to his old world.
His only
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