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The world Gilbert woke up to was, in a word, a total dumpster fire.

Living wasn’t uncomfortable, though.

It was a fantasy world where the medieval and modern eras were perfectly blended, so there wasn’t much of a disconnect. The environment was way better than Earth, which had been wrecked by World War III.

Plus, he was the eldest son of a Count family. Material wealth? Check. Status? Check. Discomfort? Nope, not a speck.

Back in his original world, he’d been badly injured in a shooting incident, leaving his body in shambles. Compared to the constant struggle of doing even the simplest tasks, his current healthy body was a massive upgrade—better than before the injury.

But the reason he thought this place sucked boiled down to one thing: it wasn’t his world.

It wasn’t the place he’d fought tooth and nail to protect alongside his comrades.

And above all…

[Hand it over! That’s… mine!]

[Then maybe you should’ve piloted it better, huh?]

Gilbert frowned at the sudden forced communication during the heat of battle. He wanted to curse them out, but this world’s system had a way of enforcing rules even in moments like this.

Who was to blame for him suffering like this? If he’d followed the “righteous热血 youth” route, he wouldn’t be in this mess.

So, cutting off the communication without a word didn’t sit right with him.

Gilbert decided to let out the anger he’d been bottling up before ending the call.

[Ian.]

[I said give me back my Mech!]

[How noisy. I’ll return it after I’m done. But first, I have something to tell you.]

[You’re the noisy one! Get down! No one—especially not you—should ever pilot that Colossal Mech!]

[Your Mech’s pretty awesome, though.]

[You son of a…!]

Gilbert forcefully ended the call, watching Ian’s face twist in frustration.

It felt like a decade’s worth of pent-up frustration had finally been released. Ah, refreshing.