My male childhood friend was a hero. A goddess transferred him to another world to become a hero. He was tasked with preventing the revival of the evil god that threatened the entire world. That was the setting of the story. What about me then? I’m just an extra, supporting role. The reason why I ended up in this situation was simply that I died together with that b*stard, my so-called childhood friend. Thus, the goddess sent me along to act as a supporting, behind-the-scenes player. According to legend, the hero would appear when the evil god was about to be revived. It was his duty to defeat the evil god along with four shrine maidens chosen by the goddess and bring about a peaceful era. Otherwise, the world would be destroyed. My job was to pave the way for him to achieve this goal and help love blossom between him and the shrine maidens. To be honest, I’d rather die than have to babysit that b*stard, but… I’m not even allowed to complain about it. I don’t care about the criticism from the peanut gallery about me being inadequate or incompetent. I did what I had to do, saving the world and getting the reward from the goddess—as a supporting role for the hero party. That’s why, please, O childhood friend of mine, PLEASE FIX THAT ROTTEN PERSONALITY OF YOURS ASAP! Please do so before we reach the point of no return, while my sanity is still intact—or should I say, before I get a stomach ulcer due to stress. Oh cr*p, those four are co—