Graaswell had no shortage of surprises, but right now?
I didn't care about magic, adventure, or city politics.
I just wanted food.
My stomach was throwing a full-on rebellion—louder than a bass-boosted dungeon boss theme. Every step I took echoed with one desperate command:
"Feed me or I swear I will shut your whole body down."
I tried to stay focused, but my brain kept drifting back to the dungeon.
Forty days of hell. Monsters in every direction, traps behind every corner, zero sunlight. No exits. Just survival.
And the worst part?
I never thought I'd make it out.
Yet here I was—somehow alive, a little broken, and clinging to what was left of my dignity.
I laughed to myself. Not because it was funny, but because it was surreal. The stuff I'd gone through? It felt like something out of a fantasy movie… except with worse lighting and fewer heroic moments.
Would I ever go back there willingly?
Not unless I had a death wish.
And then I remembered something that made my eye twitch: my inventory.
Specifically, the fact that during the worst stretch of that dungeon run, it suddenly glitched out. Like, everything just vanished. My rations, my healing gear, my backup clothes—gone.
System message? "Entering scheduled maintenance."
Scheduled. Maintenance. In the middle of a life-or-death survival crawl.
It was like watching a vending machine eat your last coin and then spit out a "Closed" sign. But instead of snacks, it was my literal survival.
I sighed hard enough to deflate a balloon.
Sure, I survived… but I needed answers. And food. Mostly food.
That's when I saw her.
My partner.
The quiet badass who'd had my back through thick and thin. She didn't say much, but her skill spoke volumes. She was the real MVP between us.
…But let's be honest—I'm the one telling this story. So I get top billing. (Probably because I talk more. Or because I have better comedic timing.)
Still ticked about my disappearing supplies, I did what any hungry, emotionally unstable adventurer would do:
I threw hands.
At my inventory screen.
Yes. I literally started smacking the air like it owed me money.
To anyone watching, it probably looked like I was shadowboxing an invisible demon—or just having a mental breakdown in public.
To make it worse, I tried to play it off like some sort of cool martial arts performance.
I even threw in a dramatic spin-jump.
Bad idea.
I lost balance and wiped out—face-first—onto the cobblestone.
Mouth full of dirt. Zero pride. 100% regret.
I lay there for a second, questioning my life choices, then slowly pushed myself up like some awkward newborn deer.
A few people stopped and stared. Even the NPCs looked unimpressed.
I spat out a clump of gravel and muttered, "Yep. Just testing the ground's stability. Solid 10 outta 10."
Then I saw it.
No joke—a takoyaki stand.
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Still there.
Right in the middle of this medieval fantasy city was a stall selling actual, legit, golden-brown, octopus-filled takoyaki.
I froze. Was I hallucinating from hunger?
Had I crossed into some weird parallel isekai dimension where street food followed you between worlds?
I didn't care.
My stomach had already made the decision.
I had to check it out.
Because if this was real?
Graaswell wasn't just full of surprises—it was playing by rules I didn't even know existed.
---
To be continued...