"Thanks for coming!" Cale—tall, lean, with a mop of unruly black hair—said in the most cheerful voice he could muster while wearing a convenience store uniform that had clearly seen better days.
He sighed.
Three days. Three whole days since someone had bought anything here. The province was practically empty now—most people had moved to the city, leaving behind a handful of stubborn souls like him.
It wasn't always like this. When he was four, after his mother died in an accident, his dad had moved them here to live with Grandpa. Back then, the convenience store was Grandpa's pride and joy, and the town was full of friendly faces and noisy markets.
But Grandpa had always warned him: "Even a peaceful place can change, Cale. You should know how to protect yourself." Then came the martial arts lessons… and swordsmanship. For a six-year-old, it was torture disguised as "family bonding." Still, Grandpa insisted it was their family's secret art, never to be taught to anyone outside the family.
By twelve, Grandpa was gone. Three years later, Dad followed. At fifteen, Cale dropped out of school to run the store. Four years passed in a blink, and now he was nineteen, in charge of a nearly deserted business.
Jobs? Forget it. No high school diploma, no offers—unless you counted the random modeling scouts who had approached him in the past. But back then, life was too heavy for him to care. Now… yeah, maybe he regretted it a little.
His thoughts were interrupted when the store door slammed open so hard the bell almost fell off. In swaggered six guys dressed like they were auditioning for "Cheap Villains R Us."
"Hey, pretty boy! Get me everything you've got!" the leader barked.
"Yeah—money, everything!" one of the others added, clearly the group's echo chamber.
Cale stared at them, deadpan. Again? Really? This was robbery attempt number… what, fifty-one? In a town this empty, you'd think word would've spread: his store was basically broke.
"I don't have anything," Cale said flatly. "Look around—does this place scream 'money'? No? Exactly. Almost a ghost town here. Do the math."
The leader sneered. "You think we're fools? Take everything, boys!"
Cale cracked his neck. "Do you really want to do this?"
The leader smirked. "You think you can handle us? Ha! HAHAHA!"
Cale didn't bother replying. In two steps, he was in front of him and—BAM!—a solid punch to the face sent the leader stumbling, clutching his now-broken, bleeding nose.
"UGH—what the—" The rest of the sentence was lost when Cale's boot found its way to the guy's family jewels.
"GET HIM!" the leader wheezed to his crew.
They rushed him with bats and knives, but Cale's body was already moving. A twist, a grab—CLANG!—the first bat hit the floor. The others hesitated just long enough for Kain to turn the store into his personal martial arts demo reel. A kick here, a strike there—one by one, they dropped.
Within moments, the six tough guys were groaning on the ground like they'd just lost a wrestling match with a blender.
Cale looked around at his slightly battered store. "Great. More cleanup." He called the police, who arrived thirty minutes later to haul the wannabe gangsters away. Then came the sweeping, mopping, and sighing—lots of sighing.
Finally, he pulled down the metal shutter. Time to go home.
---
Home was quiet as always. Shoes off, dinner made and eaten, dishes washed. As he walked down the hallway toward his room, he passed his father's old door… and then Grandpa's.
Something made him stop. The door was slightly open—and light was leaking out.
Cale froze. He hadn't stepped inside Grandpa's room since the old man died. The light was never on. Which meant…
A thief?
He tensed, crept forward, and kicked the door open—only to find no one there. Just a faint glow coming from behind Grandpa's old wooden cabinet.
Curiosity won out. He shoved the heavy thing aside and froze. Carved into the wall was a strange rune-like pattern, and in the middle of it… a glowing golden door.
"What the hell…?" he muttered, stepping closer.
The glow was hypnotic. Before he knew it, he was opening the door, shielding his eyes against the blinding light. A cool breeze carried the scent of fresh soil, grass, and trees.
When he peeked, there it was—a small clearing surrounded by dense forest. The golden door stood by itself, no wall or building in sight.
Heart pounding, he stepped back inside and shut it. His eyes caught another faint glow—this one coming from Grandpa's desk drawer. Inside was an old envelope, a gold ring shaped with a sword motif, and a letter written in neat but slightly faded handwriting.
---
Letter from Grandpa:
> To my Grandson, Cale,
If you're reading this, I'm either gone or have forgotten where I put my glasses. Most likely the first one.
I once thought your father would inherit this, but he never cared for martial arts—or swords. So I waited. Then you came along.
This will sound insane, but I'm not from Earth. I was the Duke of Ashford in another world. My brother betrayed me, stole my title, and sent assassins after me. In the chaos, the family ring began to glow, and before I knew it, I was here.
I searched for a way back for years… until I met your grandmother. After that, the search didn't seem so important anymore. But five years ago, the ring glowed again. I learned how to create a door back to my world. I kept it secret.
You are strong, Cale—but you could be stronger. That world can make you so. If you wish to move the gate, wear the ring and imagine the doorway home. It will appear before you. Always wear the ring when traveling between worlds.
Good luck, Grandson.
—Grandpa
P.S. If you meet anyone who looks like me, run. It's probably my brother.
---
Cale set the letter down, mind spinning. Grandpa—his martial arts-obsessed Grandpa—had been a literal duke from another world. And now, apparently, Cale had inherited the door.
One hour later, his decision was made.
---
Packing was quick: knife, handgun, sword, camping gear, food, first aid kit. Windbreaker on, hiking boots laced, backpack slung over his shoulder.
He stood before the glowing golden door, took a deep breath, and stepped through.
Five minutes into the forest, he found a dirt road. That's when the pain hit—white-hot agony tearing through every muscle.
"Ugh!" His body burned like molten metal was coursing through his veins. Ten minutes felt like an eternity, until—just as suddenly—it stopped.
Drained, he collapsed, the world fading into black.
---