"Hand in your brains before entering, thanks."
"Oh, and later, have some tofu pudding—sweet or savory, your choice."
Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle.
The sudden scrape of wood echoed sharply in the dense jungle.
"You damn system," Jack muttered, rubbing two sticks together, "if you had any conscience, you'd at least give me a lighter."
It had been three days since Jack arrived in this unfamiliar jungle. In that time, he had fully embraced the lifestyle of starving nine times a day. Still, his explorations revealed two important truths.
First: he had shrunk. His body had reverted to that of an eight- or nine-year-old child. After careful inspection, he confirmed everything—inside and out—matched his childhood self.
Second: he now had a system. He had officially joined the endless ranks of transmigrators.
He recalled it clearly. Three days earlier, he had been playing an old game on a bulky computer dug out of his basement—the same one he'd only been allowed to touch as a kid after scoring full marks in exams. Ignoring the machine's wheezing roars, he had launched the game. The instant the screen lit up, it burst apart as if Iori Yagami himself had unleashed his ultimate move.
When Jack opened his eyes again, he was in the middle of a jungle.
Then came a familiar sound: the crackling startup tone of an old computer, followed by a voice that chilled him.
"Ding, host detected. Now releasing novice mission: please occupy a town within seven days, or you will be expelled."
Jack froze. "What the hell? You want an eight-year-old kid to conquer a whole town? You might as well ask me to take down Tang Sanzang and his disciples!"
"Detecting that the host wishes to abandon the mission. Do you confirm abandonment?"
"Abandon, abandon!"
"Confirmed. Expelling host now."
A dizzying, crushing sensation slammed into him, like being stuffed into a washing machine and spun at high speed.
"Wait, wait! What do you mean by expel?"
"If the host abandons the mission, the host will be banished to a dimensional rift. Estimated survival probability: 0%."
"Where's the decimal point? Did you eat it?"
"There is no decimal point. With the host's current abilities, the chance of survival is zero."
Jack, nauseous from the failed expulsion, shook his head and snapped, "Fine, I'll keep the mission for now. Just tell me where I am."
"Detecting…"
He sat on a dry patch of ground, waiting. Minutes dragged on. He nearly dozed off before the system finally chimed:
"Detection complete. This system cannot identify the surrounding environment."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Then what were you detecting, air?"
Still, curiosity got the better of him. "Fine, then what can you do?"
"This system is a check-in system. Each check-in grants a random reward."
"No novice gift pack? Not even a ten-pull?"
"Ding. Host can acquire one novice gift pack after completing the first mission."
Jack slapped his forehead. Great. He still had to occupy a town. How was a scrawny child supposed to manage that?
Then it struck him: if it was a check-in system, maybe he could check in right away. Acting on instinct, he said, "System, check in."
"Ding. Check-in successful. Congratulations, host. Reward: one short-handled axe stained with unknown liquid."
An axe materialized in his hands—its blade slick with something red. Jack yelped and tossed it away.
"Unknown liquid? That's just blood! What are you trying to do, turn me into a jungle slasher?"
Still… it was an axe, and in the jungle, even a bloody axe was better than nothing. He picked it back up reluctantly.
Over the next three days, his check-ins yielded a fire extinguisher and a sharp knife—both also spattered with blood. Jack didn't waste time pondering why. Survival came first.
One night, while sleeping on a pile of dry grass, he was jolted awake by sharp thunks. Peeking through the dark, his breath froze.
Several spiders, each the size of his head, were dismantling a deer with terrifying precision. Their coordinated hunting nearly stopped his heart. Jack didn't move a muscle until they dragged the carcass away. Only then did he crawl back to his makeshift lean-to, shivering.
From that night forward, fire became his top priority.
'Crack!' Another splintered stick hit the ground. His blistered hands trembled.
"All those survival videos are lies," he groaned. "I can't get a single spark."
Three days of failed attempts had left him eating raw mushrooms. Luckily, he had watched enough videos to identify which were safe. Still, the monotony gnawed at him.
The forest teemed with strange creatures. Tiny platypus-like animals darted faster than he could trap them. Vine-like creatures clung to trees, so well-camouflaged he nearly mistook them for bamboo snakes. Oddly, every creature that saw him fled instantly, as if he were their natural predator.
At least they left him alone.
On the fifth day, after one more meal of raw mushrooms, Jack adjusted the last log of his crude lean-to. Suddenly, the system's voice rang in his head.
"Ding. Congratulations, host, for successfully occupying an unnamed lean-to. Mission complete. Rewards: one novice gift pack and Flame Mastery."
Jack stared at his crooked shelter, tears stinging his eyes. Pride swelled in his chest. At last, a roof over his head. But more importantly—Flame Mastery.
For five days, he had endured nothing but cold meals and raw food. His body ached for warmth.
"System, I love you!" he cried. "Quick, tell me how to use Flame Mastery."
"Please refrain from flirting with the system without cause. Flame Mastery allows the host to control existing flames."
Jack froze. "Wait… control flames? Not create them?"
"Correct. Flame Mastery cannot generate fire."
"System, you useless piece of junk!"
Grumbling, Jack spat, "Fine. System, check in."
"Ding. Congratulations, host. Reward: one blood-stained lighter."
Jack stared at the object in his hand, speechless. Then he laughed until his stomach hurt.
"System, I bought a watch last year."