Lucas was done with city life.
Now he sat in a cramped office, staring at a pair of plump breasts straining against a white button-up shirt—rising and falling sharply with irritation, arms crossed like a judge ready to deliver a sentence.
"Are you seriously resigning?" The mature woman glared.
"Yes, ma'am," he said evenly.
His resignation letter lay between them. The neat office felt suffocating—like the final reminder of a life he no longer wanted.
"These days it's hard to find a job. Don't be stupid!"
Lucas didn't budge.
"Thousands end up unemployed because of reckless decisions like this," she pressed. "Think about your future."
Lucas exhaled, gaze on the paper.
"I just… don't belong here."
Her jaw hardened, but Lucas was already standing. He picked up his worn briefcase and bowed slightly.
"Thank you. For everything."
He stepped out. The door clicked shut behind him, and Lucas finally breathed—deep, real, freeing.
Outside, the city assaulted him: honking cars, rushing crowds, glass towers stabbing the sky.
Yet he walked straight through it as if it no longer mattered.
---
A Week Later
Lucas crouched beside his grandfather, hands buried in damp soil. Rows of tomato plants gleamed under the warm afternoon sun.
"Hahaha! The seed you planted yesterday grew faster than mine," his grandfather laughed, giving him a hearty slap on the back.
Lucas chuckled, sweat dripping—but his expression was calm, peaceful.
This. This was what he wanted.
Not skyscrapers.
Not meetings.
Just a garden, clean air, and quiet laughter.
The sky was a perfect blue. Birds fluttered by. Crickets sang.
"Lucas, I'll head home first," his grandfather said, fixing his straw hat. "Come back when you're done."
"Alright, Grandpa."
Lucas waved, admiring the neat line of crops. Peace wrapped around him like a warm blanket—
—until everything shifted.
A gentle breeze rolled through the field.
Then it sharpened.
Leaves trembled. Soil scattered. He looked up, confused.
The sky darkened—fast—as thick storm clouds gathered overhead.
"…What the hell? It was sunny."
He stood. Wind howled. Branches whipped violently.
BOOM.
Thunder rolled.
He flinched—and ran. Cold sweat slid down his spine.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Then a blinding streak carved the sky open.
FLAAASH—KRAAACK!
"AGH—!"
A cold, grimy floor pressed against his cheek.
Lucas groaned. His ears rang. His limbs buzzed like he'd jammed a fork into a socket and lost.
He forced his eyes open.
No sky.
No tomato fields.
"…Huh?" He blinked. "Why the hell am I on the floor?"
He pushed himself up, everything aching—not like falling, but like someone dumped him here.
Then he touched his face.
He froze.
Smoother skin. Younger.
Leaner, toned arms.
A body that wasn't his.
"…This isn't my body."
Only then did he notice the people.
None of them looked at him.
One man stared at an empty table.
Another hid behind his drink.
Two whispered, stealing terrified glances before pretending nothing happened.
His heartbeat spiked.
"What the hell… is this place?"
He scanned the room: rough wooden tables, creaky chairs, shelves of cheap booze, and a fat man wiping a glass behind the counter.
"…A tavern?"
Everything felt real. Too real.
He was still on one knee, steadying himself, when—
BAM!
The door blasted open. The whole tavern flinched.
Footsteps entered—slow, heavy, metallic.
A silver-haired woman in light armor walked in, expression carved from ice.
Her eyes locked onto him instantly.
"Young Master."
Lucas pointed at himself. "…Me?"
She didn't answer.
Her gauntleted hand shot out—
and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, yanking him like dead weight.
"H-Hey—! Wait—!" Lucas stumbled as she dragged him.
Everyone else lowered their heads. Some even covered their ears.
Only the knight's boots echoed—cold, absolute.
"I—I can walk! Just let go—!" He protested.
She leaned close, whispering in razor-sharp disgust:
"Useless trash. All you ever do is burden the Baron and the Baroness."
Lucas froze.
"…Huh!?"