Death made no sound.A screech of tires, a white light, then nothing. No film of his life, no final wisdom. Just a stray, foolish thought:I wish… I hadn't wasted my life.
When Terence opened his eyes again, there was no asphalt, no neon, not even the hum of a city. The air he drew in was damp, heavy with the scent of sap and moss. His cheek rested on a carpet of cold leaves. The sky frayed between the branches, streaked with orange and violet ribbons that heralded nightfall.
He lay there a long while, eyes lost in the foreign canopy. His heart beat slowly, as if surprised to still be beating. Then, at last, he moved: his limbs were stiff, but not broken. His hands… he stared at them. Slimmer. Younger. His shoulders felt lighter. A reflection of his former self. He shook his head. Not the time.
A voice echoed in his skull, clear and unreal:[Unique Skill Acquired]Routine — Repetition sharpens, polishes, and elevates. Each repeated action improves in precision, efficiency, and result. The effects are weak at first, but cumulative, with no defined limit.
He froze, mouth slightly open. A voice? A text? Whatever it was, the word remained: Routine."…This is a joke," he muttered.
No fireball. No sacred sword. No divine strength. Just… patience.A short, bitter laugh escaped him. "Very funny. Me, the man of habits."
The forest was darkening quickly. Branches rustled in the wind. He pushed himself up, stiffly. He needed a roof—any roof.
He walked aimlessly, each crunch of leaves too loud in the silence. Then the trees parted at once. In the center of a clearing stood a massive structure of wood and stone, roof sagging, a crooked sign above the door. An abandoned inn.
He approached slowly. The smell of dust and cold ashes filled his nose."…Sorry in advance," he whispered to no one. "But I'm sleeping here."
The door yielded with a groan.
Inside: a wide common hall. Overturned benches, lopsided tables, a counter yellowed with age. The stone hearth was blackened by long-dead fires. Cobwebs hung like forgotten war banners. Silence pressed down, thick with absence.
He circled slowly, eyes sweeping every corner. Old habit: spot the exits, the dry spots, potential threats. There, a pile of rotten wood. Here, a window whose panes still held. Enough."Alright. Fire first."
He gathered twigs, struck two stones he'd picked up outside. The first spark died instantly. The second wavered. He struck again. The third caught at last—flickering, but alive. He blew gently, like taming a wild animal. The flame stretched, tinting the dust with orange.Routine. Even fire yielded to repetition.
Heat crept toward him. He sat with his back to a beam, pulled from his crude pack a chunk of hard bread and a flask. Each rough bite drew a grimace, but it filled his stomach.
A sound cut the silence.Not a rat. Not the wind. Something else."…Is someone there?" he asked softly.
No reply. But he knew. Solitude had sharpened his hearing. He raised his hands, palms open."I just want a dry place to sleep. If this house is yours… I'll leave tomorrow."
A shuffle. A door upstairs creaked, then slammed too quickly. His gaze slid to the staircase. Tiny traces in the dust—barefoot prints.
He hesitated. Then broke his bread in two, set half near the fire, and stepped back."I'm not looking," he said, eyes fixed on the flames.
Minutes stretched. The fire purred gently.Two long white ears peeked over the doorframe. Not a headband. Not a costume. They twitched at every sound, alive, like antennas.
Terence went rigid. His brain, by reflex, searched for a familiar excuse: cosplay? animatronic? No. Too natural. Every twitch, every vibration of those ears caught the firelight.
When the face appeared, his breath seemed to stop. A small, thin girl in rags, cheeks hollow with hunger… but with those impossible ears, moving on their own. Her golden eyes gleamed in the dark, wary and afraid.
His stomach tightened. In his world, this didn't exist. It couldn't exist.Except in manga, in anime… in fiction.And yet, she was there. Too alive, too fragile, too real.
The truth hit him like a stone: he was in another world. Dead, reincarnated, cast elsewhere. No doubt left."…Holy shit…" he breathed.
The little girl clutched her blanket to her chest and took a hesitant step toward the bread by the fire. She looked at him like a cornered animal, ready to bolt at the slightest move.
Terence forced a gentle smile, though inside, his world had just shifted a second time.
She crept forward in jolts, freezing at each crack. Her hands clutched a torn blanket. Terence managed a small smile."Hi. My name's Terence."
She didn't answer. Her nose twitched, her ears trembled.He pointed to the bread by the fire. "You can take it."
She darted, snatched the piece, retreated at once. She bit into it, grimaced at the hardness, but persisted. Hunger outweighed pain.
Terence looked away, granting her dignity."You want water?"
She hesitated, then nodded. He set the flask halfway. She grabbed it, drank in small, precious sips, as if each drop mattered.
"Do you live here?" he asked.A thread of a voice."…No one."One word. That said everything.
He dug into his bag, pulled out a coarse blanket, set it on a bench. She touched it gingerly, then curled up in it and finally exhaled.
"Do you have a name?"Long silence. Then:"…Mie.""Mie," Terence repeated. "Nice to meet you."
She didn't know what it meant, but softly echoed:"Nice… to meet."
Her ears perked a little. She came to sit by the fire's edge. Her eyes stayed on him, weighing if he was dangerous. Apparently not.
They stayed there, listening to the wood crackle. The cracked mirror on the wall threw him a reflection: younger, chestnut hair with auburn glints, face less marked, light brown eyes surprised. He touched his cheek. It wasn't an illusion. Not just another world—another him.
Mie yawned, curled in the blanket, and fell asleep against the bench, ears still twitching. Terence remained still, back to a beam. The fire waned slowly.
Maybe this time… I won't be alone.