Sunlight stabbed through the crack in the shutters and hit Roland straight in the face.
"Arghhh… damn you, morning."
He rolled over, but his bed creaked like it was about to collapse, so he stopped halfway. The straw mattress was already flat as a pancake, and the blanket smelled faintly of ale. His blanket usually smelled like ale because last night he spilled some while drinking and then forgot about it.
He groaned. His joints popped when he stretched. He sat up slowly, rubbing his shoulders. His hair, messy and sticking everywhere, felt like bird's nest.
"This body… tch." He smacked his lips, still dry. "Reborn, huh. Grew up here, huh. And now somehow turned into this ossan. Huhhhhhh. It looks like a cruel joke, man."
He stared at his rough, middle-aged hands. Not delevoper hands anymore. There's no keyboard. No mouse. Just callouses from chopping firewood he rarely chopped and holding fishing rods.
He leaned against the wall, muttering:
"Yeah, I remember. I was a developer once."
Not the flashy type though, just the guy behind the curtain, fixing spells. Well, spells in games of course, not… real magic. Heh.
He closed his eyes, remembering the office.
The buzzing lights. The endless lines of code. Fireball spell breaking for the hundredth time.
His own stupid heartbeat stopping at the desk.
"And then I woke up. As a baby. In this world. Wah wah, everyone so happy, new life, magical world." He snorted.
'I should've been happy too, right? But nah. I decided, in this world, no more deadlines. No more late-night debugging. I just want naps, fishing, and cheap booze.'
'That's my vow. Ossan's vow.'
He yawned. The yawn stretched long enough to make his jaw ache. He scratched his belly, which was slightly round.
Outside, birds chirped too cheerfully. Someone's goat bleated. The village was already awake. People were working, hauling water, chopping wood, preparing for the day.
And Roland? He was still sitting on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
"…Alright, fine. I'll get up." He swung his legs to the floor, wincing when his knees made another loud crack.
"Damn knees. Why'd reincarnation give me bad joints? Could've at least patched that, right? Ugh, balance update, hello?"
He shuffled to the basin in the corner. The water inside was cold and not very clean, but he splashed it on his face anyway. The shock woke him up a little. His reflection on the surface showed a man with stubble, messy black hair with a few strands of gray, and tired eyes.
"Roland the Magician," he muttered at the water.
Level forty-something in ossan life. Special skill: avoiding work. Passive ability: drinking too much ale.
He snorted and grabbed a half-broken comb, running it through his hair once before giving up.
Then he reached for his robe. It was supposed to be wizardly, but honestly it was just a brown cloak with some burn marks and stains. He pulled it on, tied it with a rope belt, and sighed.
"Okay, hello World! Time for…" He paused. "Eh, nothing. Time for nothing."
His stomach growled. That decided it.
"Fine, tavern it is."
He grabbed his staff, leaning it against his shoulder. It wasn't majestic. Just a long stick he carved a bit at the top. People assumed it was magical, so he didn't bother correcting them.
As he stepped outside, the sunlight stabbed again, making him squint. He muttered curses at the sky.
The dirt road stretched through the small village, people already busy with morning work. Farmers waved. Kids ran past. Someone's chicken darted across.
Roland ignored most of them and headed straight toward the tavern.
The tavern sat near the village square, old wooden walls leaning slightly like they were tired too. A crooked sign swung above the door, squeaking with every breeze.
Roland pushed the door open, and the familiar smell hit him; ale, stew, and a faint hint of damp wood. It was still morning, so only a few old men were there, sipping soup or grumbling about taxes.
Behind the counter stood Mira.
Mira was a widow in her thirties. Woman with sharp-tongued and sharp-eyed, the kind of woman who could skin a rabbit and skin a man with equal ease.
She spotted Roland the moment he shuffled in.
"You." She pointed her ladle at him like it was a spear. "Roland. Again? Morning's barely started."
Roland yawned, scratching his stubble. "Morning, Mira. Lovely day for a drink, huh?"
"Drink? At this hour? You lazy ossan!" Mira slammed the ladle back into the pot, splashing stew.
"Other people are working, you know. Chopping wood. Fixing roofs. Hauling water. You—" she jabbed her finger at him— "you're here like a crow waiting for scraps."
Roland held up both hands in surrender.
"Hey, hey, I'm retired."
"Retired from what? You don't even work!"
"Exactly. I retired early."
One of the old men chuckled into his soup. Mira shot him a glare, and the chuckle died instantly.
Roland sighed and shuffled to his usual seat at the corner. The chair creaked under him. He leaned his staff against the table, slumped back, and said:
"Just give me something light. Bread, maybe soup. Ale too, if you're feeling generous."
Mira crossed her arms, frowning. "Generous? You still owe me from last week."
Roland rubbed his chin. "…I'll debug your oven later."
"It's a stove."
"Same principle, with fire spell, rune array, and heat distribution. Your stew keeps burning on one side, right? I'll fix it."
Mira narrowed her eyes. "…You promise?"
"Promise."
He raised a hand halfheartedly.
She huffed, grabbed a mug, filled it with watered-down ale, and slapped it on the table.
"If you don't fix it today, I'll throw you in the river."
Roland grinned faintly.
"See, this is why I come here. Great customer service."
Mira smacked the back of his head with a towel. He just grunted and took a sip of ale.
For a while, the tavern buzzed with small talk. Farmers discussed weather. Hunters compared tracks. Roland half-listened, half-dozed with his drink in hand.
Then, of course, the peace ended.
Two small figures peeked through the doorway. Tommy and Lila.
Tommy was a skinny boy with messy hair and too much energy. Lila was his little sister, always clutching a wooden toy, big eyes watching everything like she was recording the world in her head.
The moment they spotted Roland, they darted in.
"Ossan! Ossan!" Tommy tugged at his robe. "Teach us magic again!"
Roland groaned. "Oh no, not you two. I'm busy."
"You're not busy," Lila said softly, pointing at his mug. "You're just drinking."
"Exactly. Very busy."
Roland tried to wave them off.
"Go chase chickens or something."
But the kids weren't going anywhere. Tommy climbed onto the chair next to him, practically bouncing.
"Come on! Yesterday you showed us how to make sparks with mana, remember? I almost lit a leaf!"
"Almost," Roland muttered. "Almost lit is still unlit."
Lila tugged his sleeve.
"Please, Ossan. Just a little. I'll be careful."
Mira smirked from the counter. "Good. Maybe you'll finally do something useful instead of rotting in that chair."
Roland shot her a glare. "Et tu, Mira?"
She shrugged, ladle in hand.
Roland rubbed his temple. "Fine, fine. Just a quick lesson. Then I get peace. Deal?"
"Deal!" Tommy and Lila shouted in unison.
Roland finished his ale in one gulp, sighed, and stood up. His knees cracked again.
"Alright. Outside. I'm not teaching magic near Mira's stew. If something explodes, she'll kill me."
Mira smirked. "Smartest thing you've said all morning."
Outside the tavern, Roland shuffled to the shade of a tree and plopped down on a stump. He grabbed a stick from the ground, twirled it once, then crouched to scratch lines into the dirt.
Tommy and Lila sat cross-legged in front of him, eyes shining like they were about to watch a magic show.
"Alright, brats. Mana basics. Again." Roland poked the ground with the stick, drawing a circle. "This—" he jabbed at it—"is your mana pool."
Tommy leaned forward. "It looks like a potato."
Roland squinted. "…Fine. Potato pool. Whatever. Inside your body, mana swirls around like water in a bucket. The problem is—" he stabbed a line through it, making the dirt crack—"your bucket leaks."
Lila tilted her head.
"Leaks?"
"Yeah." Roland drew little cracks on the potato-circle.
"Like when I write bad code and the memory leaks. Whole system crashes. Same thing with you. Mana leaks everywhere. Poof. Gone. That's why your spells fizzle out or explode."
Tommy blinked. "What's code?"
Roland sighed. "Never mind. Think of it like… holes in your bucket. Your job is to patch the holes, make the water stay put, then guide it out the right way. Not just splashing everywhere like an idiot."
Tommy grinned. "So I gotta patch my potato!"
"Yeah. Patch your potato." Roland's mouth twitched.
He picked up a stub of candle from his pocket, Mira always threw extras at him when she was cleaning. He set it on the stump and lit it with a snap of his fingers. The small flame danced weakly.
"Alright, brats. Training exercise. Candle flame. And not just that, but stable flame. You feed it mana just enough to keep it steady. Not too much, or it explodes. Not too little, or it dies."
Lila's eyes sparkled.
"Like breathing?"
"Exactly." Roland tapped the dirt again.
"Slow. Steady. Balanced. Don't dump your whole potato bucket at once."
Tommy puffed his chest. "I'll go first!"
He pressed his palms together, squinted hard at the candle, and grunted. His face turned red like he was trying to wrestle a cow.
The flame flickered wildly, shooting sparks, then went out. Smoke curled up.
Roland smacked him lightly on the head with the stick.
"Too much pressure. Relax, you little idiot. You're not arm-wrestling the flame."
Tommy pouted. "I was close!"
"Close to burning your eyebrows, yeah."
Lila quietly leaned forward. She cupped her hands near the candle, eyes soft, lips moving in a whisper. The flame flickered once… then steadied. It grew just a little brighter, no sparks, no smoke. Just steady.
Her eyes widened. "It… it worked."
Roland raised his brows.
"Huh. Not bad. Looks like someone's potato got patched properly."
Tommy's jaw dropped.
"No way! That's cheating! She's younger than me!"
"It's not cheating, idiot," Roland muttered. "She actually listened."
Lila looked up shyly. "I… I just thought of breathing. In and out. The flame felt like it was… listening back."
Roland scratched his stubble.
"Hmph. Intuitive. Natural control. Guess some people have the knack."
He looked at Tommy. "And some people just grunt like cavemen."
Tommy stomped his foot. "I'll get it next time!"
Roland stood, brushing dirt from his cloak.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Lesson over. Don't blow yourselves up while I'm gone."
Tommy shouted, "Wait! Ossan, teach us more!"
Roland was already walking away, staff on his shoulder. "Nope. I'm on break."
"But you're always on break!"
"Exactly."
He raised a lazy hand over his shoulder and trudged toward the village well.
Roland hadn't even made it halfway down the road when the Village Chief shuffled out from behind a cart.
"Roland!"
The old man's voice was sharp despite his bent back. His cane thumped the dirt as he hobbled closer. His eyebrows were like tangled spiderwebs, and his beard looked like it could hide three squirrels.
Roland groaned. "Oh no. Side quest incoming."
The Chief jabbed his cane at him.
"Don't 'oh no' me, ossan. We've got a problem at the well again."
Ugh.
"What kind of problem?"
"The freezing rune's acting up. Water keeps icing over. It makes peoples can't draw buckets, children are slipping, and my granddaughter nearly cracked her head open this morning."
Roland blinked.
"…So basically the well's bugged."
"Bugged?"
"Never mind." He sighed. "Fine, I'll take a look. But I'm not carrying any buckets."
The Chief grumbled but led the way.
The village well sat near the square, it has stone walls old but sturdy. A faint shimmer of blue runes circled the rim; magic to keep the water fresh and cool. Except now, a thin sheet of ice had formed on top, glistening in the sun.
Two women were standing there with buckets, glaring at the frozen surface like it personally insulted them. When they saw Roland, their glares shifted to him.
"Oh great, he's here."
"Took him long enough."
Roland raised a hand weakly.
"Morning, ladies. Lovely weather, isn't it? Well, just with terrible ice."
"Just fix it before someone breaks their neck."
Roland crouched by the well, muttering. The runes were carved into the stone, glowing faintly. He traced a finger along one.
"Mm-hmm. Yep. Classic problem. So overwritten parameter, huh? Someone probably messed with the rune to make the water colder, but didn't balance the flow. Now it's freezing solid. Typical rookie mistake."
The Chief frowned.
"Can you fix it?"
Roland snorted.
"Of course. This is just bad code. All I gotta do is… comment it out."
The women blinked. "Comment… what?"
"Watch."
Roland pulled a bit of chalk from his pocket. He always carried some. Never knew when a rune needed doodling on. He scratched a quick diagonal line through one of the glowing symbols, muttering as he worked.
"There. Disabled the overflow function. Left the base cooling intact. It should stabilize without going full ice cube."
He tapped the rune with his staff.
The glow flickered, shifted from harsh blue to a gentler light. A moment later, the ice on the well cracked and melted, water rippling free again.
The women gasped.
"Oh! It's working!" "Finally!"
One of them filled her bucket quickly before it changed its mind. The other muttered something that might've been thanks, though it sounded more like "about time."
The Chief gave Roland a long look.
"…You make it sound so easy."
"Because it is," Roland said, standing with a grunt. His knees popped again.
"People complicate things. They stack too many modifiers, layer too many symbols. Then it breaks, and who do they call? Me. So called Roland the Ossan."
He waved lazily, already turning away.
"Alright, side quest complete. Reward: nothing. I'm going fishing."
The Chief called after him,
"At least take some bread with you!"
Roland waved again without looking back.
By the time he reached the lake, the village noises had faded behind him.
The water stretched calm and quiet, reflecting the sky. Roland dropped onto the grass, pulled out his fishing rod, and cast the line with practiced laziness.
The float bobbed gently. Wind rustled through the reeds.
He leaned back, closed his eyes, and muttered:
"This is it. My bug-fixed life. I have no deadlines. No managers breathing down my neck. Just naps, fish, and ale."
The float twitched. He ignored it.
"Yeah… let the world run on its broken code. I'm retired."
And with that, Roland dozed off under the sun, line drifting on the lake.