A rustle in the undergrowth sent adrenaline spiking through my chest. My head snapped toward the sound—nothing. Just wind threading through leaves, a soft whisper that felt like a warning. Every instinct screamed at me to move, to find shelter, to get away from the exposure of open forest.
If fate had a hand in this, then I won't question it. I'll just keep moving forward and see where this leads.
I chose a direction—any direction—and began to walk.
---
After what felt like an eternity, the canopy thinned gradually, almost imperceptibly at first. Then came the shift in the air: woodsmoke. The faint, unmistakable scent of human habitation. My pace quickened despite the exhaustion settling into my bones.
A town.
Stone walls embraced it, grey and sturdy, topped with crenelated battlements that belonged in history books or fantasy novels. A single wooden gate stood partially open, banded with iron, just wide enough for a cart to pass. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys.
A young guard with black hairblocked my path at the gate.
He couldn't have been more than eighteen. Old enough to carry a sword with the confidence of training, its tip angled toward me in textbook form. Young enough that his armor still looked too clean, the leather straps unweathered. His posture was rigid—shoulders back, chin level—but his eyes gave him away. They darting past me, searching the tree line, then back to my face, looking for something he'd been taught to recognize but hadn't yet learned to see.
"You're not from around here."
Not a question.
My throat felt like sandpaper. "I… I got lost," I managed, my voice coming out higher than I expected. Startled by the sword, yes, but also by the sound of my own words.
"Lost?" His grip on the sword tightened.
"Then I'll need to see your identification before I can let you through."
My mind raced, clawing at jagged fragments of logic that refused to fit together. What should I do now? Tell him I'm not from here? The honesty felt like a death sentence, but the alternative—silence—felt like an invitation for that steel to get a lot closer. I needed to know where the hell I was, but right now, I just needed to survive the next ten seconds.
I lowered my gaze, letting my lip tremble slightly. Vulnerability. Not overdone, just enough.
"Bandits," I rasped, my voice sounding thin even to my own ears. "They caught me on the forest road. One blow to the head and the world went dark. When I finally came to, the fog in my mind wouldn't clear. I... I can't remember everything." I let out a shaky breath, gesturing vaguely to my empty sides. "They took it all. My pack, my coin, even my Identification. I just walked until I saw the town gates."
Uncertainty flickered across his face. For a moment, I thought it had worked.
The guard shifted his weight, then returned his sword to its sheath with a soft *shhk*. He stepped closer, circling me slowly, studying me with open curiosity.
His gaze snagged on my oversized clothes—the heavy hoodie and rugged denim that looked like alien artifacts in a world of hand-forged steel and weathered cobblestone. My sneakers, with their synthetic mesh and rubber soles, were a silent scream of "outsider" against the ancient, unyielding ground.
"Which kingdom are you from?" he asked, stopping to my right. "If you can tell me that much, I might be able to let you pass."
He reached out, fingering the fabric of my sleeve. "But what *is* this? I've never seen garments like these. Is it some new fashion where you're from?"
The guard's thumb continued to stroke the polyester blend, his face a mask of bewildered fascination. I could feel the heat from his hand through the thin material—a reminder of just how close that sharpened steel was to my face. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my chest, a trapped bird looking for an exit that didn't exist.
I opened my mouth to offer some desperate lie about distant silk-weavers, but the words died in my throat. The air around us suddenly felt heavier, the casual curiosity of the moment crushed by a sudden, suffocating weight of authority.
A deeper voice cut through the tension like a guillotine blade.
"What's going on here?"
An older guard approached from inside the gate, his stride measured and deliberate. His armor was worn in all the right places—scuffed at the shoulders, dented along the breastplate, the leather straps darkened with age and sweat. He looked like someone who'd earned his position through years, not weeks.
The younger guard straightened immediately. "Sir, I was just—he says he was attacked by bandits. Lost his memory. No identification."
The older guard stopped a few paces away, his sharp eyes moving from the younger guard to me and back again. He didn't speak right away. Just watched. Measured.
"So that's how it is," he said finally, his tone unreadable.
The younger guard scratched the back of his head and let out a nervous laugh. "At least this one looks younger than me. And he says he's a traveler, so—"
"So you were holding him at the gate," the older guard finished, voice flat.
"I was just being careful—"
"Careful is good. Paranoid wastes time He looks human isn't thst enough."
The younger guard went silent, his protest dying in his throat as he shrunk under the veteran's shadow.
The older guard's gaze shifted to me, assessing. "You said bandits?"
I nodded.
"You're lucky you survived. The world outside is unpredictable: it rarely gives second chances to those who wander." He let the warning hang in the air before glancing at the younger guard. "He's clearly disoriented. Move him to the infirmary for an evaluation"
Then, more quietly, but with an edge that could cut: "You've lost your post. Pray I don't make it permanent."
Kael's face went through a rapid-fire progression of emotions: shock, then a hot, creeping flush of embarrassment, and finally a hollow sort of defeat.
"What!... its just my first day?" Kael protested, his voice cracking. He looked like he'd just been told the sun wasn't going to rise tomorrow.
The Older gurdian didn't even turn around. He just kept walking, his heavy boots echoing against the stone. "Find something else to do in the meantime," he called back, his tone dismissive enough to sting worse than a physical blow.
Kael exhaled softly as the older guard disappeared back through the gate into the shadows of the inner wall. The oppressive weight of the older Guard presence went with him, and the kid's rigid posture finally collapsed. He looked less like a soldier and more like a boy who'd just lost his favorite toy.
Despite the fact that I was still standing in front of a man who'd been ready to skewer me thirty seconds ago, the absurdity of the moment broke through my panic. The laugh bubbled up before I could choke it back.
"My apologies for... well, getting you fired," I said, my voice still thinned by a lingering tremor.
Kael looked at me, really looked at me, as if remembering I was the reason for this mess. He let out a bitter, jagged laugh and wiped a hand across his face.
Then he turned fully toward me, his expression settling into something more composed. "I'm sorry for what just happened. I guess my curiosity got the better of my judgment."
He extended a hand. "My name's Kael. Do you remember yours?"
"My name is Neriha."
The transition was too much. The shift from the razor-edge of a blade to the sudden, disorienting kindness of a boy who had just been fired for me—it snapped the last thread of my composure.
As I stepped through the shadow of the massive stone archway, the sensory overload hit me like a physical blow. The air in The town didn't just smell like woodsmoke; it felt thick, vibrant, and hummed with a frequency my body wasn't built to handle.
The sounds of the town—the rhythmic clink-clink of the forge, the braying of strange, multi-horned livestock, the chatter of a language I understood but didn't recognize—swirled into a sickening vortex.
"Just follow me, Neriha," Kael called back, his voice echoing against the vaulted ceiling. "My grandfather will have my head if I don't follow his orders."
His boots hammered a steady rhythm against the stone. I tried to anchor myself to him, focusing on the sun glinting off the rivets in his armor, but the world tilted. The cobblestones rose up. My vision frayed at the edges as people and houses dissolved into streaks of color. My legs simply gave out.
"Neriha!"
Kael's voice was the last thing I heard—no longer the voice of a guard, but just a kid who was terrified he was about to watch a stranger die on his watch. I felt his armored gauntlets catch my shoulders, the cold metal biting into my skin, anchoring me for a split second before the world dissolved into a silent, velvet black.
Everything went dark. The "isekai" dream—or nightmare—had officially claimed my consciousness, leaving me at the mercy of a fired guard and a city that didn't know I existed.
---
I opened my eyes slowly awake, my head throbbing with a dull, persistent ache.
The ceiling above me was wooden, crossed with dark beams that looked hand-hewn. Not any ceiling I recognized.
I tried to sit up, and the blanket slid off my chest.
Linen shirt. Loose-fitting trousers. Simple, rough fabric that felt nothing like the synthetic blend I'd been wearing.
My hands came into view as I pushed myself upright.
They were wrong.
Not injured. Not scarred. Just… *wrong.*
Smaller. Smoother. The knuckles were less pronounced, the veins beneath the skin barely visible. I turned them over, studying the palms. No calluses from years of typing. No faint scar on my left thumb from a kitchen accident when I was twelve. The skin was unmarked, pale, almost luminous in the soft light filtering through the narrow windows.
The fragments of memory from the forest finally clicked into place. The way the branches seemed to get higher, the way my sneakers started to slip at the heels—was no longer a paranoid delusion. It was a physical reality. I looked down at the hoodie; the collar was now so wide it threatened to slide off my shoulder, and the hem reached down past my mid-thigh like a makeshift dress.
I was getting smaller.
The realization felt like a punch to the gut, leaving me more breathless than the fainting had. I stared at my hands, my heart hammering a frantic, tiny rhythm against my ribs—a rhythm that felt faster, more youthful, and utterly terrifying.
—-----
The room was small but clean. Two narrow windows let in golden afternoon light. A wooden chair sat in the corner, and draped across it were my clothes—the hoodie, the jeans, the sneakers. Proof that I hadn't imagined my old life. Proof that this was real.
But I wasn't wearing them anymore.
I looked down at myself. The linen shirt hung loose on a frame that was leaner, narrower. My legs looked thinner beneath the rough trousers.
I was now shorter. Lighter. My body had been compressed, reshaped, made younger in ways that went beyond simple aesthetics.I wasn't a 20 year old adult anymore; I was a child—or at least a teenager.
When I touched my face, my fingers met skin that was too smooth, too soft. No stubble. No rough patches. My jawline felt different—less defined, more delicate.
Was it the translocation between worlds? Is time moving backward for me, or did this world just decide I needed a "reboot" to survive?
There was a basin of water on a small table near the window.
I crossed the room in three unsteady steps, my legs adjusting to the new proportions with each movement. The water in the basin was still, its surface like dark glass.
I leaned over it.
The face staring back was unmistakably mine, yet transformed.
Younger—seventeen years old back. The features were softer, almost ethereal. Clear skin, unmarked by the years of poor sleep and stress that had etched themselves into my old face. The eyes were a brighter, clearer blue, framed by lashes that seemed longer than I remembered.
And the color of my hair…? It was different striking, liquid silver—catching the light in a way that made it look almost unreal.
A soft chime echoed in my mind.
I jerked back from the basin, my heart hammering.
Blue text materialized in the air before me, translucent and cold, settling into place with the precision of something that had always been there, waiting.
**\[SYSTEM NOTICE]**
System integration has been successfully finalized.
You may now utilize system operational mechanics.
The words hung there, clinical and detached, as if they were describing a piece of software rather than a human being.
I reached out, my hand passing through the text. It didn't waver. Didn't fade.
I loathe this system. It's invasive. Permanent. A constant, digital parasite reminding me that I am no longer the master of my own existence.
I had wanted an exit—a way to burn down the mundane prison of my old life—but not like this. Not as a captive. It's almost a cruel joke; even the legendary Truck-kun managed to miss me, yet here I am, somehow kidnapped into a reality maybe far worse than the one I left behind.
A translucent curve shimmered at the edge of my vision—a health bar, pulsing with a faint blue light. More text followed, etching itself into the air: *Combat mode. System Management. Module Management.*
**\[Combat mode: base]**
**\[System Management]**
**\[Module Management]**
The letters settled, becoming as much a part of my sight as the wooden walls beyond them.
But it wasn't exciting. It wasn't thrilling.
As I sat on that bed, feeling the scratchy linen against my too-soft skin, all I felt was a profound sense of theft.
The latch on the door clicked.
I looked up as it swung inward. Kael stood in the doorway, holding a wooden tray. The aroma of fresh bread and cured meat drifted into the room. The tension in his shoulders visibly eased when he saw me sitting upright.
"Hey," he said, relief evident in his voice. "You're up."
His gaze swept over me, assessing. "You gave me a bit of a fright yesterday. At the Entrance. You just… folded."
He crossed the room, setting the tray on a small, wobbly table. The clatter of a ceramic mug was loud in the quiet space.
"You were restless, too. Mumbling in your sleep. I had a medic look you over. He said you were just bone-tired. No wounds, no fever. Just exhaustion."
My throat felt like a desert. The words came out rough, unfamiliar in my younger voice. "Thank you. For everything. I feel… better now."
I offered him a soft smile, genuine despite the turmoil churning inside me.
*Much better than I ever had in my entire past life,* I thought bitterly.
Kael waved a dismissive hand. "Don't mention it. But you should eat something. You look like you haven't had a proper meal in days."
He paused, then added, "After that, if you're feeling up to it, I can show you around town. It might help jog that foggy memory of yours."
"A tour sounds good," I said quietly.
Kael nodded and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Silence settled in once more.
I stared at the tray of food, then at the faint blue shimmer at the edge of my vision.
The System had mentioned tools.
System operational mechanics? Utilizing mechanics? These words treated my life like a series of functions. I wasn't Neriha anymore; I was a "User." A "Player."
---
I turned my attention to the interface—and just like that, it manifested.
When my focus wavered, it vanished, dissolving back into the faint blue shimmer at the edge of my vision. It wasn't something I could hold onto physically; it had no weight, no texture. It was a phantom made of light, a tool that responded only to the gravity of my intent.
The realization was unsettling. The System wasn't just following me—it was tethered to my mind.
I took a breath, sharpening my focus once more. The panels snapped back into place, sharp and waiting. If my will was the key to the lock, I had to make sure it didn't falter when things got ugly.
I reached up and tapped **Module Management** from the primary HUD floating before my eyes. My hand passed through nothing, and yet the interface responded like a touchscreen made of light. The modules snapped into focus, arranging themselves neatly in a vertical cascade.
[System Overview]
[Select a module to view more details.]
**\[Quest Module]** – Tracks active objectives and milestone rewards.
**\[Exploration Module]** – manages exploration utilities.
**\[inventory Module]** – Provides access to items available exclusively through the System.
**\[Skill Crafting Module]** – The user can synthesize abilities from raw data or experience fragments.
*Not bad,* I thought, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction. *At least there's a logic to it.*
I selected **System Management**. The module interface withdrew, and a new, more clinical panel descended in its place.
[**System Management**]
**\[Share System Mechanics]** Maximum: 1 Connection
> Function: Enables multiplayer functionality by linking your System with another user.
> Restrictions: Only one active connection is allowed. The linked user gains full access to all System functions.
[System Deletion] > Warning: This action cannot be undone. Removing the System will result in the permanent loss of all associated functions and data.
I froze, my finger hovering over the glowing text.
"I could remove the system?"
The words felt like a lifeline and a threat all at once. I narrowed my eyes, my gaze boring into the glowing text. Every fiber of my being screamed to reach out and touch it. I wanted this thing gone. I really, truly wanted it out of my body.
But the fear went deeper than the skin. If this System was the only thing holding my reshaped molecules together—the software keeping the hardware running—what would happen if it were uninstalled? Would I snap back to twenty? Would I simply cease to exist? Or was there something even more grotesque waiting in the undoing?
I still couldn't fully process the reality of this new world, but I knew enough to realize that "normal" was just another word for "defenseless."
My eyes drifted to a secondary prompt pulsing at the periphery of my vision—one I had ignored until now:
Multiplayer? The thought flickered through my mind—a co-op partner, someone to share the burden of this synthetic reality.
I shook my head, a cold sense of resolve settling in my chest.
This was my burden to carry, my variables to solve. I didn't need a partner, and I certainly didn't need a liability. In a world that had already stripped me of my past, my only remaining asset was the privacy of my own soul.