Itsuki's face was left dumbfounded as he tried to rein in his thoughts
Why's he speaking French…?
He tilted his head slightly, adjusting his stance as he stepped back from the sidewalk. His eyes swept over the scenery again, taking in every detail with growing disbelief.
Is this really France?
It looks like it could be it… but it's definitely not from the world I know. Everything looks so, old, but still so new.
And it's not like I'm good with history either… so I'm not even sure what to expect if I actually got transmigrated into some past era version of France.
A sudden thought struck him. His eyes widened as he quickly reached into his pocket, pulling out the same coin he had examined earlier.
He turned it over in his palm.
The coin… it says 10 sous. That definitely sounds French enough to be some Old French currency.
He let out a slow breath as he felt the pieces fall more firmly into place.
This has to be some version of France. Or at least… somewhere close to it.
Now, I just need to figure out how to navigate it and figure out what I'm supposed to do next.
His grip tightened around the coin before he slowly slipped it back into his coat.
If there's anything I should focus on first, it's understanding what those floating texts meant. The "First Light"… the blessing… all of it. If I'm alive because of that, then I need to figure out what exactly I've been pulled into.
He took a deep breath, the mist of his exhale curling in the cold air before dissolving. Then, with hesitant steps, he merged into the moving crowd, his eyes still tracing every corner of the elegant, old-world scenery around him — the cobbled streets, the wrought-iron lamps, the soft hum of carriage wheels and cars mingled with the low chatter of people.
As he reached the end of the sidewalk and turned into the next street, motion caught his eye — a man darting out from the crowd and into the road ahead. He was short, dressed in worn, threadbare trousers and a loose shirt whose collar had lost its shape.
And behind him, two men sprinted in pursuit — both wearing dark blue coats with brass buttons glinting faintly in the light, their caps pulled low over their brows.
Law enforcers?
The fleeing man clutched a worn out bag tightly to his chest, weaving through the slow trickle of carriages and cars with impressive speed as he tried to escape. Itsuki, along with others nearby, stopped to watch the scene unfold, the air charged with that strange, collective stillness people have when witnessing someone else's misfortune.
Then — as if in a scene from a film — one of the officers slowed to a halt, drawing a revolver from his side. The other kept running, shouting orders lost in the noise of the street.
Pulling a gun from that distance? Wouldn't it be better to just chase him down? That's—
The thought broke off as the first officer fired.
A single crack split the air, sharp and clean, echoing between the buildings. The thief's leg buckled instantly, his body collapsing onto the cobblestones as the purse rolled out of his hand.
That shot… it was from nearly fifty feet away? And with this much obstructions? Itsuki's eyes widened. How's that even possible?
The second officer reached the fallen man, snapping open a pair of handcuffs and locking them around his wrists. The injured man whimpered in pain, curling in on himself, while the passing cars and carriages simply diverted around them as if this were nothing unusual.
And just like that, the little crowd that had formed dispersed — people resumed their walks, their conversations, their errands — as though the entire scene had been no more than a momentary interruption in their day.
Why isn't anyone reacting?
Itsuki's eyes followed the officer as he holstered the revolver. He just fired a revolver from over fifty feet away — one bullet with perfect precision — and no one's surprised. How's that even possible?
Just beside him, a group of children stood clustered near a lamppost, their faces glowing with excitement. Their eyes shone as they whispered and laughed, mimicking the officer's stance with invisible guns in their hands.
The kids are thrilled… but the adults—
He looked around. The grown-ups had already returned to their business, walking past the bleeding thief without so much as a glance. —it's like they've seen this a thousand times before.
The officers bent down, lifting the wounded man easily by the arms. His feet barely touched the ground as they half-dragged, half-carried him toward the corner of the street.
Itsuki swallowed hard, his curiosity now battling his unease.
I should follow them. If I can understand how things work here — how they did what they did— maybe It'll allow me take the first step to begin to make sense of this world.
He trailed behind them at a cautious distance, weaving through the flow of pedestrians. He did his best to stay unnoticed, though the unfamiliar gait and posture of the body he now inhabited made it difficult. Still, he managed — keeping his head low and his steps steady.
He followed the officers until the streets began to thin out, the chatter of the crowd fading behind him. The air grew quieter here, the cobblestones uneven and darkened by age. Eventually, the two men turned into a narrow alleyway wedged between two tall, timeworn buildings whose walls seemed to lean inward, heavy with soot and years of neglect.
Itsuki crept closer, pressing his back against the cold stone corner before leaning forward just enough to peek in.
The officers had dropped the thief on the ground. One of them crouched beside him, removing the cuffs, while the other calmly pulled out a cigar and lighter, taking a slow drag as smoke curled faintly into the air.
From a small metal door beside a staircase etched into one of the buildings, another man appeared — fat, bald, broad-shouldered, shirtless, his body covered in faded tattoos that stretched across his chest and arms. He wore only a pair of torn shorts, and his heavy footsteps echoed slightly as he descended the short steps toward the officers.
Crap… they're talking, but I can't hear them clearly.
Even if I could, I wouldn't understand a word of it anyway.
The officer who had uncuffed the thief grabbed him by the hair, forcing his head up toward the bald man. They exchanged a few words — curt and businesslike — before the officer dropped the man back to the ground. Then, as casually as if concluding a transaction, he picked up the bag and turned to leave.
Itsuki flinched back from the corner, retreating into the street just as the two officers stepped out of the alley. He kept his head down and blended as best as he could into the small flow of people passing by, his heart pounding in his chest.
The officers walked past him without a second glance, their calm expressions betraying nothing — as if what had just happened in that alley was simply another part of their day.