The familiar blue UI flickered into view again. I watched, stunned, as the HP bar crept rightward—pixels of red filling in with green. 17/100 → 25/100 → 40/100… Healing. Actual magic healing.
This wasn't the U.S. This wasn't Earth. Was I really… in another world?
The green glow gradually faded. The old woman exhaled heavily, but her hands started trembling. She reached for the bedframe to steady herself—missed—and began to slump.
Instinct kicked in. I shot up, caught her by the shoulders, and eased her down onto the bed in my place. She was lighter than she looked, fragile under that robe.
"Are you okay?" I asked, voice softer than I meant.
"I'm not young anymore," she panted, as if she'd just sprinted a mile. "Phew… age catches us all, boy. Cherish your years while you have them."
"I…" Words failed me. "Hey—where exactly did you find me?"
"Near the Lost Forest." She caught her breath. "Face-down in the dirt. We thought you were a corpse at first—I even called the grave-workers. But one of them noticed you were still breathing, faint as it was."
"Okay…" I swallowed. "Then what?"
"They helped carry you here. I used to be a healer in this district's Kaelehome."
"Kaelehome?"
"The place where the sick and wounded are treated." She gave me a sidelong look. "Don't tell me you've never heard of it."
"I… I have," I lied quickly. "Yeah. Just… disoriented. Really disoriented."
"Well, either way, boy." She managed a tired smile. "Welcome back to the land of the living."
I looked outside the window again.
No neon signs flickering in the distance. No crowds of hollow-eyed people shuffling along, faking smiles while everything inside them screamed exhaustion. No buzz of traffic, no endless notifications, no chaotic energy. Just… quiet. Peaceful, almost. And I hated it.
My old neighborhood wasn't paradise—far from it—but at least it was known. Predictable. I craved consistency, not this blind drift wherever fate decided to dump me.
A wooden cart rumbled past below, pulled by a real, honest-to-god horse. Muscles rippling under its coat, hooves clopping steadily on cobblestone. The only animals I ever saw back home were pigeons fighting over trash and the occasional stray cat. A horse? In the middle of a city street?
Just… fuck me.
"I assume you guys don't have something called a phone, right?" I asked, turning back to her.
She tilted her head. "Is that a spell?"
"N-no…" I cleared my throat, feeling ridiculous. "I'm Ace, by the way."
"Ace." She tested the name like it was foreign fruit. "I'm Dierthen. Nice to meet you."
"Likewise."
Out of curiosity, I willed the status screen to appear. As if the damn thing could hear my thoughts, it flickered into existence without me lifting a finger.
╔═══════════════════════╗
> Ace | LC: 0 | EXP: 20/100 | LVL 1
╠═══════════════════════╣
> HP ▰▰▰▰▱▱▱▱▱▱ 49/100
> MP ▰▰▱▱▱▱▱▱▱▱ 22/60
> STA ▰▰▰▰▱▱▱▱▱▱ 31/80
╠═══════════════════════╣
> [ BAG ] [ MAP ] [ SHOP ] [QUESTS]
╚═══════════════════════╝
Huh. Almost half my health back. The pounding headache had dulled to a distant throb, and the room no longer spun like a bad carnival ride. I could stand without wobbling. Small mercies.
"You know," Dierthen began, voice gentle but firm, "I had to pay for the carriage to bring you here. My pockets aren't lined with silver anymore, boy."
"S-silver…" I muttered. Medieval currency. Of course. "How much do I owe you?"
"I know you don't have a pouch—I would've seen it when my husband and I changed your clothes."
"Yeah…"
"Twenty silver. You don't have to pay it now."
"Thanks. Really."
Silver. Right. Step one: get money. Step two: figure out how to get home. Because no way was I escaping this place in a single day. That meant a bed, food, shelter… which meant work. Or quests.
That floating box—the quest—promised 120 silver. Well, 120 sounded like a good start here. Clearing an "Old Tower," fighting a wraith, grabbing a signet. Sounded dangerous as hell… still, I wanted to learn about it, even though there was no way I would complete that quest. Killing a wraith? No fucking thank you, no wraith for me.
"Hey," I said carefully. "Do you know a place called the Old Tower?"
"Oh, yes." She wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Were you heading there before you collapsed? You didn't have any wounds—no beast marks, no blade cuts. Just exhaustion, maybe?"
"I… was," I lied smoothly. "Yeah."
"Well, I could give you a map, but… oh. I don't have a spare. My husband took ours with him." She sighed. "Sorry, boy."
"It's fine. Really."
As if on cue, another UI materialized—this one square, hovering at shoulder height like a ghostly window. I stared. It was a simple top-down map of the room we were in: walls outlined in clean white lines, furniture as basic icons, and a small glowing white dot right where I stood. Me. The system had just… given me a minimap?
Dierthen rose slowly, gripping her staff for support. Her hands still trembled faintly—she was definitely still drained from healing me. Guilt twisted in my gut. I couldn't shake the feeling I owed her more than just coin.
"I'm sorry again," I said. "You didn't have to use your spell on me, but you did."
"No worries, young man." She offered a warm, tired smile and gestured toward the door. "Come. Let's get you some air."
I followed her out.
The moment I crossed the threshold, the minimap updated seamlessly. The view expanded to show the new space: the living room, walls sketched in precise white lines, doorways marked, hearth glowing as a warm orange icon in the center.
The room itself was cozy in that old-world, lived-in way.
A wide stone hearth dominated the middle, crackling with a low fire that sent flickering golden light dancing across everything. Thick wooden beams crossed the low ceiling, darkened by years of smoke. Dried herbs and bundles of lavender hung from the rafters, filling the air with an earthy, soothing scent. A sturdy oak table sat near one wall, flanked by mismatched chairs; shelves lined another, crammed with clay jars, rolled parchments, and a few dusty books. A woven rug softened the plank floorboards underfoot.
And there—right in front of the hearth—stood a simple wooden drying rack. My original clothes hung limply over it: jeans, hoodie, sneakers, even my socks. Still damp, steaming faintly in the fire's warmth. Seeing them there—modern fabrics against this medieval backdrop—hit like a gut punch.
This was real.
I wandered slowly, eyes wide, taking it all in. Ran my fingers over the rough table edge. Peered at a small window where sunlight poured in, dust motes swirling like tiny stars. Touched the warm stone of the hearth, feeling the heat seep into my palm. No wires. No screens. No plastic. Just wood, stone, fire, and the quiet pop of logs settling.
Was this actually another world? Or the most elaborate, cruel prank ever pulled? The prank of the decade—drug me, stage an entire medieval town, hire actors, CGI a horse, hang my clothes by a real fire…
But the ache in my muscles, the faint herbal smell clinging to Dierthen's robe, the way the minimap moved when I turned my head… none of that felt fake.
I swallowed hard.
This might be permanent.
"Are you hungry, Ace?" Dierthen asked, her voice gentle.
"I'm… yeah. I am," I admitted. My stomach had been quietly growling for a while now.