Cedric was dreaming.
It was a good dream. A perfect dream. In it, he was a rock.
He wasn't a diamond, glittering and sharp, inviting greed and violence. He wasn't a gemstone, polished and set in gold to be displayed. He was just a grey, smooth, unassuming river stone, resting comfortably at the bottom of a deep, silent stream.
The water rushed over him, cool and heavy, a constant pressure that felt like a hug from the universe itself. It muffled the sounds of the world above—the screaming, the sirens, the demands. Down here, in the silt and the shadow, there was only the low, thrumming vibration of the current.
As a rock, he didn't have to breathe. He didn't have to eat. He didn't have to make friends or navigate the complex, razor-wire web of social contracts. Most importantly, he didn't have to move. Gravity was his best friend here, anchoring him to the riverbed, holding him in a perfect, eternal embrace of stillness. It was peaceful. It was safe. It was the oblivion he had been promised, just without the finality of death.
He felt the moss growing slowly on his surface, a soft, green blanket. He felt the tiny fish nibbling at the algae. He felt...
Zzzzt!
A jolt of electric numbness shot from his tailbone straight up to the base of his skull. It bypassed his nervous system's defenses, ignoring his brain's desperate attempt to stay asleep, and rattled his teeth in his gums. It was the sensation of licking a nine-volt battery, but amplified and injected directly into his spine.
The river vanished. The silence shattered into a billion jagged pieces.
Cedric bolted upright in bed. He gasped for air, his eyes snapping open to stare blindly into the gloom of his apartment. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, beating a frantic rhythm of panic.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
"What the..." He rasped, clutching his chest, his fingers digging into the thin fabric of his black t-shirt.
[Hey, you. You're finally awake.]
The voice of the System rang out in his head. It wasn't the mechanical drone of a computer. It was cheerful. Aggressively, violently cheerful. It was the voice of a morning show host who had drunk six espressos and wanted everyone else to share in their manic energy. It felt personally offensive at this hour.
[The sun isn't up yet. But you are. Congratulations on maintaining consciousness.]
Cedric groaned. It was a long, suffering sound that vibrated in his throat, a protest against the very concept of wakefulness. He collapsed back onto the pillow, grabbing the edge of the duvet and pulling it over his head, creating a cocoon of darkness. He tried to summon the river back, tried to find the sensation of the water, but it was gone, replaced by the smell of stale air and the hum of the refrigerator.
"I am a patient." He mumbled into the mattress, his voice thick with sleep. "I just experienced a psychological shock. I died. I came back. I met people. I ate noodles. That is a lot of activity for one lifetime. I need rest. I need recovery time. Come back in three to five business days."
[You are not a patient. You are a sentient bowl of gelatin.] The System retorted instantly, her tone shifting from cheerful to the sharp, no-nonsense clip of a drill sergeant or an overbearing nanny.
[I scanned your body metrics while you were sleeping. Muscle mass: Negligible. Stamina: Non-existent. Core strength: Laughable. You have the physical resilience of a wet paper towel.]
"I'm efficient." Cedric argued weakly from under the blanket. "Muscle burns calories. I am conserving energy."
[You are conserving atrophy! If that Pseudo-Legendary egg hatches and the baby sneezes on you, you will break three ribs. Do you want to be killed by a newborn? That would be embarrassing for both of us. GET UP.]
"No." Cedric said, tightening his grip on the blanket as if it were a physical anchor to the dream world. "Inertia. Newton's First Law. An object at rest stays at rest unless acted upon by an unbalanced force."
[Newton didn't have a deadline. You do. And I am the unbalanced force.]
A bright red holographic window materialized. It didn't appear in the room; it appeared directly in his optic nerve. It burned through the fabric of the blanket, searing itself into his retinas even with his eyes closed tight.
[DAILY QUEST: BREAKING INERTIA (DAY 1)]
Objective: Run 3km around the Northwest Residential District.
Route: Start from Apartment 237 -> Checkpoint A -> End at Park 141.
Time Limit: Complete before the sun fully rises.
Reward: 01x Moomoo Milk (High-Grade Recovery Drink).
Failure Penalty: High-Intensity White Noise playback in the auditory cortex for 60 minutes.
Cedric cracked one eye open to read the red text glowing in the darkness of his blanket fort. His gaze drifted past the objective, past the reward, and landed squarely on the bottom line.
White Noise.
For a normal person, white noise was annoying, a nuisance. But for Cedric, who craved silence above all else, who treated quiet like a holy sacrament, having static blasted directly into his brain was a fate worse than death. It was psychological torture. It was the sound of chaos.
"You wouldn't." He whispered.
[Try me. I have a ten-hour loop of static ready to go. And if that doesn't work, I have Thick Of It.]
Cedric lay there for ten seconds. He weighed the pain of physical exertion—the burning lungs, the aching legs, the cold air—against the pain of noise. It was a cruel calculation.
"Fine." He mumbled, kicking the blanket away with a violent spasm of frustration.
The cold air of the room hit his skin, raising goosebumps instantly. He shivered, curling in on himself for a moment before forcing his limbs to unfold.
"I'm up. I'm up. Happy?"
[Ecstatic. Put on your shoes. Move.]
He dragged himself out of bed. His feet hit the cold laminate floor. He walked stiffly to the wardrobe, pulling it open.
The selection hadn't improved overnight. It was still the same sea of black uniformity. He grabbed the black tracksuit—the only item that looked remotely suitable for movement—and pulled it on over his t-shirt. The polyester was cheap and thin, scratching against his skin, offering little protection against the chill he knew was waiting outside.
He sat on the floor to tie his sneakers. His fingers fumbled with the laces, still clumsy with sleep.
Suddenly, a thought struck him. He paused, holding the aglet of his shoelace.
"Wait." He said, looking up at the empty room. "This is illogical."
[What is?]
"The Quest Reward." Cedric pointed at the invisible screen in his mind.
"The egg. You said when it hatches, I get the 'Physique of a Pokémon World Resident'. That means super strength. Super durability. A body that can take lightning bolts."
[Correct.]
"So..." Cedric gestured to his tracksuit. "Why do I have to run now? Why suffer to build muscle...? With great power comes great... need for a nap. I should just wait for the upgrade."
It was a solid argument. Why repair a car that you were about to trade in for a tank?
The System was silent for a moment, and Cedric felt a flicker of hope that he had outsmarted the logic.
[You think like a lazy person, Cedric.] The System finally replied, her voice dripping with a mix of amusement and sternness.
[First of all, the 'Physique' isn't a suit of armor you put on. It modifies your existing base. If your base is trash, the multiplier is lower. You want to be strong? Be strong now so you can be stronger later. Making a strong body even stronger isn't a waste; it's optimization.]
[And second... habits.]
"Habits?"
[If you spend the next two weeks lying in bed waiting for a miracle, you will have a strong body and a weak mind. You will be lazy. You will be undisciplined. And when you're facing a ten-foot Ethereal, muscles won't save you if your first instinct is to give up and take a nap.]
The System paused, letting the words sink in.
[I am not just building your muscles, kid. I am building you. Now tie your shoes and go touch some grass]
Cedric stared at his sneakers. He hated that she was right. He hated that "optimization" was an argument he couldn't refute.
"Fine." He grumbled, yanking the laces tight. "Building character. Terrible."
***
The early morning wind in New Eridu was not gentle. It was a sharp, biting thing that carried the chill of late autumn, cutting through fabric and skin alike. It didn't smell like nature; it smelled of cold concrete, damp metal, and the lingering exhaust of the night shift delivery drones that prowled the city while the humans slept.
Cedric stood on the sidewalk outside his apartment complex. The sky above was a bruised purple, lightening to a sickly grey in the east. The streetlights were still on, casting long, flickering shadows across the pavement.
He looked down the empty street. The Northwest Residential District was a different world from Sixth Street. There were no neon signs here, no quirky shops, no Bangboos running errands with packages. It was a grid of identical gray apartment blocks, silent and imposing. It was a place where people slept, not where they lived. It was a warehouse for the workforce.
"Three kilometers." Cedric whispered, watching a cloud of mist form with his breath. He hugged himself, rubbing his arms.
"I should go back inside. I might get hypothermia."
[It is 12 degrees Celsius. You will not get hypothermia. You might get uncomfortable. Deal with it. Start running. Lift your knees. Run, Cedric, run! Don't shuffle like a zombie.]
Cedric groaned and began to jog.
"Ah shit, here we go again."
It wasn't a graceful sprint. It wasn't the athletic stride of a hero in a montage. It was a shuffle. His sneakers slapped against the pavement in an uneven, flat-footed rhythm. Slap. Slap. Slap.
The first five hundred meters were deceptive. He felt okay. The cold air woke him up, stinging his cheeks and forcing his eyes wide open. The movement warmed his blood slightly. He thought, 'Maybe this isn't so bad. Maybe I can do this.'
Then he hit the one-kilometer mark.
The deception ended.
It felt like someone had replaced the air in his lungs with battery acid. Every breath was a ragged gasp that burned his throat. His legs grew heavy, transforming from flesh and bone into lead pillars that refused to lift off the ground.
The "softness" the System had mocked became painfully apparent. His muscles weren't built for this. They were built for sitting, for lying down, for existing in a state of minimal output.
[Don't stop. Maintain the rhythm. Inhale through the nose. Exhale through the mouth. Do not breathe like a dying pug, you are embarrassing me.]
"Shut... up..." Cedric wheezed between breaths. The words scraped his throat.
He ran past dark alleyways where stray cats watched him with glowing yellow eyes, judging him from the shadows. He ran past vending machines that hummed in the silence, their lights flickering like dying stars. The world felt vast and empty, and he felt small and weak, a tiny speck of dust struggling against gravity.
By the time he hit 2.5 kilometers, his vision was blurring at the edges. Black spots danced in the grey morning light. His chest felt like it was being crushed by a hydraulic press.
'Why am I doing this?' The thought looped in his mind. 'I could be sleeping. I could be dead. Dead people don't have to run.'
[Dead people also don't get to eat BBQ noodles. Keep moving. Almost there.]
He saw the destination.
It was a small, neglected park situated at the edge of the residential block. It had a set of rusted swings that creaked in the wind, a slide with peeling paint, and a few concrete benches that looked as comfortable as slabs of ice.
Directly across from the park was a small building with a blue neon sign that was still buzzing—the local branch of the 141 Convenience Store. It looked warm. It looked inviting.
But his goal was the park.
He forced his legs to move. One step. Another step. His body screamed at him to stop, to lie down on the pavement and accept his fate.
He stumbled into the park. He reached the nearest concrete bench and collapsed onto it.
"Dying..." He gasped. The word was barely a whisper.
He threw his head back, closing his eyes, trying to pull oxygen into his burning lungs. His heart was beating so hard he could hear it thumping in his ears, a frantic drum solo.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The cold concrete seeped through his thin tracksuit, chilling his sweat-drenched skin, but he didn't care. He just wanted to stop moving.
"Are you dying?"
The voice came from his left. It was calm. Flat. Devoid of any concern or alarm. It sounded like someone asking for the time.
Cedric flinched. His eyes snapped open. He turned his head, his neck stiff.
Someone was sitting on the other end of the bench.
It was a girl. She looked about his age, maybe a little younger.
She was striking, even in the dim morning light. She had short, snow-white hair that was cut in a bob, with a single long braid resting over her shoulder. Her eyes were a bright, piercing orange, staring at him with an intensity that was both sharp and strangely vacant.
Her outfit was completely out of place for a morning jog in a residential district. She wore a short green jacket over a white crop tanktop, revealing her slim waist. Underneath was a black pleated miniskirt and black thigh-high stockings with tight straps.
She looked like a model that somehow gotten lost on the way to a fashion show.
But the strangest thing wasn't her clothes. It was what she was holding.
In her gloved hands, she held a massive, greasy double-cheeseburger. Steam was rising from it into the cold morning air, carrying the scent of grilled beef and processed cheese.
Cedric looked at the girl. The girl looked at Cedric.
She took a bite of the burger.
Crunch.
She chewed slowly, methodically, her orange eyes never leaving his face. She swallowed.
"Not... quite..." Cedric managed to wheeze out.
The girl nodded. Her expression didn't change. It was like a doctor confirming a diagnosis on a chart.
"Understood." She said. Her voice was soft but clear. "Calorie deficit. Physical exertion without fuel. Tactical error."
She looked at the burger in her hand. Then she looked at Cedric.
She carefully tore a small corner off the paper wrapper. She held the massive sandwich out toward him.
"Sandvich makes me strong," She quoted flatly, holding the burger out. "Refuel?" She offered.
"Protein is essential for survival. This contains beef, cheese, and carbohydrates. It is efficient."
Cedric looked at the burger. He saw the glistening grease on the meat. He saw the melted cheese dripping down the side. It smelled delicious.
But his stomach, currently churning from the run and the sudden stop, gave a violent lurch of protest.
"No... thank you." Cedric whispered, his face turning a shade of pale green. "I will... vomit."
The girl pulled her hand back instantly. The movement was sharp, efficient.
"Understood." She said. "More for me."
She took another large bite, devouring a third of the burger in one go.
The conversation ended as abruptly as it had begun.
They sat there in the bizarre silence of the morning. On one side, a white-haired girl in tactical gear eating a burger at 5:30 AM. On the other, a long-haired boy in a cheap tracksuit trying not to pass out.
The girl ate with a strange, focused intensity. She didn't look around at the scenery. She focused entirely on the burger, consuming it with the seriousness of a mission.
Five minutes passed.
The girl finished the burger. She crumpled the wrapper into a tiny, dense ball. She stood up, brushing a few crumbs from her skirt. She adjusted the small backpack on her shoulders.
She looked at Cedric one last time. Her gaze lingered on his face, then on his cheap shoes.
She gave him a nod—a sharp, single dip of the chin that felt more like a salute than a greeting.
Then, she turned and walked away.
Cedric watched her go. She moved with an uncanny grace. Her heavy boots made absolutely no sound on the pavement. She didn't walk; she glided, disappearing around the corner like a ghost in green.
[That.] The System said, her voice low and impressed. [Is a dangerous individual. Her muscle density is off the charts. And she has excellent taste in breakfast.]
"She... eats... burgers... while running?" Cedric gasped out.
[Why not? Now, stop dying. You finished the quest.]
Cedric dragged himself through the door of Apartment 237 as the digital clock on his phone hit 6:55 AM. He closed the door, locked it, and slid down the wood until he was sitting on the floor.
Ding!
[DAILY QUEST COMPLETE!]
[Reward Delivered: 01x Moomoo Milk.]
A glass bottle materialized in the air and dropped into his lap. It was cold, covered in condensation. The label featured a cartoon pink cow—a Miltank—smiling happily, holding a bottle of its own milk.
Cedric picked it up. The glass was cool against his feverish skin.
He popped the cap. He didn't hesitate. He drank it in one long drought.
The milk was rich, sweet, and creamy. It tasted like vanilla and honey. But the magic wasn't in the taste.
As the liquid hit his stomach, a wave of warmth exploded outward. It wasn't just digestion; it was restoration. The warmth rushed through his veins, seeking out the lactic acid in his muscles. The burning in his calves vanished. The tightness in his chest loosened. His head cleared instantly, the fog of exhaustion lifting like mist under the sun.
"This..." Cedric looked at the empty bottle, amazed. "It is better than medicine."
[Of course it is. That is genuine Moomoo Milk from the Johto region. Do you think Pokemon drink water after getting flamethrowered? They drink this. It heals muscle fatigue instantly. It's liquid magic.]
Cedric set the bottle down. He felt... good. Tired, but a good kind of tired. His body felt used, not just existing.
He crawled into bed, still in his tracksuit.
"Nap time." He declared.
[Fine. You earned it. But only until noon. Don't get used to it.]
***
Cedric woke up when the sun was high, streaming through the thin curtains. He stretched. To his surprise, there was no stiffness. The milk had done its job perfectly.
He sat up and looked at the table where he had dumped his haul from the 141 store the night before. His stomach growled, demanding something substantial.
He grabbed one of the instant noodle cups—"Volcanic Beef" flavor.
He walked to the small kitchenette. The counter was bare except for the kettle provided by the landlord. He filled it with tap water and clicked the switch.
Rumble... Click.
The water boiled quickly. Cedric peeled back the foil lid halfway, emptied the sachets of dried vegetables and spicy powder onto the noodles, and poured the steaming water in until it reached the fill line.
He pressed the lid back down, weighing it with his fork. He stood there, staring at the cup, counting the seconds in his head. One hundred seventy-eight... one hundred seventy-nine... one hundred eighty.
Three minutes. Precision.
He carried the hot cup back to the bed. The smell of artificial beef and chili filled the sterile room, making it feel slightly less empty.
Simple. Cheap. Efficient.
He sat down on the mattress, peeling the lid off completely. He picked up his black phone with one hand while stirring the noodles with the other.
Ding!
[SIDE QUEST: KNOWLEDGE IS POWER]
Objective: Browse the Inter-Knot for 1 hour. Learn about the social structure of New Eridu.
Reason:"Ignorance is fatal. You need to know what a Hollow is before you fall into one. You need to know who the players are."
Reward: 500 Denny.
Cedric sighed, but he opened the app.
For the next hour, he scrolled. He read articles. He watched videos.
He learned about the Hollows—spherical dimensions that distorted time and space, filled with Ether. He watched grainy footage of buildings being swallowed whole, vanishing into black domes that shimmered like oil.
He learned about Ethereals—born from corruption. Monsters with black shiny bodies sparkling red/green, a black spherical core near the head and protective crystal armor.
He learned about Proxies—the guides who navigated the Hollows using "Carrot" data to map the shifting pathways.
He learned about New Eridu—the last city, built on a delicate balance between exploiting the Hollows for resources and fighting them for survival. It was a city living on borrowed time, mining the very thing that wanted to destroy it.
"They live on the edge of a cliff." Cedric mumbled, taking a sip of tea. "And they act like it is normal weather."
It was strange. The people in the videos weren't terrified. They were annoyed by Hollow alerts like they were traffic jams. They bought Hollow-resistant gear like they bought umbrellas.
He scrolled past ads for "Ether-Resistant Mascara" and "Bunker Insurance." It was surreal.
***
Lunch was over. Cedric sat on the bed, looking around his apartment.
It was clean in the sense that there was no trash. But it was dusty. The corners were gray with neglected cobwebs. The windows were streaked with grime, filtering the sunlight into a dull haze. It felt abandoned. It felt like a cell.
[How long do you plan to live in this pigsty?]
The System's voice broke the silence. She sounded disgusted.
[I see a spider in the corner. He has built a three-story house. He is living better than you. Clean this place up. Environment affects psychology. A messy room creates a messy mind.]
Cedric looked at the spider. It was a small, brown thing, busily wrapping a fly.
"He is a roommate." He argued. "He pays rent in fly control."
[He is a squatter. Evict him. Get the broom. Move your body. Consider it active recovery.]
Cedric sighed, a long, dramatic exhale that ruffled his bangs. But he got up.
He found an old broom and some rags in the utility closet.
For the next two hours, Cedric did the one thing he was truly good at in his previous life besides typing: mindless manual labor.
He swept the laminate floor until the dust bunnies were gone. He wiped the windows until the grey light of the city shone through clearly, revealing the urban sprawl outside. He arranged his stash of soda cans into a perfect pyramid on the small table. He folded his ten identical black t-shirts and stacked them in the wardrobe with military precision.
The repetitive motion was soothing. It required no thought. Wipe. Sweep. Fold. It was a meditation.
By late afternoon, the room had changed. It wasn't furnished any better, but it felt... lighter. The air smelled less like dust and more like the lemon cleaner he had found. The afternoon sun hit the wooden floor, creating a patch of warmth that hadn't been there before.
"Not bad." Cedric said, dusting off his hands.
[Acceptable. At least if you die now, the paramedics won't judge your housekeeping skills.]
"If you don't say something ominous, will you short circuit?" Cedric asked.
[It is part of my charm. Now, go shower. You smell like sweat and lemon pledge.]
The sun began to set, painting the sky of New Eridu in deep shades of crimson and violet. The neon lights of the city began to flicker on, one by one, like awakening eyes.
Cedric gathered a set of clean clothes—black t-shirt, black sweatpants—and walked into the bathroom.
He turned on the shower. The warm water hit his skin, washing away the dust of cleaning and the lingering sweat of the morning run. He stood there for a long time, letting the steam fill the small space, blurring the mirror.
It was a moment of peace. Just him and the water.
He turned off the faucet. The silence rushed back in.
He reached for the towel rack.
His hand brushed against the thin, scratchy white towel provided by the landlord. It was stiff, abrasive, and smelled of bleach and industrial stagnation. It was a towel that did the job, but hated you while doing it.
He paused.
He looked at the door. Beyond it, on the desk, was the canvas bag.
'Why use sandpaper when I have velvet?' He thought.
He wrapped the thin towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom. He walked to the desk. The canvas bag was where he had left it, a small island of care in the empty room.
He reached in and pulled out the fluffy, grey bath towel.
"Premium item." He murmured.
He ran his thumb over the fabric. It was thick. Soft. The loops of the cotton were intact, not worn down by a thousand washes in a commercial machine. It felt luxurious.
Cedric lifted the towel. He draped it over his wet head. He began to rub his hair dry.
And then, he froze.
As the soft fabric pressed against his face, covering his nose and mouth, he inhaled.
A scent hit him.
It wasn't the chemical smell of the store-bought detergent. It wasn't the smell of "new".
It was a scent. A specific, layered, personal scent.
It smelled of sunlight caught in fabric. It smelled of old paper and vinyl records. It smelled faintly of bitter black coffee. And underneath it all, a soft, sweet note of lavender.
It was the smell of the bedroom above the video store.
It was the smell of Wise.
A jolt of electricity shot down his spine. It wasn't the System shocking him. It was his own nervous system misfiring.
His face went hot. Violently hot.
The image of Wise standing behind him, her fingers combing through his hair, her breath near his neck, crashed into his mind with the force of a physical blow. The intimacy of it. The fact that this was her towel. That it had touched her skin. That he was now wrapping himself in something that smelled like her.
"Gah!"
It was a panic reflex.
Cedric ripped the towel off his head and threw it.
He didn't just drop it. He hurled it across the room as if it were a venomous snake or a live grenade.
The grey bundle flew through the air, arcing gracefully and landed softly at the foot of his bed.
Cedric stood frozen in the middle of the room, water dripping from his hair onto his shoulders. His hand was still raised in the throwing motion. His chest was heaving. His heart was beating a frantic tattoo against his ribs.
[...What was that?]
The System asked. Her voice was filled with genuine confusion.
[Was there a spider in the towel? Did you get a cramp? Why did you assault the linens?]
Cedric swallowed hard. He tried to force his heart rate down. He glared at the innocent grey towel lying on his bed.
He covered his face with his hands. His cheeks were burning.
"No... Nothing." His voice cracked. It was an octave higher than usual. "Just... my hand slipped."
[Slipped? You threw it three meters. Are you practicing for the discus throw?]
"Shut up."
Cedric took a deep breath. He lowered his hands. He tried to summon his usual mask of indifference, but he could feel the heat in his ears.
He crept toward the bed. He approached the towel cautiously, as if it might jump up and bite him.
He reached out. He picked it up with two fingers, holding it at arm's length.
He looked around the empty room, ensuring no one—absolutely no one—was watching him.
He hesitated.
Then, slowly, he brought the towel back to his head.
He tried to hold his breath. But the scent was still there. Lavender. Coffee. Paper.
It wasn't scary. It wasn't dangerous. It was... nice. It was comforting.
And that made him even more confused.
He began to dry his hair. His movements were stiff, jerky, and aggressive. He rubbed his head harder than necessary, as if trying to scrub away the weird, warm feeling blooming in his chest. He messed up his hair, tangling it, desperate to finish the task.
"It is just a towel." He muttered, chanting it like a protective spell. "It is just cotton."
He kept his eyes glued to the floor, refusing to look in the mirror.
…
…
…
His hair was dry. He had used the black hairdryer, following Wise's instructions, and for once, he didn't look like a drowned rat. His hair fell in smooth, clean curtains around his face.
Cedric sat on the edge of his bed.
He took the grey towel. He didn't put it back in the bag. He didn't throw it in the laundry hamper.
He folded it. Corner to corner. Edge to edge. He smoothed out the wrinkles.
He placed it neatly on the nightstand, right next to his pillow.
He turned off the main overhead light. The room plunged into darkness.
Then, he reached for the thermos on his belt. He pressed the button.
Zzzzip.
The Mark-IV Incubator expanded, taking its place beside the bed. The soft red light from the chamber spilled out, bathing the room in a warm, cavernous glow.
Thump-thump... Thump-thump...
The heartbeat of the egg was audible in the silence of the night. It was strong. Rhythmic. It synced with Cedric's own pulse, which had finally slowed down.
Cedric lay down on his side, facing the glass. The red light illuminated his face, softening the sharp angles, hiding the lingering flush on his cheeks.
He watched the steel-blue scales of the egg shimmer.
"Today..." He whispered to the empty room. His finger traced a circle on the glass.
"I ran. I almost died. I met a strange girl who eats burgers at dawn. I cleaned the room. And..."
He paused. He glanced at the grey towel on the nightstand.
"...And I realized I am an idiot."
The incubator vibrated slightly with a Thump, as if the creature inside was chuckling in agreement.
"Don't laugh." Cedric grumbled, pulling the duvet up to his chin. "You hurry up and grow. This world is too loud. I need a bodyguard to chase people away."
A small line of blue text appeared in his vision, hovering over the egg before fading into the darkness.
[Time until hatching: 13 Days.]