Royal Street
It was exactly nine o'clock at night.
Ben slowly lifted the ceramic cup resting on the table inside his room. The cup was slightly warm against his fingers, carrying a quiet, comforting heat. He brought it closer to his lips and took a careful sip.
The drink resembled tea in appearance, yet it was not tea.
It was a beverage made from Genic seeds—what this world referred to as tea. The liquid inside the cup shimmered faintly, its color a strange yet beautiful blend of bright blue mixed with a reddish hue. It looked almost unreal, as if light itself had dissolved into the drink. The taste was naturally sweet—soft, gentle, and complete. There was no need to add sugar.
Ben—who was, in truth, Sherlock—paused slightly as the flavor lingered on his tongue.
So this is tea in this world, he thought.
Interesting… They even use the word 'tea' here. That means the concept exists. Good.
Just then—
Knock. Knock.
The sudden sound of knocking broke the quiet of the room.
A familiar voice followed immediately.
"Ben, open the door."
It was Iffi.
Ben heard his name called twice. He placed the cup back on the table, pushed his chair slightly, and stood up. Walking toward the door, he reached out and unlocked it.
The door opened.
Iffi stood right in front of him.
She was shorter than him, her height reaching only up to his shoulder. The moment the door opened, she rose slightly on her toes, leaned forward, and gently held Sherlock's face with both hands.
Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she asked,
"Were you drinking tea?"
Sherlock froze for a brief moment.
They really call this tea… he thought again, inwardly amused.
So the word 'tea' exists naturally in this world too.
Ben replied simply,
"Yeah."
Iffi stepped back, releasing his face.
She was dressed in thick, coat-like clothing that hugged her body closely. The fabric looked heavy and warm, extending down to her knees. On her head was a large white cap—a ladies' cap, unmistakably so.
Sherlock glanced at her attire and frowned inwardly.
Why are all the clothes in this world made from such thick threads?
Do they grow jute everywhere but completely fail at design?
Before he could think further, another presence appeared at the doorway.
Selena.
She bowed her head politely and spoke with practiced respect.
"Hot soup for Miss Elinaz. Where should I place it?"
Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts and looked to the side.
Iffi was no longer there.
The faint sound of running water echoed from the bathroom.
Sherlock replied calmly,
"Place it on the mini tea table beside the bed."
Selena nodded, followed his instruction precisely, and exited the room with dignity and silence.
A few moments later, the bathroom door opened.
Iffi stepped out, wrapped in a red towel.
Her hair was still wet, droplets of water falling slowly from the tips and hitting the floor with soft sounds. The towel was loosely wrapped around her body, clinging slightly because of the moisture.
She walked straight toward the wardrobe and pulled out fresh clothes.
Right there.
In front of Ben—Sherlock—she began changing.
Sherlock's eyes widened for a split second before he quickly turned his face away, heat rising to his ears.
Iffi noticed immediately.
A mischievous smile curved her lips.
"Oh?" she teased.
"You took everything from me, and now you're turning your eyes away?"
"No, no… what kind of logic is that, hmm?"
Sherlock stammered,
"N–No, I mean… actually—"
Inside his mind, chaos erupted.
What the hell is this guy—no, what am I doing here?
Why did I end up inside a married man's place? Damn it!
What should I say?
Should I enjoy this or live like a devoted servant instead?
What is the correct response here?!
Iffi finished changing and slipped into a night dress. She then walked over to the mini table, picked up the bowl of soup Selena had placed there, and began drinking slowly.
After a few spoonfuls, she spoke casually,
"Alright, enough. Sit down."
"And stop acting so childish."
Sherlock let out a quiet breath and sat.
---
Elsewhere
A vast wilderness stretched endlessly.
A land of mixed terrain where maple trees and sal forests grew together in abundance. Between them ran a narrow, earthen path—well-worn yet peaceful. A little distance away, a thin river flowed calmly, reflecting the dim light of the night sky.
Walking along the dirt path was a young man, around twenty-six or twenty-seven years old.
He wore loose-fitting clothes that fluttered lightly with his steps. A strip of red-and-white cloth was tied around his eyes, securing his long black hair from falling forward. His hair was thick and long, flowing freely down his back.
His physique was tall and well-built.
Resting on his shoulder was a wooden staff, and tied to its end was a small cloth bundle.
He walked steadily, unhurried.
A cold wind brushed past him, carrying the scent of soil and leaves.
The man began humming softly to himself, his voice blending with the wind.
> "The wind breaks through all barriers,
Keeps moving toward the unknown path,
There is no chain that can stop it—
Everything shatters as it moves on.
Everyone bears the burden of family fate,
Why does it never fall upon me?
But how would it ever come,
Unless I choose to walk that endless road?"
As he sang, he covered a long distance without realizing it.
Ahead of him—
A massive gate.
It stood tall and wide, adorned with intricate carvings and ancient designs. The craftsmanship was exquisite, each symbol etched with care.
The man stopped and stared.
"…Hmm," he muttered softly.
"This is the kingdom of the Manul race."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
He resumed walking, talking to himself as he approached.
"The history of this race is quite amusing," he said thoughtfully.
"They were created from Lilial."
He chuckled faintly.
"Lilial wasn't even a proper being—just a thing, really."
"Hah. She didn't hesitate even twice to sleep with humans just to reach god-level."
He shook his head slightly.
"Crazy woman… though she wasn't human to begin with."
He continued calmly,
"The Manul tend to have abnormally tall bodies and longer hair."
"Other than that, they're almost identical to humans."
He paused for a moment, then added,
"But their intelligence is noticeably lower."
"Well… not extremely low. Just lower."
Several guards stood at the gate.
They appeared to be gatekeepers—people responsible for controlling entry.
The man stepped forward.
Three of them stopped him.
The first guard asked sharply,
"Who are you?"
The man replied without hesitation,
"My name is Rayan El Shafi."
"I am a traveler. My work is to roam unknown lands across countries and worlds."
The first guard tilted his head, curiosity evident.
"I've never seen a human in this Seliz world before."
Shafi inhaled slowly before answering,
"I am human."
"Yes… that's correct."
"But also—no. Not entirely."
The third guard frowned.
"What do you mean? Please explain."
The first guard nodded.
"Yes. Indeed."
Shafi waved his hand lightly, changing the topic.
"Ah, what I am can be discussed later."
"For now—may I enter?"
The first guard smiled faintly.
"No problem. You may proceed."
"It brings us joy."
Shafi walked past them and entered the kingdom.
As he moved deeper inside, the scale of the city became clear.
This kingdom was significantly larger than others.
The reason was simple—
The Manul race resided here in great numbers.