Charlie went to the police station first.
He left Mame at the house with strict instructions to stay put, then drove through the familiar streets of Forks with his jaw set and his thoughts already lining themselves into columns. Missing persons reports. Intake notes. Calls that needed to be made before rumors started filling in gaps that should stay empty.
By the time he was done, the morning had worn thin.
Mame sat on the edge of the couch when Charlie returned, backpack at his feet, posture careful like he was afraid of touching anything that might belong too much to someone else.
"Alright," Charlie said, grabbing his jacket. "Let's get you to school."
Mame nodded and stood quickly. "Okay."
The drive to Forks High School was quieter than the night before. Morning traffic was light. Rain still clung to everything, softening edges and muting color. The school appeared through the mist like it had always been there, waiting.
Which made Mame's chest tighten for reasons he could not explain.
Inside, the office smelled like paper and cleaner. A bell chimed softly as they stepped in. A woman at the front desk looked up, glasses perched low on her nose.
"Can I help you?"
Charlie nodded. "Charlie Swan. This is Mame. He's got transfer papers."
The receptionist smiled politely and reached for the folder Charlie handed over. She flipped through it, nodding as she scanned.
"Yes, I see that here. Transfer approved, classes assigned," she said. Then she paused. Her brow furrowed slightly. "I just need to confirm one thing."
She looked up at Mame. "Your last name?"
Mame blinked.
"My… last name?"
"Yes," she said gently. "For the records."
He glanced at Charlie, then back at her. "I don't have one."
The receptionist hesitated. "Everyone has a last name."
"I know," Mame said. "I just don't."
Charlie stepped in. "Paperwork in his bag lists him as Mame only."
The receptionist flipped back through the pages, lips pursed. "That's true. It does."
She typed something into her computer. The screen beeped sharply.
"Oh," she said. "The system doesn't like that."
Charlie sighed. "What does that mean?"
"It means I can't finalize enrollment without a surname," she replied. "The database requires both fields."
Mame frowned. "Why wasn't this brought up when the transfer papers were made?"
The receptionist shook her head. "I honestly don't know. Sometimes paperwork passes through multiple offices before it reaches us."
She thought for a moment, then smiled. "He can use any last name for now. It's just for school."
"No," Charlie said immediately.
The receptionist looked surprised. "Sir?"
"No," Charlie repeated, firmer. "He can't just use any name. That causes problems later. Records mismatch. Legal issues. It needs to be done through proper channels."
Mame shifted, suddenly very aware of how much space his lack of a name seemed to be taking up.
The receptionist considered that, then nodded. "Alright. In that case, you have twenty days. That's the deadline for finalizing enrollment details."
"Twenty days," Charlie repeated.
"Yes. After that, the system locks the record."
Charlie nodded once. "Okay. I'll get it sorted and come back."
She smiled again, this time more warmly. "That works. Classes can wait until then."
Mame let out a breath he did not realize he was holding.
As they turned to leave, he paused. "Thank you," he said quietly.
The receptionist smiled at him. "You're welcome, Mame."
Outside, the rain had eased into a fine mist.
They stood on the steps for a moment, the school looming behind them, unfinished business pressing gently at Mame's back.
Twenty days.
A name he did not yet have.
And a feeling, deep and persistent, that whatever name he chose would matter far more than anyone in that office realized.
They were halfway to the cruiser when Charlie spoke again.
"You got a last name in mind?" he asked, casual but attentive.
Mame paused.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"No," he said finally. "I never had one."
Charlie glanced at him, surprised. "Never?"
Mame shook his head slowly. "I remember that much. I never had a last name. Not mine. Not my parents' either." He frowned, pressing two fingers to his temple. "That just came back now. Like… a light turning on in my head."
Charlie did not interrupt.
"It's weird," Mame continued. "I didn't know I remembered it until you asked."
Charlie nodded once. "Memory works like that sometimes."
They reached the car, and Charlie unlocked it. "You don't have to pick one today," he said as they got in. "We've got about twenty days total, but I'd rather handle paperwork early. Say fifteen days. Gives us room if processing takes five."
Mame absorbed that quietly. "Okay."
"You can think on it," Charlie added. "No rush."
The ride home passed in silence, but it was not uncomfortable. Forks slipped by outside the window, wet streets and low buildings blurring together. When they reached the house, Charlie parked and turned off the engine.
"I need to head back to work," he said. "You'll be alright here?"
Mame nodded. "Yeah."
Charlie hesitated, then added, "There's leftovers in the fridge. Don't answer the door for anyone you don't know."
"Got it."
Charlie gave him a small nod and left.
The house settled into quiet again.
Mame stood in the living room for a long moment, listening to the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of rain. Being alone felt different now. Not unsafe. Just… open.
He sat on the couch and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"Okay," he whispered. "If you're real, now would be a good time."
Nothing happened.
He waited.
Then, without sound or warning, something shifted in front of him.
A transparent window appeared in the air, hovering just above his lap. It was faint, almost glasslike, outlined in soft light. Letters formed cleanly and precisely, as if typed into existence.
He sucked in a breath.
The window did not flicker. It did not pulse. It simply existed.
At the top, two tabs were visible.
StatusShop
Mame stared.
"System," he said quietly.
The window responded by expanding slightly.
The Status tab opened on its own.
STATUS WINDOW
Name: MameAge: UnknownCondition: Stable
Attributes (Letter Rank)
Strength: DAgility: DEndurance: CPerception: CIntelligence: BWillpower: BLuck: Unknown
Mame read it twice.
"Letter ranks," he murmured. "Of course."
He did not feel stronger. He did not feel different. If anything, he felt very normal. That almost made it worse.
He reached out tentatively.
His fingers passed through the window without resistance felt on the skin, but the tab reacted, highlighting faintly where he touched.
He switched to the second tab.
SHOP
Available Items:
Water BottleBasic BackpackNotebookPenEnergy BarHoodie
Notice:Shop inventory will expand as the host progresses.
"That's it?" Mame asked.
The window remained silent.
He leaned back against the couch, staring at the floating interface. No instructions. No quests. No countdown. Just information and a quiet sense of expectation.
"So," he said to the empty room, "you give me stats, a store, and a deadline for my name."
The window did not deny it.
Mame exhaled slowly.
Outside, Forks remained gray and ordinary.
Inside, something had begun.
And for the first time since waking up on the road, Mame felt like he was standing at the start of something instead of the aftermath.
Whatever name he chose would be his.
And whatever this system was, it was waiting for him to decide.
Mame stared at the floating window for a long moment.
"Alright," he said quietly. "Let's see what you actually do."
He tried everything he could think of.
He tapped the edge of the interface. Nothing new appeared. He swiped left and right. The window resisted, snapping back gently as if amused by the attempt. He concentrated, willing another tab into existence.
Nothing.
Still just two.
Status.Shop.
"No settings," he muttered. "No help section. No ominous countdown."
The system remained indifferent.
He returned to the Shop tab and focused on it more carefully this time. A faint search bar appeared at the top, subtle enough that he almost missed it.
"Oh," he said. "You hide things."
He typed experimentally.
Water.Food.Clothes.
Each search returned simple, ordinary items. Bottled water. Canned food. Socks. Shoes. Nothing strange. Nothing powerful.
Scrolling worked too. The list extended downward slowly, mundane and practical. Items someone might buy at a convenience store or a supermarket. The prices adjusted automatically, a small note appearing at the bottom of the window.
All currencies accepted. Conversion active. Current region: United States. Base currency: USD.
"That's… efficient," Mame said.
On impulse, he searched again.
Sell.
A new option appeared instantly.
Sell Item
He blinked.
He tapped it, then hesitated. The window displayed a simple rule beneath it.
Eligible items must be owned by the host or unclaimed by any owner.
"So no stealing," Mame murmured. "Figures."
He looked around the living room. The couch. The table. Charlie's old television. None of it felt like it belonged to him.
He reached into his backpack and pulled out a notebook. One of the plain ones from the shop list. He hesitated, then selected it.
A confirmation prompt appeared.
Sell Notebook for $3.25 USD?
He canceled it immediately.
"Okay," he said. "Not that desperate."
The option remained there, waiting.
After a few more minutes of poking and testing, it became clear that this was all the system was willing to show him for now. No progression meter. No hidden skills. No dramatic announcements.
Just quiet potential.
He leaned back on the couch and stared at the ceiling.
"Well," he sighed, "that was anticlimactic."
Boredom crept in slowly.
He did not have school yet. He had no job. He had no friends in town. Charlie was at work, and the house was too quiet for his thoughts to stay still.
His eyes drifted back to the Status tab.
Strength: D.Agility: D.Endurance: C.
He frowned.
"Those could be better," he said.
An idea took shape.
He stood and glanced toward the hallway, then toward the door that led to the garage. Charlie had mentioned it offhand earlier. A small setup. Nothing fancy.
Mame hesitated.
"He didn't say I couldn't," he reasoned quietly.
The garage smelled faintly of oil and dust. A basic weight set sat against the wall. A bench. A treadmill that looked older than him. It was not impressive, but it was usable.
Mame stretched slowly, testing his muscles. Everything felt normal. Tired, maybe. Weak in a human way.
He started small.
Push-ups. Awkward at first, then steadier. His arms burned quickly. He stopped before it became painful, breathing hard.
"Okay," he muttered. "D rank confirmed."
He moved on to light weights, careful not to overdo it. The rhythm helped. Lift. Lower. Breathe. For the first time since waking up in Forks, his mind quieted.
Minutes passed.
Sweat formed. Muscles complained. His heart beat strong and steady.
When he finally stopped, he leaned against the wall, chest rising and falling.
The Status window flickered faintly in his peripheral vision.
Not an announcement.
Not a level up.
Just presence.
Mame smiled slightly.
"Guess we're starting from the basics," he said.
He wiped his hands on his shirt and glanced toward the door leading back into the house.
"Hope you don't mind, Charlie," he added under his breath.
Somewhere deep inside, something observed quietly.
And waited to see what he would do next.