Tamura stayed.
Not because he planned to, and not because he felt attached—but because his body, for the first time since reincarnating, registered something close to convenience.
The place was barely a village.
Six permanent structures, three semi-permanent, all arranged around a shallow spring reinforced with stone. The inhabitants were mixed: a handful of demi-humans, two elderly humans who no longer traveled, and monsters so low-ranked they barely registered as such. No walls. No banner. No ambition.
Exactly the kind of place history forgot on purpose.
Tamura discovered it by accident while following the spring's mana trace upstream. He did not announce himself. He did not hide either. He simply existed at the edge of the settlement, observing.
Conceptual Appraisal activated automatically, its output noticeably… cleaner.
---
[Conceptual Appraisal – Simplified Output]
Location: Unregistered Waypoint
Threat Level: Low
Political Relevance: Negligible
Observation Risk: Minimal
Stability: Fragile but sustainable
---
"…That's an improvement," Tamura muttered.
The information no longer arrived as abstract impressions alone. It was structured now. Categorized. Readable.
He deactivated the skill and drifted closer.
No one reacted immediately.
That, more than anything, convinced him to stay for the night.
The settlement noticed him gradually—first as a presence, then as a curiosity. A slime near the spring. Not aggressive. Not territorial. Someone offered him water out of reflex before realizing how absurd that was.
Tamura accepted anyway.
He spent the day doing very little. Helping grind grain with precise vibration control. Purifying water without comment. Cooking in silence.
By evening, no one questioned why he was still there.
That night, the system chimed.
> "Daily Sign-In Complete."
Tamura waited.
> "Reward Acquired: Semi-Manifestation — Adaptive Exterior (Minor)."
He stiffened.
Information followed, concise and unambiguous.
The skill allowed Tamura to subtly adjust his outer form—not a full transformation, not a humanoid body. More like… presentation. Texture. Density. Shape bias.
Enough to be read as "person-like" at a glance.
"…That's dangerous," he said flatly.
Not because of power.
Because of temptation.
He tested it cautiously. His body condensed slightly, surface smoothing, outline tightening. From a distance, he no longer looked like an amorphous blob. More like a small, translucent being with intent behind its shape.
No face. No limbs.
But less other.
He reverted immediately.
Adaptive Exterior did not force change. It offered it.
Tamura lay awake long after the settlement slept.
This place was easy.
No guilds. No Church. No Demon Lords. No destiny waiting around corners.
He could stay here. Help. Cook. Be useful without being important.
And slowly—inevitably—become known.
In the morning, a child approached him without fear.
"Are you staying?" she asked.
Tamura looked at the spring, the low buildings, the fragile stability.
Conceptual Appraisal flickered again, unprompted.
---
[Conceptual Appraisal – Local Projection]
Outcome if Staying:
– Social Integration: Gradual
– External Attention: Delayed, not avoided
– Personal Freedom: Decreasing over time
---
"…I see."
Tamura smiled—an expression no one could see.
"I'm just visiting," he said gently.
The child nodded, accepting that without question.
By noon, Tamura was already moving again, leaving behind clean tools, improved water flow, and a memory that would blur with time.
Adaptive Exterior remained unused.
For now.
As he traveled on, Tamura understood something clearly:
The world would keep offering him ways to fit.
And every one of them would cost him something he wasn't sure he was ready to give up.