Okay. I should start the quest.
Yan Ye stared at the living room. Trash bags lined the walls. Stacked in corners. Leaning against furniture like silent, judgmental witnesses. Some were bulging so much the plastic looked ready to split.
But first... I need to clean this place.
There had to be at least a hundred of them. Fifty-liter bags, everywhere. The third bedroom was the worst. Bags stacked nearly to the ceiling. Furniture buried under layers of neglect.
At this rate, it would take a week just to haul everything out.
Maybe I should call a cleaning company.
The thought lasted half a second before he physically recoiled.
No. Absolutely not. Just imagine it. Thirty years from now, standing at the top of the world. Powerful. Influential. Untouchable. And then some retired employee from a cleaning service starts telling a funny little story about the disgusting apartment of some socially isolated student named Yan Ye.
Screenshots. Old internal records. "The powerhouse that once lived in a trash nest."
His face heated up just thinking about it.
But this world is more advanced than Earth. There has to be something better than manually carrying a hundred trash bags down the elevator.
He opened PortalHaul and typed "Spatial."
"...Found it."
A 1m³ spatial pouch: 200,000¥. A 3m³: 1,000,000¥. A 5m³: 10,000,000¥.
And from there, the prices skyrocketed so violently it felt like the store was mocking its own customers.
He did the math. A hundred 50-liter bags. Roughly five cubic meters total. In theory, a single 5m³ pouch should be enough.
In theory.
But bags weren't clean cubes. They expanded. Shifted. Had air pockets. He'd probably need at least two.
Thirty minutes later, the cart was full.
Two 5m³ spatial pouches. Thick cleaning gloves. An entire box of masks. Industrial-strength disinfectant. An ultra-power water vacuum cleaner. Three 1000L IBC containers. And a pile of smaller items he didn't even bother reading properly.
Seventy-six items.
Total: 20,223,997¥.
Portal delivery fee: 45,000¥.
Pay.
He expected the twenty million. Mentally prepared for that punch. But spending over two hundred thousand on "the other stuff" still stung.
The portal arrived three minutes later. Black box this time. Denser. Colder. Everything was neatly packed inside the two spatial pouches.
Deep breath.
Cleaning time.
Eight minutes later, he was drenched.
He needed three pouches. Not two. Three.
The third bedroom had been the real nightmare. It was easier to just throw everything away. Desk. Chair. Shelves. All of it crammed inside the spatial pouch. He'd buy new furniture later.
He'd moved like a madman. Running back and forth. Dragging. Lifting. Stuffing. His arms burned. His back screamed. Sweat had soaked through his shirt before he'd even noticed he was sweating.
He left the three full pouches in the guest room. Disposal could wait.
Then came the floor. Water. Disinfectant. Scrubbing. Vacuum. Repeat. The IBC containers filled with dirty water that looked like it belonged in a sewer.
By three in the afternoon, the apartment smelled neutral. Not good. Just not criminal.
He collapsed on the sofa and pulled out his phone.
Just a quick break.
There were so many novels on this world's internet. Genres he'd never seen before. Subgenres of subgenres. Dungeon-farming romance. Interstellar slice-of-life. Post-apocalyptic cooking competitions. Five hundred years of creative evolution, and the entertainment industry had gone absolutely feral.
He found a webnovel about a transmigrator who becomes a chef and cooks monsters.
Just one chapter.
He read twelve.
"...Shit."
He checked the time. He'd lost two hours without even noticing. The cleaning was done, at least. Food was still left over from that morning.
He ate the remaining forty percent of the riverfin. Turned on the TV to catch the news. A dungeon eruption near the Ashen Corridor. International assistance requested. Monsters heading toward borders.
Even in another world, that region hasn't changed.
Some things never do.
After eating, he stood in front of the bathroom door.
"Finally."
He'd always wanted to take a bath in a proper bathtub. Back on Earth, he only had showers. Tiny ones. Here, the tub was massive. At least two meters long. Practically a small pool.
He lowered himself into the hot water.
"Ooh..."
Heat wrapped around him. His muscles loosened instantly. The tension in his shoulders dissolved. Steam curled upward, fogging the mirror.
I never thought I'd fulfill this dream in another world of all places.
He sank deeper, until the water lapped at his collarbones.
And his mind drifted to the memories.
Ms. Wen Jiayi. The original Yan Ye's homeroom teacher for the past ten months. Twenty-two years old. Graduated top of her class from Tsinghua University. Started a master's while teaching.
Reached Tier 2 in just four years.
With an Irregular Rank class. Truth Seeker.
The memories showed fragments of the rumors. Her awakening had caused a stir. Witnesses said a giant ancient grimoire had manifested behind her, absorbing magical symbols from the air like it was inhaling the world itself. Everyone assumed it would be some kind of powerful mage-type class.
It was. Technically.
Just not the kind people expected.
Life-type. No combat abilities. Pure support. Skills that weren't especially useful in battle.
"She's incredible," he murmured, the words dissolving into the steam.
Reaching Tier 2 in four years with a class no one fully understood wasn't something an ordinary person could do. Not in this world. Not in any.
But that was the fate of Irregular Rank awakeners. Roughly 0.000043% of all who awakened. Lucky or unlucky, depending on how you looked at it.
In theory, Irregular Rank meant limitless potential. The possibility of standing at the very top. But it also meant walking your own path from the very first step. No guides. No map. No mentor who could say "yes, this is correct." Just a faint, almost irrational feeling that you were moving in the right direction.
And whether that feeling was genius-level intuition or a delusion dragging you toward a dead end, you might never know until it was too late.
With the system on my side, I probably won't have to worry even if I awaken an Irregular class.
Right?
He watched the steam swirl above him.
If possible... maybe one day I'll even be able to help her.
The memories showed more. Wen Jiayi had been unusually attentive to Big Ye since she arrived at the school. Talking to him about trivial things. More like a friend than a teacher. The original Yan Ye had genuinely become happier during those months before his grandmother got sick. A quiet warmth. Nothing loud or dramatic. Just steady.
Over the last three months, that warmth had been the only thing keeping Big Ye from collapsing entirely.
Without her, he might not have lasted as long as he did.
A voice cut through the steam and his thoughts.
No. Wait. There was no voice. He was alone.
Right. She's not here. I just... drifted.
He checked the time. He'd been in the tub for over thirty minutes.
"Almost turned this into a spa session."
He scrambled out, dried off, put on a dark blue oversized shirt and black shorts, and stepped back into the living room.
Okay. Daily quests.
I can do this.
He pulled up the quest window. Stared at the numbers. Looked at his body. Looked at the numbers again.
Squats first. Those seem the least impossible.
One.
His thighs screamed immediately.
Two.
His back made a sound that backs should not make.
Three.
Already sweating. Seventeen years old. Three squats. Personal insult from gravity.
He kept going. Breaking every few minutes. Collapsing on the floor. Checking his phone. Reading another chapter of the chef novel. Getting back up. Doing more.
Push-ups were worse. His arms shook after five. His gut touched the floor before his chest did.
"System, do half push-ups count?"
Silence.
"Yeah. That's a no."
Sit-ups were the devil. His stomach was a mountain. Every curl upward felt like folding a mattress in half using only his spine. He got to seventeen and his phone buzzed. New chapter from the chef novel.
As a reward. For seventeen sit-ups.
He read three chapters.
By 7:30 PM, the sun was low and orange through the balcony doors.
Squats: 83/100Push-ups: 34/100Sit-ups: 29/100Run: 0/10,000 m
Not even close on anything. The run hadn't been attempted. Wasn't going to be.
"System, do you grade on a curve?"
Nothing.
"Yeah. That's a no."
He dropped into another squat. Eighty-four. Eighty-five. Knees popping. Vision blurring slightly at the edges.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
He froze mid-squat.
Who the hell is visiting at this hour?
He didn't know anyone in this world. Big Ye hadn't had friends. The only person who ever came to this apartment was—
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Yan? Yan, are you home? It's Ms. Wen. You missed three days of school. I'm worried."
Oh fuck.
The teacher. He'd completely forgotten he was a student.
Big Ye hadn't gone to school for the past three days before he died. Of course someone would notice. Of course it would be her.
The apartment was clean. Thank God. But he was drenched in sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, smelling like a gym floor.
Can't pretend I'm not here. Not to her.
"Coming! One minute!"
He grabbed a towel, wiped his face, changed into a less offensive shirt, and opened the door.
She was pretty.
That was the first thought, and he hated himself for it because it arrived before anything useful.
Silver hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Green eyes that seemed to glow under the hallway lights. Young. She didn't look a day over twenty. She was carrying two bags filled with fresh vegetables and meat.
A soft, worried expression on her face.
"Ms. Wen. I—"
"You look terrible. Are you sick?"
She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation and immediately placed a hand on his forehead.
Her palm was cool.
"Have you been sleeping? Eating? You haven't shown up at school for three days. You didn't tell anyone."
Her brows furrowed.
"You're hot. Do you have a fever?"
Thirty straight seconds of nonstop questioning. He finally managed to get a word in.
"I haven't been feeling well for the last three days, but I'm better now. I didn't tell anyone because I didn't think it would make a difference. It's not like I had anyone I could—"
"You have me."
She said it gently. Simply. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
His chest did something he wasn't prepared for.
She's only saying that because she's my teacher. Don't read into it.
But still.
She was unbelievably beautiful. Big Ye had dedicated a hundred percent of himself to academics. Never cared about her appearance. But Yan Ye wasn't Big Ye. There was no universe in which he could stand this close to the most captivating woman he'd ever seen in either life and feel nothing.
Don't fool yourself. You're just one of her students.
An awkward silence hung between them. She seemed to notice his discomfort, because she walked past him into the living room and set the bags on the kitchen counter.
She looked around.
"The apartment looks good. Last time I was here, it was..."
Her voice trailed off.
"Yeah. I cleaned today. Decided to make some changes."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Started with the apartment. Then some exercise. As you can probably tell."
He glanced down at himself. She looked at his sweat-drenched state and her whole face brightened. She even bounced slightly on her toes with a quick little clap.
Cute.
"That's great! I'm really glad." She nodded to herself like she'd already made a decision. "I can help you. You should cut down on junk food. I'll cook healthy meals for you whenever I can."
That brief exchange felt like ascending to heaven.
Her next words slammed him back down.
"You should go take a shower. I'll cook something in the meantime."
For some reason, it was one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. He said "okay" and retreated toward his room like he was fleeing a natural disaster.
I completely forgot that I'm technically the head of this household. Instead I'm acting like a husband following his wife's orders.
He showered fast. Changed. Came back out three minutes later.
"Sorry about that. More tired than I realized."
"Since you're here, help me set the table. Food's almost ready."
His stomach growled. Loud. Way louder than acceptable.
She paused. He froze.
"...Traitor," he muttered, glaring at his own abdomen.
She carried the food to the table, hiding what might have been a smile.
"You're dramatic. Sit."
Simple. But refined. Stir-fried chicken with ginger and scallions, glazed in a sauce that clung to the meat. Steamed vegetables, vibrant green. Fluffy rice, each grain separate. A clear soup with tofu and leafy greens.
He pulled out a chair for her before sitting down.
"You made all this in less than an hour?"
"It's not that complicated. Try it while it's hot."
First bite. The chicken was tender. Seasoning balanced. Clean and intentional.
"...This is really good."
She didn't respond, but he caught the faint upward curve at the corner of her lips.
He started eating faster than he meant to.
"Slow down. No one's going to steal it from you."
"...Right."
He forced himself to slow down. For a moment, neither spoke. Just the soft clink of chopsticks against porcelain.
Peaceful.
He glanced at her. She ate at a calm pace. A few loose strands of silver hair had slipped from her ponytail. The light caught faintly in her eyes.
Nothing dramatic about the scene. No life-or-death stakes. No system notifications.
And yet he found himself staring a few seconds longer than he should have.
"Hm? You're not eating?"
He snapped back. Her cheeks were faintly red.
He froze. And suddenly his own face felt warm too. The words slipped out before he could filter them.
"Thank you. For everything."
His voice was slightly unsteady.
"I don't think I've ever properly thanked you. But I really appreciate all the attention you've given me over the past few months. I didn't realize until today how much those little interactions meant to me."
She stopped moving.
He swallowed and continued.
"The last few years of my life were... monotonous. Gray. But in just a few months, you changed that. When my grandmother passed, you came here. At school, you kept talking to me. Making me feel like a real person. Like you were the only one who actually saw me as a human being."
His fingers tightened slightly around his chopsticks.
"Without realizing it, I started thinking of you less as a teacher... and more as a friend."
A small, awkward laugh.
"My first and only friend, actually."
The moment the words left his mouth, regret punched him in the gut.
Idiot. I overthought it. Said too much. And somehow I might have just put my own teacher in the friend zone.
He looked up.
Her entire face was red now. Not just her cheeks. Her ears. The tips of her neck.
...Cute.
The moment she realized he was staring, she quickly lowered her gaze.
"I— I didn't do anything that special," she said, her usual calm wavering. "That's just... what a teacher is supposed to do."
She hesitated.
Then, more quietly:
"But... I'm glad it meant something to you."
Her fingers tightened slightly around her bowl.
"And... I don't mind being your friend."
The last word came out softer than the rest.
Something unspoken lingered in the air between them. But the silence didn't feel heavy. Didn't feel gray.
After that, nothing dramatic. Light conversation. Small jokes. A few shared stories. He ate too much and groaned about it. She took it as a compliment. They loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the table, and it all felt so natural it scared him a little.
They moved to the living room. She sat on one end of the large sofa. He sat on the other. The distance between them was deliberate but not uncomfortable.
The conversation turned serious again.
"You know the classes you missed were important, right?" she said.
"As the laws of the universe dictate," he sighed, "the days you skip are always the most important ones."
She gave him a look that clearly said don't joke about this.
"Tuesday, Wednesday, and today covered dungeons. Intelligent races that have settled on the planet. Dungeon classifications. Structural types. Risk levels."
So. Nothing minor.
"I couldn't get today's materials for you," she added, "but I'll bring them tomorrow. And you should definitely attend class. Tomorrow's topic is classes, tiers, and evolution."
That caught his full attention.
They talked about it for nearly thirty minutes. Basic theory. Historical examples. Famous breakthroughs. Catastrophic failures. He absorbed everything, cross-referencing against what the fragmented memories had shown him, filing away every detail.
Then she clapped her hands together softly.
"Alright. Serious topics covered."
She picked up her phone.
"Now it's time for entertainment."
She connected her phone to the TV. An anime app opened. A title appeared on screen.
Frieren: Beyond Journey's End.
"That's my favorite," she said casually. "Watching anime and reading novels are my hobbies."
Hobbies. Big Ye hadn't really had any. Study. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
And all the anime and novels I know are from Earth. None of them exist here.
She settled into the couch and looked at him expectantly.
He sat back. Not too close. Not too far.
"Have you seen it before?" she asked.
"No."
"Good." She sounded genuinely pleased. "Then you get to experience it properly."
The opening theme played. Light from the screen reflected in her silver hair.
She shifted just slightly closer. Not enough to make it obvious. But enough that the distance between them no longer felt so deliberate.
Three episodes. He didn't absorb much of the plot. Not because it wasn't good. But because there was something far more interesting sitting beside him.
He'd learned his lesson from dinner. Whenever he stole a glance at her now, he made sure it was quick. Subtle. Watching her get emotional at certain scenes. Eyes glistening one moment, laughing the next. He couldn't understand how someone could switch emotions so easily.
But instead of questioning it, he decided to just enjoy it.
I'm not sure if I've ever felt as happy in my entire life as I do right now.
And that includes both lives.
For the first time in years, he felt light. Free. Without a single real worry pressing down on his chest.
Time flew.
Before he knew it, the third episode ended.
She stood up, stretched, checked the time.
"I should go."
He walked her downstairs. They talked about anime all the way to the entrance. She called a transport. A sleek vehicle descended from the sky, AI-controlled, same model he'd seen flying that morning from the window.
She stepped inside.
"Tomorrow," she said. "Don't skip."
"I won't."
The door closed. The vehicle lifted smoothly and disappeared into the night sky.
He stood there for a moment. In front of the building. Looking up. This was technically the first time he'd left the apartment since transmigrating.
He barely noticed.
His mind was still replaying the last few hours. Her smile. Her laugh. Her voice saying friend. The smell of cooking in a clean apartment.
When was the last time I felt like this?
He didn't have an answer. Not in either life.
The elevator ride was quiet. The apartment was quieter. Dishes in the dishwasher. TV still showing the anime app's home screen. The faint warmth of a place that had, for a few hours, felt like someone actually lived in it.
He sat on the sofa. Let out a long breath. Stared at the ceiling.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, his mind was completely still. No calculations. No survival planning. No panic. Just the lingering echo of an evening that had felt, impossibly, normal.
Then a cold mechanical voice cut through the silence.
[00:00]
[Daily Quest — calculating results.]
His eyes snapped open.
Wait.
[Push-ups: 34/100 — Incomplete][Sit-ups: 29/100 — Incomplete][Squats: 91/100 — Incomplete][Run: 0/10,000 — Incomplete]
[Result: Failure.]
"...Fuck."
He'd forgotten. Completely. Not a single rep since she knocked on his door. Three hours of dinner and anime and feeling like a person, and the quest hadn't crossed his mind once.
Ninety-one squats. I was nine away from finishing just one category.
Nine.
[Punishment will now be administered.]
"Looks like I can only accept—"
[You will be teleported to the punishment area in 10... 9... 8...]
"Wait wait wait— what do you mean teleportation? I need to—"
[7... 6... 5...]
The apartment blurred. His body felt light. Wrong.
[4... 3... 2...]
The last thing he saw was the balcony. The clean floor. The faint glow of the TV still on.
The world vanished.
[00:01 AM]
[Ruins of Zarathen.]
[Punishment duration: 2 hours 59 minutes and 58... 57... 56...]
[Good luck!]
His first sensation was heat. Scorching, suffocating heat.
BOOOOM!
The ground bucked under him. A shockwave slammed into his legs and nearly threw him face-first into the sand. A wall of hot air followed, punching the breath from his lungs.
He spun around, heart hammering.
Sand. Endless dunes. A cloudless sky baked white by the sun.
SKREEEE!
A piercing shriek tore through the air and straight into his skull. He clutched his head, but it didn't help. The sound wasn't just outside.
It was inside.
"What the hell—"
Then he saw them.
Two colossal figures. Each over ten meters tall. Colliding in the distance like ancient gods at war.
One was a towering sand golem, its body formed of compacted stone and swirling grit. The other, a massive deathworm, segmented body writhing, jaws wide enough to swallow a vehicle whole.
BOOOOM!
They slammed into each other again. The entire desert trembled.
"They're way too close."
FWOOOSH!
Sand exploded into the air as the worm burrowed and resurfaced in an instant.
His voice shook.
"How is this a place an unawakened human can survive?"
"SYSTE—"
BOOOOM!