Rony took another bite of the protein bar. Chewed. Swallowed. Then another. And surprisingly, that was all it took—just two bites. His stomach, which had been growling only moments ago, went silent. It didn't feel full in the normal sense, but something inside him just... clicked off. Like a switch. Satiated, for now.
He stared blankly at the half-eaten bar, still resting in his hand.
"That's weird," he mumbled under his breath, but even his voice felt thin, as if spoken from underwater.
But honestly, he didn't want to think about it. About the protein bar. About the backpack that stored impossible things. About the glowing seams and floating menus and system interfaces he didn't understand. He didn't want to think about anything.
Because earlier—he didn't even know how long ago—he had remembered something that shifted his entire sense of reality. Something too absurd to accept, and yet too real to deny.
He was in a novel. Not just any novel. The novel. A game-world he'd once obsessed over. One he had read and re-read, discussed online, fan-theorized, and gotten way too emotionally attached to.
Chronicles of the Future.
He had loved it. Escaped into it. Admired its systems, its characters, its story arcs. He used to fantasize about living in such a world.
But now that he was here?
Now that the dream had somehow become reality?
He didn't feel joy. Or excitement. Or even fear.
Just numbness.
Should I be happy? Should I scream?
His thoughts felt like cotton—soft, dense, useless. The disconnect was too vast, like trying to use an umbrella to cover an entire collapsing house. He couldn't keep up with what he was feeling—or rather, what he wasn't feeling.
His emotions were short-circuiting.
After waking up here, he had cried. No—he had broken down. For nearly two hours. He remembered it clearly, though it felt like it had happened to someone else. Curling into himself on the forest floor, hands trembling, gasping between sobs, choking on his breath. The kind of crying that leaves you empty and exhausted, like there's nothing left to wring out.
And after all of that?
He had stared at the sky. Blankly. Until it stopped being blue and started turning gold.
His brain couldn't even process what to feel anymore. Too much too fast. It was like watching your home burn down while being told you won the lottery. The mix of horror and disbelief had shorted something inside.
But one thing had become clear through the haze: this world wasn't going to be kind. This wasn't some wish-fulfillment isekai. He wasn't reincarnated as the overpowered main character. He wasn't given cheat codes. He wasn't chosen.
He was just... Rony.
Rony, who had grown up poor. Rony, who had cried alone in silence when no one could hear. Rony, who had learned to smile when it hurt the most. The extra. The nobody. The one people never expected anything from.
And here he was—thrown into a world where expectations meant life or death.
He felt his legs move without thought. Stiff and aching, he pushed himself upright and stumbled forward through the thinning trees until he reached the pond. The same one he had noticed earlier. Still as a mirror.
He dropped to his knees beside it. His reflection stared back at him: pale skin, unkempt black hair, glasses slightly fogged. His face looked different, but his eyes... they were still his. Tired. Older than they should be.
He cupped his hands and drank.
The cold hit him like a slap. It shocked his system. His shoulders jerked, breath hitched. But it was good. Alive. That one sensation did more for him than any system notification or magical revelation had so far.
He drank more. Greedy now. Again and again. Cold, fresh, sweet. It didn't just fill his stomach—it cleared his head. He could feel the numbness peeling away from the edges. Like ice melting off a windshield, letting light through.
When he finally stopped, his lips were trembling. His hands were wet. But he was breathing easier.
He wiped his mouth, sat back, and looked up at the sky. Light filtered through the canopy in dappled gold. It was beautiful. Almost too beautiful. Like the world was trying to apologize for everything by offering him peace for just a moment.
He didn't smile. Not yet. But for a second, he didn't feel like crying anymore.
Walking back, slower this time, he returned to where he had left his things. The satchel was still there. The earbuds. The two strange smartphones now turned magical artifacts. Somehow, they felt more normal than everything else.
He placed each item into the Spectral Satchel, one by one, carefully. His hands didn't shake anymore.
He didn't know where he was supposed to go next. Or what came after this. But organizing his things gave him something small, something grounded. One piece of control in a world that had taken everything else.
When it was done, he looked around for a place to sit.
There was a large stone near the edge of the pond. Sun-warmed, smooth, like it had waited just for him.
He dropped onto it.
Let his weight collapse.
Let his breath come slow and deep.
His body was heavy. So was his mind. His arms slumped at his sides, fingers twitching from residual adrenaline. His eyelids fought to stay open, but it was a losing battle.
And in that moment—sitting in a strange forest, beside a quiet pond, in a world built from pages he once read—Rony let go.
No thoughts.
No plans.
No fear.
Just the soft pull of sleep, like the world was wrapping a blanket around his shoulders.
He closed his eyes.
Not to escape.
But to reset.