The scent of fresh bread hit him before his eyes even opened.
Ken gasped, face-down on the dirt again.
Warmth. Shouting. Footsteps on cobblestone.
He knew this spot.
He looked up and saw it — the same wooden stall, the same stack of golden loaves, steam rising into the morning air.
"It's happening again…"
He pushed himself to his feet, clutching his aching stomach.
No bruises. No blood. Just hunger — deep and hollow.
He turned his eyes toward the bread.
The baker was there, chatting with a vendor, laughing like nothing had happened.
"No wounds. No damage. But no food either," Ken muttered.
"I died. And I came back."
His stomach growled loud enough for a nearby woman to glance at him in disgust before walking off.
Ken ignored her.
"It's just bread. If I grab it and run faster this time—"
He looked around. The street was crowded again. Different people, maybe. Or maybe the same. It didn't matter — because they didn't remember him.
No one ever did.
"If I can just eat one bite… even one…"
Ken walked forward slowly, eyes on the bread. He reached for the smallest loaf, fingers trembling.
"Quick. Fast. Grab and—"
"THIEF!"
He didn't even see who yelled it.
But in seconds, someone slammed into his side. A guard. Bigger than him, armored.
Ken crashed to the ground. Pain exploded across his ribs.
"Wait—Please, I—!"
A boot hit his jaw.
Another blow landed in his gut.
The voices around him blurred.
"Scum!"
"Beat him to death!"
He couldn't even scream.
You have died.
Same place. Same smell. Same pain.
Ken opened his eyes slowly.
The stall was there.
The bread was there.
His stomach was still empty.
He rolled to his side and groaned.
"Again…"
He didn't know how many times he'd died now. Four? Five?
Each time he came back, the world around him was fresh — like nothing had happened. The people were calm. Laughing. Buying bread. Living.
"And me…?"
He looked at his hands. Dirt-covered. Weak.
"I'm starving. I'm dying. Over and over."
He stood up slowly and looked around more carefully.
No boy pointing at him this time. No guards nearby.
He stepped forward and reached again.
"Don't run. Just take it."
He wrapped his fingers around the warm loaf and lifted it.
Suddenly—
"Magic is active."
Ken didn't even have time to react.
A glowing symbol lit up on the edge of the stall. It flared the moment he touched the bread.
"Wait—what—?"
A pulse of energy slammed into his chest. Ken flew backward, hit the ground, and convulsed.
Smoke drifted off his skin.
A guard stepped over, looking confused.
"He tried to steal?"
"Guess he triggered the anti-theft charm," said another.
"What a waste."
Ken's vision darkened.
You have died.
He opened his eyes.
The bread stall.
Again.
The smell.
Again.
Ken didn't move.
He lay in the dirt for a minute, blinking up at the clouds.
Then, his body began to tremble.
His chest tightened.
Tears welled in his eyes and slid down his dirt-smeared face.
"I don't want to feel that pain again…"
He clutched his arms and bit his lip hard, trying not to sob.
But it came anyway.
Quiet. Broken. Helpless.
He pulled himself upright slowly, hands shaking harder than before.
"It doesn't matter what I try…"
He stared at the bread again — that same stupid loaf that had killed him twice.
Then turned away.
"I'm done."
He walked into the alley beside the stall.
Nobody stopped him.
Nobody cared.
"They don't remember. They never do."
"Even if I scream, beg, or cry... it all resets."
He leaned against a cracked wall, slid down, and sat in the shade.
His stomach howled again.
He ignored it.
"If I can't even eat bread without dying… then this world is worse than hell."
His voice barely rose above a whisper.
He looked up at the blue sky, squinting against the light.
"This power… Soul Reset… it's not a blessing. It's a punishment."
He closed his eyes for a moment.
Just long enough to feel the pain fade.
But not long enough to forget it.
"Next time… I won't go for the bread."