The next day arrived quietly, without anything noteworthy.
I got out of bed as usual, washed my face with cold water, then left the inn and headed to work.
The weather was clear, and the sun cast a gentle warmth over the crowded streets.
There was nothing particularly remarkable about my day—except that my mind was far away from where I stood.
I carried out my usual tasks, but inwardly, I was preoccupied with a question that kept chasing me:
how could I strengthen my karate skill?
Would training alone be enough?
And if I did… would it actually make a difference?
I didn't have an answer—until it came to me in the simplest way possible.
During my break, I sat on a wooden bench in a quiet corner, lifted a bottle of water to my lips, and took slow sips.
Then I murmured:
"Status Window."
A familiar glow appeared before me, forming luminous words:
[Yes, user.]
I asked directly:
"How can I increase my strength?"
[All you need to do is train.]
I raised an eyebrow in surprise, then asked:
"Will my physical strength really increase if I do that?"
[Yes. However, as your strength increases, further improvement will become more difficult in the future.]
I nodded slowly.
"I see."
Then I closed the window and returned to my work.
After the workday ended, I went back to the inn.
I ate dinner at a relaxed pace, then went up to my room and threw myself onto the bed.
My mind began sketching out a spontaneous plan for a new routine: wake up, have breakfast, go to work, return, shower, eat dinner, play a little with Liana, then train for at least half an hour before sleep.
It wasn't a bad routine, honestly… and it might suit my current stage.
I closed my eyes, surrendering to sleep, unaware that tomorrow had something entirely different in store for me.
The next morning began as usual: I washed my face, had breakfast, then headed out to work.
The streets were as lively as ever; a vendor calling out in the market, the scent of food drifting from nearby restaurants, and the chatter of passersby weaving through the air.
Lost in thought, I was thinking about my upcoming training when a young man's voice called out from behind me:
"Hey, mister!"
I stopped and turned to see a boy in his early youth. His hair was jet black, and his eyes were a pale green, with dark circles beneath them that suggested a lack of sleep.
His face was tense with obvious worry.
I said in surprise:
"Are you talking to me?"
He replied quickly, his eyes darting nervously:
"Who else would I be talking to?"
I raised an eyebrow and muttered inwardly: kids these days… getting bolder by the day.
Then I said coldly:
"First, I'm not a 'mister.' Second… what do you want?"
He stammered a little before saying:
"Uh… sir—I mean, brother—what I'm about to say might sound strange… but I was in my room, and suddenly I found myself here!"
My breath caught for a moment.
Wait… what?
He continued, trying to make sense of what was happening:
"I think I'm dreaming, right? And you're part of my dream too? Aren't people in dreams supposed to be familiar? But you're not familiar… and neither is anyone around me…"
At that moment, I felt sweat trickle down my forehead.
There was no doubt anymore: this boy had been transported to this world… just like me, like Knox, Marcus, and the others.
I stared at him silently for a few seconds, then cut him off:
"Listen… what I'm about to say is strange, and I know it won't be easy to accept, but try not to panic."
He paused, then raised an eyebrow:
"Go ahead."
I spoke slowly, as if placing a key in his hands—one that would open doors that could never be closed:
"You're… not dreaming."
He stared at me, then burst out laughing:
"Hahaha! That's a good one! I didn't know dream characters could joke!"
I let out a heavy sigh.
This was going to be difficult… the truth wouldn't enter his mind easily.
I spoke more seriously:
"I'm not joking. You've been transported here… to another world, not Earth. I was just like you once—standing exactly where you are, unable to believe what was happening."
Confusion spread across his face, and his laughter abruptly stopped.
His expression slowly shifted, as if his mind was resisting an idea it didn't want to accept, while his heart feared it might be true.
He whispered:
"Stop… this isn't funny anymore… please, tell me you're joking."
I looked at him steadily and said with quiet honesty:
"I wish I were."
A heavy silence fell between us—filled with denial and despair—as both of us wished… that this was nothing more than a dream.
Suddenly, the boy screamed—a loud cry—as he clutched his ears tightly and began repeating in a trembling voice:
"I can't hear you! You're joking! No… no… no…"
I studied his tense face and wide, terrified eyes, and realized his shock mirrored exactly what I had felt when I first arrived in this world.
I spoke in a deliberately calm tone, trying to break through his denial:
"It's reality… you have to accept it, no matter how heavy it feels."
Slowly, he lowered his hands from his ears, his breathing uneven. Then he looked at me with suspicious eyes and said:
"And how do you expect me to believe you?"
I sighed and gestured around us:
"Look carefully… the sky above you is clear and real, not blurred like in dreams. The people around you are complete strangers, moving and talking without paying attention to you or me. Even their voices, the details of their clothes, the feel of the air on your skin… none of that exists in a dream. And me… I'm talking to you right now, responding to your questions—that alone should tell you this isn't an illusion."
I paused briefly, then added:
"Do you still not believe me after all that?"
He remained silent, staring at me as if searching for any hint of a joke or trick, then lowered his gaze to the ground.
It looked like he was fighting against a truth he didn't want to admit.
After a moment, he looked up again, worry written all over his face:
"I-if what you're saying is true… then is there a way to return to Earth? And how… how did we even get here in the first place?!"
I felt the weight of the question press against my chest.
I answered in a low voice:
"I've heard there's a way… but I don't know what it is. As for how we got here… honestly, I have no idea."
He swallowed hard, then said hesitantly:
"Then… what… what's going to happen to me now?"
I had no answer.
All that echoed in my mind was a similar question I had once asked myself months ago.
I remained silent, my eyes avoiding his.
After a heavy pause, I pulled a bill from my pocket and said:
"Kid… take this. A hundred dollars. I don't know how long it'll last you, but you should find a job as soon as possible."
I extended my hand and placed the money in his palm.
He stared at it for a few seconds, then looked up at me and said cautiously:
"What's this? Do you pity me?"
I shook my head:
"It's not pity… but living here without money is impossible. Trust me—you'll realize that soon enough."
He didn't respond.
He just stood there silently, eyes lowered, as if lost in tangled thoughts.
I sighed, preparing to leave:
"Anyway… I wish you luck. Goodbye."
I turned and began walking toward my workplace.
But then, a strange feeling crept into my awareness… the sense that someone was following me.
I stopped suddenly and looked back—there he was, the same boy, walking behind me.
Not rushing, but his steps almost matched mine.
I walked back toward him and said:
"Why are you following me?"
He raised his eyebrows as if my question made no sense:
"Who said I'm following you? We're just walking the same way."
I let out a breath and turned to continue walking.
The boy kept walking near me, as if the distance between us no longer mattered.
Eventually, I reached my workplace. When I turned to check on him, he was gone.
He had disappeared into the crowd… or perhaps taken another path.
I gave a bitter smile and convinced myself he hadn't really been following me.
Then I began my tasks, leaving behind the noise of the streets… but the image of the boy—with his anxious eyes and uncertain voice—remained stuck in my mind like a heavy shadow.
The day passed slowly, sweat dripping from my forehead as I worked—carefully cleaning weapons and arranging heavy crates in the storage room.
The smell of iron and oil filled the air, and the sound of metal being returned to shelves echoed around me.
Then suddenly, I felt a sharp twinge in my chest… a strange sensation, as if a pair of eyes were watching me from afar.
I slowly lifted my head and turned—
And there he was.
The same boy I had met earlier, standing just a few meters away, silently watching me—his eyes following my movements like a shadow that refused to disappear.
Surprise spread across my face, my eyebrows rising instinctively.
What is this?
Why is he here?
Could it be that he's been following me all along?
I let out a quiet sigh to shake off the discomfort, then set the cloth aside, wiped the oil from my hands, and walked toward him until I stood a step away.
I said seriously:
"What are you doing here…? Are you a stalker?"
He hesitated, fidgeting nervously with his fingers before answering:
"No… I'm not stalker. But I… I went to a nearby restaurant and ate something… and then I realized I can't keep living like this for long."
He took a deep breath, as if preparing to say something more important, then continued:
"Can't you help me?"
I looked at him coldly and replied:
"I already gave you money."
He shook his head:
"I mean… can't I stay with you? You're the only person here I feel like I can trust."
I took a step back, placing my hand on my waist as I inhaled deeply:
"You mean… you want me to take care of you?"
He nodded quickly, clear pleading in his eyes:
"Yes… at least until I find a way back to Earth."
I replied bluntly, trying to hold my ground:
"I'm not your father. Find someone else."
I turned back to my work, but his voice stopped me:
"Wait… please! I really don't know what to do… at least help me find a job."
I froze for a few seconds, staring at the stacked crates before me, his words echoing in my mind.
I don't know why… but I saw myself in him—a lost young man, with nowhere to go, facing a new world without a map or a guide.
The image of myself when I first arrived surfaced before my eyes… along with that suffocating loneliness.
I let out a resigned sigh, then turned to him and said:
"Alright… I'll try to convince the boss to let you work here."
A wide smile spread across his face—the first I had seen from him—filled with relief and gratitude.
He nodded eagerly and said:
"Thank you… thank you, really. I don't even know how I can repay you."
I gave a small smile and said:
"No need. Consider it… help from your older brother."
My words seemed to reassure him more than I expected. He straightened up and gave me a silent look of gratitude.
As for me, I returned to my work, already forming a plan in my mind—what I would say to the employer, and how I would try to convince him to hire the boy, even if it wouldn't be easy.
I didn't realize then… that this decision would drag me into a chain of events I wasn't prepared for.