If you asked me st week what my greatest talent was, I’d have said “surviving endless emails and bad coffee.” At twenty-seven, I’d already perfected the fine art of living life on autopilot: office, commute, crash, repeat. Most exciting part of my day? Grabbing four hours of sleep—if I was lucky.

  The truth is, life wasn’t always this dull. I used to have hobbies—real ones. I loved sketching fantasy maps, reading thick paperbacks about ancient history, and pying RPGs way past midnight. If I wasn’t grinding levels or reading about knights, I was pouring hours into grand strategy games—guiding empires, plotting alliances, and losing sleep to world conquest one pixel at a time. My bookshelf was a chaotic shrine to unfinished dreams: dusty drawing tablets, a battered chess set, and manga volumes stuffed between tax folders.

  These days, my best escape came from my friend Yuto, who worked in IT and had way too much free time for anime. Most nights, he’d spam my phone with memes, isekai recommendations, or wild theories about how half of humanity would instantly die if transported to a “game world.” He liked to joke I’d be “the practical background character who survives with spreadsheets and common sense.” I never had the heart to admit I usually fell asleep halfway through his voice messages.

  Tonight was no different. My phone buzzed with a new message from Yuto as I walked in, but I just stared at the screen—too tired to listen. I tossed the phone onto my desk, promising myself I’d catch up in the morning.

  So when I staggered into my apartment after yet another overtime marathon, I barely managed to kick off my shoes before colpsing onto my unmade bed—still in my wrinkled shirt, tie halfway strangling me.

  "I wish something exciting would happen," I muttered, face mashed into my pillow. The universe, as usual, didn’t answer.

  Or so I thought.

  The first thing I noticed when I woke was grass.

  Soft. Damp. Not my sheets. Not my apartment floor. I y there, staring at a sky that made zero sense—bright blue, streaked with silver tendrils that pulsed and shimmered like a screensaver on too much caffeine.

  Okay. Dream, right?

  I sat up so fast I nearly bcked out. The air—crisp, so fresh it hurt to breathe—hit me like a punch. I blinked, trying to focus. Giant trees arched overhead, their branches weaving together in a tangled, green cathedral. Sunlight filtered through leaves, dappling the forest floor in silver.

  Not a city park. Not any pce I’d ever been.

  I looked down. Still in my work clothes. Badge, scks, the faint stain from this morning’s spilled coffee. None of it helped.

  "Think, Adam," I muttered, pressing my palms into the soft earth. "You were home. You fell asleep. You..."

  I pinched myself. Hard.

  Ouch. Still here.

  My heart started racing. I tried to slow my breathing, but the world seemed to press in—sharp and vivid and utterly real.

  Then, clear as a bell, a soft chime rang out.

  I flinched, looking for a phone that wasn’t there.

  A glowing blue screen flickered to life in midair. No phone, no projector—just floating in front of me like some kind of RPG heads-up dispy. I stared, jaw somewhere around my knees.

  > Welcome, Traveler.

  Your skills shall define your fate.

  What.

  New text scrolled across the panel, all neat and polite, as if this were the most normal thing in the world:

  > Name: Adam Carter

  Level: 1

  Skills Acquired:

  ? Adaptive Mimicry — The user can quickly observe and replicate skills at an accelerated rate.

  ? Skill Refinement — Allows the user to enhance skills beyond their natural limits.

  Was I hallucinating? Had I finally cracked under pressure? Or was I in one of those isekai stories my little brother kept making me read?

  Before I could spiral any further, I felt something weird—a prickle running down my arms, settling deep in my muscles. It wasn’t painful, exactly. Just… strange. Like someone had swapped my bones for live wires.

  "What the..." I whispered, flexing my hands. Nothing looked different. Everything felt different.

  A low, guttural growl cut through the forest.

  I froze.

  Yellow eyes gleamed from the shadows—more than one set. My stomach flipped. Wolves, but way too big. Their fur was so dark it was almost blue, and they watched me with that particur “you look like lunch” expression I’d only ever seen in documentaries.

  I swallowed. Raised my hands like it might help.

  "Easy," I squeaked. "Nice wolves. Just passing through..."

  One lunged. Time slowed to a crawl. I managed to twist aside, but hot pain raked down my arm as cws tore through my sleeve. Blood—real, red, and mine—spattered the grass. This is definitely no dream.

  Great. First day in fantasy nd, and I’m going to get eaten.

  A sharp whistle sliced through the chaos. Steel fshed.

  A dagger thunked into the wolf’s side, dropping it instantly.

  I spun, dizzy. Another figure—a woman, hooded, moving like water. In two blinding motions, she took out the rest of the wolves, her bdes fshing, efficient and merciless.

  She straightened, pulling back her hood. Auburn hair. Sharp green eyes. Not a hair out of pce. Her gaze pinned me to the spot.

  "You’re lucky someone was nearby," she said, her tone equal parts dry and annoyed.

  I gawked, clutching my bleeding arm. If I was supposed to have a cool line ready—sorry. Brain not found.

  Before I could stammer out something embarrassing, another soft chime sounded, and the blue screen popped up again:

  > Skill Acquired: Twin Fang Technique

  Effect: Enables efficient combat with dual weapons.

  …I stared.

  The woman’s eyes flicked from my stunned face to my wounded arm. Her expression softened—fractionally.

  "You hurt?"

  "Uh, nothing major. I mean, I’m not dead," I managed.

  Suddenly, shouts echoed through the forest—harsh, angry, and way too close for comfort.

  The woman’s eyes snapped toward the sound, then back to me. “No time. Can you run?”

  I blinked, adrenaline spiking again. “Wait... run from what? Who’s coming?”

  Her expression darkened, gaze darting over my shoulder. “Dangerous people. Mercenaries. If they find us, neither of us will walk away. I’ll expin ter, but right now—we have to move. Now.”

  Not exactly reassuring. But the way she said it—cold, urgent, no-nonsense—made it clear there’d be no second chances. And, honestly, the angry shouting did a great job convincing me.

  She grabbed my wrist—her grip was a lot stronger than I expected—and yanked me into the trees.

  I’d wanted excitement.

  Next time, I’d be way more specific...

  Branches shed at my face like the forest itself wanted me gone. My lungs burned, my legs screamed, and my heart felt like it was trying to punch a hole through my ribs. The woman—mysterious, deadly, and still a complete stranger—dragged me forward like she had the map to survival tattooed on her soul.

  I tripped over a root, nearly facepnting. “They’re gaining on us!” I wheezed, half-panicked, half-hoping she had a miracle in her back pocket.

  “I know!” she shot back, not even turning around. Her voice was sharp and cool—zero panic, all business. I’d have been impressed if I wasn’t busy imagining my funeral.

  Then she stopped.

  Like, actually stopped. In the middle of the pursuit. Just—halted.

  “What—?” I stumbled to a halt beside her, blinking in disbelief. “Why are we stopping?!”

  She released my wrist, drew her twin daggers in one smooth motion, and faced the noise behind us with a calm I could never hope to imitate.

  “They’ll catch us if we keep running,” she said. “I’ll hold them off. You stay out of sight.”

  Wait. WHAT?

  “Are you serious right now?! You can’t just—!”

  But it was too te. The soldiers burst from the shadows like nightmares in armor. And she was already moving.

  What happened next was both terrifying and... stunning. She was fast—like anime-opening-sequence fast. Every movement precise, every dodge fwless, every ssh brutal. She wasn’t just fighting; she was dancing through death.

  And still, it wasn’t enough.

  One of them got lucky. A sword knocked her weapons flying. The metallic ctter rang out louder than the pounding in my ears.

  She was unarmed. Outnumbered. And somehow still standing her ground.

  I couldn’t move. My body wanted to run. My brain agreed. But something in my chest twisted—something stupid and heroic and probably terminal.

  My eyes nded on the fallen daggers.

  No. No no no.

  I was not a fighter. I was a guy who worked in an office and cried a little during sad anime finales. The only thing I’d ever stabbed was a microwave meal with a fork.

  But she saved me.

  And I wasn’t about to let her die because I was a useless bystander.

  “Please don’t let this be the worst decision of my life,” I muttered, and dove for the bdes.

  The moment my fingers wrapped around the hilts, something snapped into pce inside me.

  A surge of crity—no, something more. Like my body suddenly remembered things it had never learned. Like I was wearing someone else’s perfectly fitted skillset.

  > [Twin Fang Technique Activated]

  [Skill Refinement Active]

  …What?

  No time to think.

  A soldier charged. My body moved on instinct—sidestep, parry, pommel to the head. He dropped instantly.

  I blinked. “Did… did I just do that?”

  More came. I didn’t think. I moved.

  Duck. Spin. Strike.

  Every motion felt fluid, natural. Like I’d been born for this. Like I wasn’t a paper-pushing caffeine junkie with mild anxiety and a strong attachment to hoodies.

  And then… silence.

  The clearing was empty. Just me, the fallen soldiers, and the realization that I hadn’t died.

  I stood there, daggers in trembling hands, chest heaving like I’d just run a marathon. “What… the hell was that?”

  She was staring at me. The woman—Lyra, I’d learn ter—green eyes sharp with disbelief.

  “You…” she said slowly. “How did you do that?”

  I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “I… I don’t know.”

  And that’s when my body decided it had done enough heroic nonsense for one night, thanks very much.

  The dizziness hit like a truck. My knees buckled, and I felt her catch me.

  “You used my technique,” she murmured, sounding genuinely rattled. “Perfectly. That shouldn’t be possible.”

  I tried to ask what she meant. I wanted answers—so many answers.

  But the dark tugged at the edges of my mind, and I slipped under like a stone in water.

  I woke to the scent of smoke and something bitter—herbs maybe. My eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the dim light filtering through thin canvas above me. The ceiling of the tent sagged slightly, patched together with rough cloth and tightly tied seams. It wasn’t rge—barely enough room to lie down in—but after nearly dying twice in one day, I was grateful to not be face-first in dirt.

  My arm throbbed with a steady ache, bandaged now, and I felt every bruise and scrape from the night before. It wasn’t a dream. I was still here—wherever here was.

  Outside, I could hear the faint crackle of a fire and the occasional rustle of movement. I turned my head carefully and caught sight of her. The woman who saved me.

  She sat cross-legged just outside the tent, back turned, firelight catching in strands of auburn hair. She had something in her hands. My wallet.

  My breath caught. I hadn’t even realized it was missing. She flipped it open, thumbing through the contents with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. A cold spike of anxiety crawled up my spine.

  Was she searching for answers… or leverage?

  She held up my driver’s license, squinting at the text like she was trying to decipher ancient runes. A beat ter, her eyes met mine through the tent fp.

  “You’re awake,” she said, her voice calm but unreadable.

  I sat up slowly, each motion reminding me just how wrecked my body felt. “How… long was I out?”

  “A few hours,” she replied, standing and stepping into the tent. She barely had to crouch to fit inside—it really was a tight space. She held up the license between two fingers. “This is you? These symbols… is this your name?”

  I nodded, my throat dry. “Yeah. It’s me. Adam.”

  Her gaze was steady, weighing every sylble like she was waiting for cracks. “I’m Lyra.” She knelt across from me, just enough distance between us to make sure we both had room to breathe—but not much more. “Where are you really from, Adam?”

  I looked down at the wrinkled bnket beneath me. Lying felt dangerous. Telling the truth… maybe even more so. “Somewhere far from here. You’ve probably never heard of it.”

  “Try me.”

  I hesitated. My head still spun from the st time I asked myself this question. “It’s not just far. It’s… different. I don’t think I’m even on the same world anymore.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. She didn’t call me crazy. That alone made her the most patient person I’d ever met.

  Her attention shifted. She picked up my phone, still lying by the cot.

  I tensed.

  “This,” she said, holding it like a dead insect, “is from your world too?”

  I nodded again. “It’s a communication device. We use it to send messages. Talk over distances.”

  “Like a spell?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “No. Not magic,” I murmured. “Technology.”

  She seemed skeptical but didn’t press. Instead, she reached into a pouch at her side and produced something far stranger—a crystal the size of a plum, faintly glowing. I couldn’t expin why, but just looking at it made the hairs on my arms stand up.

  “This is what Ironfang was after,” she said quietly. “It’s called a Skill Crystal. It can enhance your abilities—push them beyond their natural limits.”

  I stared at it, trying to ignore the way my heartbeat picked up. Whatever had awakened inside me when I grabbed her daggers… was this the same thing? Or something worse?

  “Have you used it?” I asked, voice low.

  She shook her head firmly. “No. It’s dangerous. Without understanding how it works, using it could kill you—or worse.”

  “Then why carry it at all?”

  She hesitated. For the first time, I saw a flicker of something underneath her calm—fear, maybe. Or anger.

  “Because if Ironfang gets it,” she said, “they’ll use it to destroy people like me. People who don’t serve their master.”

  The words hung heavy in the tent. I let them sink in.

  I swallowed hard. “Lyra… I don’t know what’s going on. This world, these skills, that screen in the air… I didn’t ask for any of it. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

  She looked at me for a long moment, something softening in her gaze. “You fight like someone trained. But everything else about you says you’re lost. Scared.”

  She wasn’t wrong.

  “Can you help me understand it?” I asked, forcing myself to hold her gaze.

  “I can help you survive,” she said finally. “But I don’t know you yet. Trust takes time.”

  “That’s fair,” I admitted. “But for now… can we stick together? Ironfang didn’t seem interested in negotiations.”

  A faint twitch touched the corner of her mouth. “Agreed.”

  Before I could say anything else, a heavy sound—distant but clear—echoed through the trees outside.

  Footsteps.

  Lyra went rigid. Her hand went straight to the hilt of a bde I hadn’t even seen her retrieve.

  “We need to move. Now.”

  I didn’t argue.

  I gathered my things—wallet, phone, whatever bits of strength I still had—and followed her back into the forest. My muscles still ached. My heart still raced.

  I was tired. Wounded. Confused.

  But I was alive. And I wasn’t alone.

  That would have to be enough—for now.