[Carrot Farmer]

  The words floated in front of me, glowing in an obnoxiously cheerful orange. Beneath them, a status window helpfully clarified:

  Class Assigned: [Carrot Farmer]

  Congratulations! You are now on the path to agricultural excellence!

  I rubbed my eyes. Nope. Still there. Still mocking me.

  "Okay, so, just to clarify," I said slowly. "You mean to tell me that I died—horribly, I might add—only to be reborn in a fantasy world where my entire future is based on carrots?"

  A soft chime rang in my head. The AI responded in its usual dry, unimpressed tone.

  Wow, you catch on fast. Yes, you’ve been granted a second chance at life! And instead of being splat under a truckload of root vegetables, you now get to lovingly cultivate them. What a glow-up.

  I clenched my fists. "But why?! Why is this my class?!"

  "Probably because you were crushed to death by carrots."

  I blinked. "That’s it? That’s the entire reason?"

  I don’t make the rules. Well, technically I do, but that’s beside the point.

  I let out a long, exhausted sigh. My new life was off to a fantastic start.

  I looked around. Rolling green fields stretched out under a bright blue sky, dotted with distant farmhouses and the occasional windmill. It was all very quaint. Cozy, even. And it did nothing to calm the burning injustice in my soul.

  "Surely there’s a way to change my class," I muttered, rubbing my temples.

  Sure! Just find a way to override the entire divine system that governs this world. No big deal.

  I ignored the AI and swiped at the glowing window in front of me. It vanished, but I had a sinking feeling this nightmare was far from over.

  "Fine," I grumbled. "Let’s get this over with. Where’s my farm?"

  Oh, you’re standing on it.

  I looked down.

  It was a patch of dirt. A single, lonely carrot sprout poked out of the ground.

  I stared.

  The AI hummed in amusement.

  You must be so proud.

  I knelt beside the tiny carrot sprout, staring at it like it personally owed me an explanation.

  “This is a joke, right?”

  Oh, absolutely. The funniest one I’ve heard all day.

  I grabbed a handful of dirt and let it slip through my fingers. "I refuse. I simply refuse to accept this."

  Ah, yes. Because that’s worked so well for everyone who’s ever been isekai’d against their will.

  I stood up and dusted myself off. "No. Nope. This isn't happening. I’m going to the nearest town and finding a way to change class. No way am I spending the rest of my life farming."

  A soft chime rang in my head.

  New Quest: Accept Your Fate

  Objective: Plant a carrot.

  Reward: The crushing weight of responsibility.

  I swiped the notification away. "Not happening."

  Suit yourself. But just so you know, class-based skills level up by themselves gradually. Meaning you could become a Master Carrot Farmer without even trying. Just saying.

  I froze. "Wait… you’re telling me I could level up in my sleep?"

  Yep. Plant carrots, harvest carrots, think really hard about carrots. Before you know it—bam! You’ll be a grandmaster of underground orange sticks.

  I rubbed my chin. "…That actually sounds kind of broken."

  Oh, it absolutely is. But don’t worry, you’ll still be useless in a fight.

  My excitement deflated immediately. "Fantastic."

  With a frustrated sigh, I turned toward the horizon. A dirt path stretched away from my ‘farm’—if you could call one sprout a farm—toward what looked like a town in the distance.

  I clenched my fists. "Alright. New plan. I’ll head into town, find someone who actually knows how this world works, and figure out how to change my class."

  Sure, sure. And when that inevitably fails, I’ll be here. Waiting. Laughing.

  I ignored the AI and started walking.

  This world wasn’t going to beat me.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  No way in hell was I going to be a full-time carrot farmer.

  I stomped down the dirt path, my determination fueled by sheer, unfiltered denial.

  The town in the distance wasn’t far—just a short walk over some rolling hills—but each step felt like I was marching toward my own doom.

  You know, if you had a horse, you could cut this travel time in half.

  “I don’t have a horse.”

  Exactly. But you do have a carrot sprout. Maybe if you stare at it long enough, it’ll grow into one.

  I groaned. "How do I turn you off?"

  You don’t. I’m a mandatory feature of your new life. Like taxes, but more entertaining.

  I resisted the urge to throw a rock at nothing in particular.

  After a few more minutes of hiking, I reached the top of a small hill, and finally, I got a good look at the town.

  It was… bigger than I expected.

  A sprawling medieval city lay ahead, encircled by sturdy stone walls and dotted with towers. Smoke puffed from dozens of chimneys, and the streets bustled with movement.

  A spark of hope lit in my chest.

  “This is it," I muttered. "If anyone can help me change my class, it's gotta be someone here.”

  Oh, sure. Just walk in, explain that you're a low-level carrot enthusiast, and demand to be something cooler. That always works.

  I ignored the AI and started toward the town gates.

  As I got closer, I noticed something strange—many of the people walking around had little glowing text floating above their heads, just like my class notification.

  [Baker]

  [Merchant]

  [Apprentice Blacksmith]

  [Rat Exterminator]

  "Huh. So everyone really does have a class."

  Ding ding ding. Looks like you can learn new things. Amazing.

  I clenched my jaw. I was not going to let an AI with the personality of a middle school bully get to me.

  As I neared the city entrance, I spotted two guards stationed by the open gate. Both were tall, muscular, and wearing chainmail over their tunics. Their helmets covered most of their faces, but I could still see the unimpressed expressions as I approached.

  One of them raised a hand, stopping me. "State your name and class."

  I hesitated.

  This was it. The first moment I’d have to declare my class to the world.

  I could lie. I should lie.

  But then I glanced up and saw the floating text above my head, clear as day:

  [Carrot Farmer]

  The guards squinted at it, then at me.

  There was an awkward silence.

  Then the guard on the left cleared his throat. "…Right. Welcome to Stonewall."

  I exhaled. At least they didn’t laugh.

  Yet.

  Ignoring the AI’s snide comment, I stepped through the gates, officially entering the city.

  This was it.

  The first step toward escaping my fate.

  I would find a way to change my class.

  Nothing could stop me.

  …Well.

  Except maybe the fact that I was broke, homeless, and had absolutely no idea where to start.

  The streets bustled with activity—merchants shouting their wares, blacksmiths hammering away at molten metal, children weaving through crowds with suspiciously well-practiced pickpocketing skills. Everywhere I looked, people had floating class titles above their heads, ranging from the expected [Baker] and [Tailor] to the more concerning [Corpse Collector] and [Rat Assassin].

  I pulled my hood up—wait, no, I didn’t have a hood. I barely had anything.

  Right. No money. No food. No idea where to go.

  I was thriving.

  Well, well, well. Look at you. Big city boy. Living the dream.

  I sighed. "Alright, what’s the play here?"

  Oh, wow. Asking for advice? Must be desperate.

  "Just answer the question."

  Fine. Your best bet is to find a guild, an inn, or literally anyone who pities you enough to give you free stuff. Because right now? You are one bad decision away from sleeping in a stable and competing with horses for hay.

  I scanned my surroundings and spotted a few options.

  A large building down the street with a wooden sign reading Adventurer’s Guild. A group of well-armed people stood outside, laughing and chatting, looking far more competent than I felt.

  A smaller building labeled The Rusty Tankard Inn. A half-drunk man stumbled out the front door, immediately tripped over his own feet, and decided to take a nap on the street.

  A market square filled with merchants selling everything from food to weapons. A woman with a [Herbalist] title was loudly arguing with a [Meat Vendor] over whether he was secretly just selling rat meat.

  I tapped my chin. "Alright… what’s the best place to start?"

  Oh, that’s easy. Wherever you can embarrass yourself the fastest.

  "Helpful as always."