Haruto had never been this hungry in his life.

  His stomach twisted painfully as he staggered down the dirt road toward the village, every step heavier than the last. The old cloak from the ruin hung loosely around his shoulders, covering his torn, bloodstained office clothes, but he still felt the weight of his situation pressing down on him.

  His office shoes were scuffed, barely holding together, and with each step, he felt the sharp sting of new blisters forming.

  But worse than the pain was the realization that he had nothing—no money, no supplies, and no clue what he was doing.

  The only thing keeping him upright was the thought of food. He just needed something to eat. Then, he could worry about everything else—like not dying.

  As he neared the outskirts, the village slowly came into focus. It was bigger than he expected, with stone and timber buildings clustered together, the occasional tower peeking above the rooftops. People moved between open-air market stalls, their voices blending into the dull hum of everyday life. The smell of roasting meat and freshly baked bread drifted through the air, nearly bringing him to his knees.

  Haruto took a breath and pulled his hood up.

  The cloak might hide the worst of his outfit, but his worn-out dress shoes, the loose tie hanging from his collar, and the way he moved like someone who had just crawled out of a ditch would make him stand out fast.

  Blending in was the goal. Food was the priority.

  The marketplace was a chaotic mix of stalls and shouting merchants, and it didn’t take long for Haruto to find what he was looking for—a vendor grilling meat skewers over an open fire.

  He stopped a few feet away, just watching.

  Fat dripped from the sizzling meat, hitting the flames with a satisfying hiss. The scent was overwhelming, and his stomach let out a loud, pitiful growl.

  The merchant glanced up.

  Haruto froze.

  "You buying or just staring?" the man asked, flipping one of the skewers.

  Haruto’s mouth was already watering. His brain took a second longer to catch up.

  "I, uh…" He reached for his pocket instinctively, but of course, there was nothing there.

  Haruto’s soul left his body.

  Money. Right. The thing he absolutely did not have.

  “I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I left my coin behind.”

  The merchant’s smirk faded. His eyes narrowed, flicking down to Haruto’s boots.

  “That so?”

  Haruto shifted uncomfortably.

  "Yeah," he said quickly. "It’s a—long story."

  The merchant’s suspicion didn’t ease. If anything, it deepened.

  His gaze flicked to Haruto’s sleeves, to the fabric of his ruined shirt beneath the cloak.

  "Where’d you get that cloak?"

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  Haruto tensed.

  "Found it," he said. Not exactly a lie.

  The merchant frowned deeply. "And those shoes?"

  Haruto did not like where this was going.

  "Not from around here," he said vaguely.

  "Yeah. No kidding."

  "Where are you from?" the man asked.

  Haruto hesitated. "Uh. The west."

  The trader scoffed. "Yeah? What part?"

  "Small place," Haruto said quickly. "Wouldn’t know it."

  The merchant’s smirk faded as he really looked at him.

  The ragged clothes. The dirt on his skin. a piece of fabric that had no place in this world.

  "Where'd you get the merchant asked, his tone shifting.

  Haruto’s grip tightened on the edges of his cloak.

  Shit.

  It had been a mistake to keep the tie on. He hadn’t even thought about it—just another useless part of his old life hanging around his neck.

  "I… found it," Haruto lied.

  The merchant’s frown deepened.

  "That right?"

  Haruto could feel the tension shifting in the air. A few other villagers had stopped to glance in his direction.

  This was bad.

  Really bad.

  Before things could escalate, a hand landed heavily on Haruto’s shoulder.

  "Alright, let’s not grill the poor bastard too hard," a voice drawled. "He looks like he’s two seconds from keeling over."

  Haruto barely had time to react before he was yanked backward.

  The man who had grabbed him—tall, scruffy, and wearing battered leather armor—casually took a sip from a flask before tucking it back into his coat. He had the kind of presence that said: he's seen too much, and cares too little

  The merchant scowled but didn’t argue.

  If Haruto had to guess what the man's name was, he would've guessed something like Dirk or Griff

  Dirk or Griff steered him away from the stall without another word.

  Haruto didn’t resist. His legs barely worked anyway.

  The rugged man let go of him once they were a safe distance away.

  "Well," he said, crossing his arms. "You’ve got the survival instincts of a drunk noble on a losing streak. What’s your deal?"

  Haruto exhaled. "My deal?"

  "Yeah, your deal. You walk into town looking like you just lost a fight with a wild boar, and the first thing you do is stand around like a starving idiot. You’re either a runaway noble, the worst adventurer I’ve ever seen, or—"

  Dren paused, squinting at him.

  "—whatever the hell you are."

  He gave Haruto a once-over.

  "…Where in the gods’ names did you even come from?"

  Haruto exhaled slowly. "That’s… complicated."

  The man snorted. "Oh, I bet it is."

  "You always drag starving strangers into alleys, or is this a special occasion?" Haruto asked.

  "Only when they look about five seconds away from getting themselves stabbed," the man replied smoothly. He tilted his head. "What’s your name?"

  "Haruto."

  The man nodded. "Dren. Mercenary. Part-time babysitter for lost idiots, apparently."

  Haruto sighed, pulling his hood down slightly. "Great. Nice to meet you, Dren. Now, uh… can we back up to that whole ‘drunk noble on a losing streak’ thing?"

  Dren smirked. "Buddy, you’re half-dead, you’ve got an accent no one here recognizes, and you’re walking around in ruined clothes that don’t even match any local tailoring. You’re either a runaway noble, the worst adventurer I’ve ever seen, or you got kicked out of a monastery for excessive stupidity."

  Haruto groaned. "Fantastic. I was going for ‘harmless traveler.’"

  "Yeah, well, you failed. Miserably."

  Haruto groaned "I have no money. No plan. And I almost died… let’s see…" He started counting on his fingers. "Falling off a cliff, eating poison, getting mauled by a wolf, and being crushed by a giant stone golem."

  Dren let out a low whistle.

  "Four times, huh? Not bad."

  "Not bad?"

  Dren pulled out his flask again, tilted it back for a sip, and gave a small shrug.

  "Most people don’t make it past two."

  Haruto let out a hollow laugh. "Great. That’s encouraging."

  Dren eyed him for a second, then sighed.

  "Come on. Let’s get you some food before you keel over."

  The tavern was a small, dimly lit place, mostly filled with travelers and traders. Dren walked in like he owned the place and ordered food without asking.

  Haruto, too exhausted to argue, just sat down at a rickety wooden table.

  By the time the food arrived, he was already half-asleep, but the moment he took a bite, he inhaled it like a dying man.

  Dren watched, sipping at a fresh tankard of ale.

  "You eat like a starving dog."

  Haruto didn’t even pause. "I am a starving dog."

  Dren smirked, setting his drink down. "Well, good luck finding a master that’ll keep you."

  Haruto ignored the comment, focused entirely on the food that actually tasted like something.

  For the first time since he had woken up in this world, he felt like he wasn’t actively dying.

  It was nice.

  After a while, Dren finally leaned back, studying him with a more relaxed expression.

  "So," Dren said. "You planning on staying in town?"

  Haruto hesitated.

  Did he have a plan? Did he even know what he was doing next?

  He swallowed down the last of his meal and muttered, "I guess that depends on what happens next."

  Dren smirked and took another sip from his flask.

  "Well, pal, that’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day."