The park existed in the kind of stillness that came before the city fully woke. Trees lined the paved path, their leaves shifting in a breeze that carried nothing but the faint hum of distant traffic. Benches sat at even intervals, worn wood painted over too many times, bolted into concrete that had cracked and been patched and cracked again. A vending machine hummed near the edge of the grass, its screen flickering between ads no one watched. Beyond the trees, buildings rose—modern, clean, indifferent. The park was a pocket of green dropped into concrete. Functional. Forgettable. The kind of place people passed through without remembering they'd been there.
---
Rion gripped the paper harder.
Confusion pressed down on him like weight he couldn't shed. His hands shook. Not from cold. From the complete absence of understanding.
"What is this?"
He stared at the words again. Five of them. Simple. Clear. Meaningless.
"You get one more chance."
What does that mean?
He read it again. Slower. Like maybe the syllables would rearrange into something that made sense if he just looked hard enough.
They didn't.
Where am I?
A woman jogged past, ponytail swinging, earbuds in, her breathing steady and rhythmic. She didn't look at him. Didn't slow. Just passed by like he was part of the scenery.
Rion's grip tightened on the letter, the paper crinkling under his fingers.
I don't understand. I don't—
A thought crept in. Small. Impossible.
Had I been transmigrated?
His breath caught.
The word sat in his mind like a stone dropped into still water, ripples spreading outward, touching everything. Transmigration. Reincarnation. The kind of thing that happened in novels he'd read when he had nothing better to do, stories about losers who died and woke up somewhere else with powers and second chances and—
No.
But his chest was tight. His hands were shaking. The urge to scream clawed up his throat and he shoved it down, hard, teeth clenched against the sound trying to escape.
Calm down. Think.
He stood.
The movement came easy. Too easy. His legs didn't complain. His knees didn't ache. His body responded like it was supposed to, like it had been waiting for permission.
He touched his stomach. Flat. Firm. Real.
This is mine.
He jumped.
Just a small hop. Testing. His feet left the ground, came back down, absorbed the impact without strain. Light. Strong. Like his body had been rebuilt from scratch using parts that actually worked.
He jumped again. Higher. His arms swung for balance and caught nothing but air and it felt good. It felt right. Not like he'd stolen someone else's skin. Like he'd been given his own back after years of living in something broken.
It's me. It's actually me.
The thought settled warm and strange in his chest.
He stood there, breathing, staring at his hands. Flexing his fingers. Feeling the strength in them.
Okay. Okay. So I'm here. Wherever here is. In a body that works. With a letter that says nothing useful.
He looked around. The park. The buildings. The vending machine with Japanese characters on its screen.
I need to figure out where I am. Who I am. What the hell I'm supposed to do now.
A system.
The thought arrived unbidden, familiar, almost embarrassing.
If I've been transmigrated, doesn't that mean I should have a system?
Systems. The crutch of every isekai protagonist. The cheat code that turned nobodies into gods. He'd always thought those stories were cringe. Wish fulfillment garbage for people who couldn't handle reality.
And now I'm hoping for one.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
He took a step toward the bench. Hesitated. Reached out.
His fingers touched the wood.
The world shifted.
Not physically. Not with sound or light or anything he could point to. Just a change in perception, like a layer of reality peeling back to show what was underneath.
Floating above the bench, translucent and sharp, words appeared.
[Wood]
[Age: 8 years]
[Properties:]
–Hardness
Rigidity
Weight
Weathering Resistance
Smoothness
Density
Thermal Resistance
Buoyancy
Absorbency
Combustibility
Rion stared.
His hand was still on the bench. The wood was solid beneath his palm. Rough. Ordinary. But the UI hung in the air like someone had overlaid a video game menu onto reality itself.
What the—
A new prompt appeared. Clean text. No fanfare.
[Can only choose one. Current available: 0/5]
Rion's breathing stopped.