The next morning, I was in full recovery mode, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and possibly existentially.
We'd made it back to the world quest generator, that huge crystal monument humming with light like some divine gacha machine for adventurers.
Kael, ever composed, was leaning lazily against his hound while I awkwardly clutched the quest orb like a lost intern holding paperwork for their terrifyingly handsome boss.
When the crystal pulsed blue, the voice chimed:
"Quest Complete. Rank A Lich Extermination. Participants: Leonhart and Kael. Reward: 50,000 gold, one Legendary Drop, and Guild Points."
I blinked, still half in disbelief.
Kael just smirked. "Not bad, partner."
Partner.
Did he have to say it like that? With that tone that made my heart feel like it was sprinting laps while my brain tripped over itself?
I managed a weak, "Yeah… partners," and tried not to sound like I was about to swoon in plate armor.
Then he went and ruined my fragile peace by tapping on the world quest board again.
"Let's take another one," he said.
I should've known then. Should've recognized that gleam in his eye, the same one psychopaths and overachievers share right before suggesting something stupidly life-threatening.
"Another one?" I asked, inching back like a suspicious cat. "Kael, we almost died yesterday! Can we, I don't know, nap? Or maybe take a safe quest? Like… babysitting or flower-picking?"
He ignored me completely.
The world quest crystal flickered, and there it was, glowing in ominous crimson:
Rank S: Six-Headed Hydra, Doom Marshes.
I stared. Blinked. Stared again.
"Absolutely not," I said immediately. "Nope. No. Cancel. Delete. Return to sender. I refuse. Look at it, it has six heads! Six! That's five more than necessary! Why does a snake even need that many?!"
Kael was too calm. "It's the only available Rank S quest in the region."
"That's not a reason, that's a warning!"
He folded his arms, voice steady. "Leonhart, you can't keep running from higher-rank quests. You need to learn to use that body like it's your own."
I paused mid-rant. His tone wasn't teasing anymore.
He looked at me with that same quiet, grounded seriousness that made my stomach twist. "You've got Leonhart's power, but you treat it like something foreign. Every move you make, it's like you're fighting against yourself."
I frowned, defensive. "Well, it's not my body!"
"Maybe not. But it's your life now," he said. "And if you keep acting like this is a game, you'll lose it."
That shut me up.
He walked closer, close enough that I could see the reflection of the quest crystal in his eyes. "Listen," he said. "I don't know how you see this world, you keep looking at something I can't. You talk about numbers, levels, HP. You rely on things that don't exist for me. But I need you to understand this world is real. You bleed. You feel pain. You die. The sooner you accept that, the longer you'll survive."
My mouth went dry.
He was right. Every time I got hurt, I brushed it off as a bug, as if some developer behind a monitor would patch me up. Every decision, I still made thinking this was all code, not consequence.
But Kael's words hit like a cold dagger of truth.
"What if I can't?" I whispered.
He didn't hesitate. "Then I'll drag you through it until you can."
…Ugh. Why did he have to sound heroic about it? Couldn't he just be wrong for once?
I took a shaky breath. "Kael… can you see this?" I pointed in front of me, where the blue interface hovered, my HP, MP, the quest log, the little glowing bar that mocked my constant panic.
He turned his head slightly. "See what?"
I waved my hand through it. "This! The numbers! The bars! Anything?"
He just shook his head. "There's nothing there."
The realization hit me like a punch.
He couldn't see it. None of them could.
That meant… I was the only one living with this illusion. Everyone else saw reality; I was staring through a filter that lied to me.
I looked down at my hands, the faint glow of the UI clinging to them. My health bar flickered, so fragile, so fake.
"Then… it's just me," I murmured.
Kael's gaze softened, though his tone stayed firm. "That's why I said it. You're still clinging to something that's not real. If those bars vanish tomorrow, what will you do? If the skills stop auto-casting mid-battle, what then?"
He stepped closer again. "You'll die if you don't own your strength. Not Leonhart's. Yours."
That was it. The quiet breaking point.
I hated how much sense he made. I hated that I was afraid because he was right.
But mostly, I hated that I'd been so wrapped up in treating this like a joke that I forgot the fear of actually dying.
So, with a shaky exhale, I looked at the glowing UI one last time.
It was comforting, in a way, familiar, clean, predictable. Like training wheels.
Then I whispered, "Turn off."
And it vanished.
No more numbers. No bars. No mini-map. Just the weight of my armor, the ache in my muscles, the raw feel of the wind on my face.
Reality.
It was quieter, heavier, like stepping out of a dream you didn't realize you'd been living in too long.
Kael was watching me, unreadable. "You did it?"
I nodded. "Yeah. No more safety nets."
He smiled faintly. "Good. You'll hate it, but it'll save you."
"Great," I muttered. "I've always wanted my hero arc to start with a lecture."
He chuckled under his breath and patted my shoulder. "Welcome to the real world, Leonhart."
For once, I didn't correct him.
We walked toward the marshlands, me on my majestic white warhorse, Kael riding his shadow hound like some cool antihero straight out of a fantasy poster.
And despite the creeping dread of the Hydra waiting for us, I couldn't help glancing sideways at him.
He was right. Again.
Annoyingly, frustratingly right.
Because even with my heart pounding and the unknown waiting ahead, something in me had shifted.
This wasn't just surviving anymore.
This was living.
And maybe, just maybe, if I learned how to fight on my own terms, I could stop running from whatever fate dumped me in this body.
I tightened my grip on the reins, grinning faintly.
"Alright, Kael," I said, half teasing, half serious. "Let's go fight your stupid overgrown lizard."
He smirked, sharp and confident. "That's the spirit."
And as our mounts charged into the misty forest, I caught myself thinking,
Maybe dying here wasn't the end of me.
Maybe, just maybe, it's where I start learning to live again.