The apartment felt colder once the rush of completing his first quest faded. The new warmth in Rian's chest did not erase the fact that he had nearly ruined breakfast twice and only escaped because the system counted effort more than skill. He rinsed his hands under the small sink, watching water slip between his fingers, and felt a faint tremor run from his palms to his elbows.
He dried them on a thin towel. It smelled faintly of lemon soap and age. The quiet pressed into him again, but now it felt heavier than before. There was no one to soften the edges of the day. No one to laugh off his clumsy mistakes. No parents waiting behind him with gentle voices to say they would take care of it.
It was just him.
And an egg.
He returned to the fridge and opened it again, even though he knew exactly what was inside. A half loaf of bread. Jam clinging to the edges of its jar and an egg, resting like precious coins. The expired milk tucked away behind everything like a guilty secret.
He closed the fridge door softer than he meant to. His fingers lingered on the handle. The system icon still hovered faintly in the corner of his vision.
Beginner Focus active. XP from life-skills increased.
He swallowed.
"Good for XP," he muttered. "But what am I supposed to eat tomorrow?"
The system did not answer. It rarely explained more than it needed to. Maybe it could not. Or maybe the point was to make him think.
He stepped back and leaned against the counter. The kettle still sat on the burner. The hairline cracks on its surface looked like veins, branching and fading. He grabbed it and filled it halfway with water, letting the steady sound ground him. He didn't need hot water, but the act of preparing something felt like breathing room.
His eyes drifted to the grocery list pinned next to the fridge again. Bread. Rice. Salt. Instant noodles. Milk, only if on sale. A list written by someone else. Someone who lived in this room before him. Someone who had been poor, careful, disciplined.
Qualities he had never had.
Rian's chest tightened.
He sat at the table again, the chair creaking under his weight. The plate from breakfast sat there drying. His uneven egg stared back at him from memory, taunting him with how clumsy he had been.
In his old life, when meals burned or chores went undone, his mother had simply taken over. She would smile and say, "Go study. I'll handle this." His father would come home after work and never scold him, even when Rian made a mess of simple things.
They had wanted to protect him.
They had.
And he had let them.
He pressed his hands to his face.
"I really didn't know how to do anything," he said softly.
The system chimed.
Observation: User displays self-reflection.
Potential micro-quest preparing.
He dropped his hands with a start.
"No, wait, I'm not ready for another quest—"
But the system was already generating something.
New Micro-Quest: Make tea using available tools.
Reward: +5 XP.
Penalty for failure: Confidence −0.1
He stared at the glowing text.
"…Tea? With what?"
He returned to the cupboard, opened it, and found nothing but two mugs, both chipped at the rim. No tea leaves. No bags. Nothing.
"What tea," he whispered, "am I supposed to make?"
As if sensing his panic, the system added:
Hint: Explore environment. Resources may not be obvious.
Rian scanned the room. The shaky table. The counter. The sink. The kettle. A small drawer. He opened the drawer and found only utensils, all mismatched. A second drawer. Old receipts. A rubber band. A single packet of instant drink mix buried under a takeout menu.
He picked up the packet and stared at it.
"Instant ginger tea."
It was faded. The corner was frayed. The expiration date was last month, but the powder felt loose and dry inside. He sniffed it carefully. Nothing sharp. Nothing foul.
"This will have to do," he said.
He heated the water. It took longer than he expected. Steam curled from the spout and fogged the window. He poured the hot water into the chipped mug and tore the packet open. Some powder stuck to the edge. He stirred it, watching the cloudy swirl form into a thin gold.
He tasted it.
It was weak.
Too sweet.
Slightly stale.
But warm.
A chime sounded.
Micro-Quest complete.
Reward: +5 XP.
Minor Discipline increase.
He lowered the mug slowly, stunned by how something so small could give him this strange sense of accomplishment. He finished the drink in steady sips. When he set the mug down, the system pulsed again.
Notice: User demonstrating consistent effort.
Unlocking Basic Life Skill: Kitchen Handling.
Skill Level 0.1
Rian blinked.
A real skill. A tiny one. But real.
He looked at his hands again. They still shook, but less now. He felt the slightest weight of stability settle beside him.
The city outside had grown louder. Through the window he heard distant traffic, footsteps, and the faint hum of machinery. A pair of workers passed by carrying long cases. He still didn't know what they were. He still didn't know anything about hunters or monsters.
But for the moment, it didn't matter.
He finished washing the mug and returned it to the cupboard. He wiped down the counter. He arranged egg neatly, as if respecting it would make it last longer.
He looked at the room again.
It was small.
It was worn.
It was simple.
It was his.
The system chimed with a softer tone this time.
Updated Objective: Maintain personal routine for 24 hours.
Task examples:
- Cleaning
- Preparing simple meals
- Observing environment
Reward: Beginner Stability buff
Twenty-four hours. That was it. Survive a single day with intention. He could do that. He had done worse things in his old life without any guidance.
He took a slow breath.
"Alright," he said. "If this world wants effort, I'll give it effort."
He walked back to the bed. It was still unmade from when he woke up. He pulled the blanket straight. Smoothed the wrinkles. Adjusted the pillow.
A small chime.
Minor action logged. Responsibility +0.1
He froze, then laughed softly, genuinely.
"Even making the bed counts?"
The system did not answer. It did not need to.
Rian opened the window. Let a breath of cool air inside. The smell of damp pavement drifted in. Somewhere in the distance, a strange cry echoed, nothing like a dog or a bird. His skin prickled. The world outside had teeth. He was sure of it now.
But he had something too.
A second chance.
And the smallest beginnings of a skill he had never imagined he would need.
He stood straight, rolled his shoulders, and faced the day.
"Let's keep going," he whispered. "I'm not stopping this time."