The apartment felt different once again . Rian stood in the center of the room, surrounded by peeling paint and old wood, and realized he had no idea how long he would have to live like this. The system floated quietly at the edge of his vision, waiting for him to act again instead of guiding him.
He let out a slow breath.
"Alright. Inventory first."
It felt like something adults said in survival shows. He had watched plenty of those during lazy evenings, back when life was soft and forgiving. He never imagined he would actually need those lessons. He never imagined waking up in a world where even making breakfast counted as growth.
He walked toward the small dresser against the wall. The top drawer slid open with a rough scrape. Inside were three shirts, one pair of dark pants, and socks rolled into uneven balls. Everything smelled faintly of soap but also of age. No tags. No brands. Just clothes that had survived too many washes.
The second drawer held folded paper. He pulled out the first one and unfolded it.
Bills.
A neat stack of past-due notices. Rent warnings. Utility reminders. A scribbled note from a landlord threatening eviction if payments slipped again.
His throat tightened.
"So I was reborn," he said quietly, "into someone else's problems."
He felt guilty looking at paperwork meant for another person. The handwriting was different from the grocery list by the fridge. Sharper. Shorter strokes. Whoever lived here before did not waste ink.
He tucked the papers back in and checked the last drawer. It held a box with coins and a few bills. He counted them slowly.
Three small silver coins.
Seventeen copper.
Two thin, crumpled notes with a hunting guild symbol on them.
Not enough for anything meaningful. Barely enough for groceries.
He shut the drawer and moved to the kitchen area. The fridge contained exactly what he already knew: an egg , a jar of jam, expired milk, half a loaf of bread. He opened the cupboard above the counter and found a cooking pot, bent at one side, and a spoon that had clearly lived through better decades.
He crouched and checked under the sink. Cleaning supplies. A half-empty dish soap bottle, a sponge torn at the edges, a broom without a handle, and a bucket that leaked when he touched the rim.
"This is really my life now," he whispered.
His old world had been flawed. His family had fallen into disaster. But even then, he had lived with comforts he took for granted. A warm bed. Clean laundry. Shelves full of options. A future that felt safe until it wasn't.
This room held no safety.
Only responsibility.
The system chimed softly.
Basic Inventory Registered.
Financial status: Low.
Health: Stable.
Housing: Minimal.
Food Supply: Insufficient for 48 hours.
Rian froze.
"Insufficient?"
The system expanded the message.
Tip List for Beginners:
Prioritize essential chores.Maintain stable food routines.Explore nearby shops to understand pricing.Seek temporary work opportunities.Avoid unnecessary spending.Complete micro-quests to grow attributes.Survival improves system efficiency.
He read the list twice.
This wasn't a tutorial menu in a game.
This was a survival manual.
He sat down at the table and let the information settle. The system's tone was calm, but the meaning struck like a hidden truth he had ignored his entire first life.
If he didn't act, he would starve here.
If he didn't learn, he would fail again.
The system pulsed once more.
Displaying User Basic Stats:
Name: Rian Vale
Level: 0
XP: 15 / 100
Responsibility: 2
Discipline: 0
Courage: 1
Compassion: 1
Strength: 2
Agility: 1
Intellect: 1
He frowned.
Responsibility: 2.
He had earned one point just for making breakfast.
His life was so lacking that even washing a pan counted as progress.
He tapped the floating panel lightly. It followed his movement, drifting just far enough to avoid his touch.
"Why me?" he asked quietly. "Why give this system to someone like me?"
The system responded without hesitation.
Reason: User potential detected.
Potential not linked to past achievements.
Potential linked to willingness for growth.
He felt that like a hand pressing against his heart.
"I… wasn't willing before."
Correction: User lacked opportunity.
Opportunity now provided.
The words hit harder than he expected.
His parents had protected him.
The world had crushed him.
Now a strange system told him he could start again.
He stood and walked to the closet near the door. It creaked when he opened it. Inside was a single jacket, patched at the elbows, and a pair of worn shoes with soles thinning at the heel. He lifted the shoes. They were slightly too big for his feet, as if they had belonged to someone heavier, someone who walked more.
"Who lived here?" he whispered.
The system dimmed slightly, as if respecting a boundary.
Information locked. Unlock condition: Skill progression.
So no answers yet.
He dropped the shoes and sat on the edge of the bed.
He could feel the reality of this life closing in around him.
He was poor.
He was alone.
He was underprepared for everything outside this room.
But he had a system.
And a chance.
He tapped his chest lightly.
"I won't waste this. Not again."
The system glowed in approval.
Motivation recognized.
Micro-quests preparing for next phase.
User advised to rest before new task batch.
Rian looked at egg again.
The chipped mug.
The worn sheets.
And for the first time, the sight didn't defeat him.
It challenged him.
He straightened the curtain by the window, smoothing it with gentle fingers.
Another tiny chime sounded.
Responsibility +0.1
He laughed under his breath.
Even the smallest actions mattered now.
He lay back on the bed, tired from thinking, and stared at the cracked ceiling.
"Tomorrow," he whispered, "I start learning how to live for real."
The system pulsed one final message before dimming into standby.
Objective for next day:
Complete assigned basic life-skill quests.
Failure will delay awakening potential.
Rian closed his eyes.
He didn't know how to fight monsters.
He didn't know how to earn money.
He didn't know this world.
But he would learn.
And this time, he would not run.
It is not easy. It is not fair. It is something he could hold.