Jeather hit the floor hard.
Not the elegant, cinematic kind of landing. Not even the "hero enters new world dramatically" kind.
Just wood.
Old, slightly creaky wood that immediately reminded him his spine was still negotiable.
"…Okay," he groaned, pushing himself up. "That's officially the worst teleportation method I've experienced so far."
He looked around.
Shelves.
Rows of Beast Cards.
Some floating.
Some chained. Some humming softly like they were actively judging him.
A bell above the door chimed.
Ardent Card Exchange & Summon Supplies
Jeather blinked.
"…I got isekai'd into a store."
From behind the counter, a man barely looked up.
"Another academy dropout?" the shopkeeper muttered.
Jeather pointed at him.
"I just arrived and you already diagnosed my entire life?"
The shopkeeper shrugged.
"It's the uniform of failure. Very recognizable."
Jeather glanced down at himself.
"…I don't even have a uniform anymore."
"Exactly," the shopkeeper said.
That hurt more than it should have.
Jeather walked outside.
And froze.
The street looked… familiar.
Too familiar.
Right next to the shop stood a worn apartment building.
Old. Simple. Slightly leaning like it had given up on impressing anyone decades ago.
His brain clicked.
"Oh no."
This body's memories kicked in.
"Oh no no no."
He stared at it.
"…I live here."
A long pause.
"…That's worse than dying in a puddle."
Inside the shop again.
The shopkeeper glanced up. "Decided to come back already?"
Jeather nodded.
"I need information."
The shopkeeper squinted.
"That sounds expensive."
Jeather pointed at himself.
"I have trauma. Does that count as currency here?"
"…Depends what kind."
Jeather sighed and walked to the books.
He grabbed one.
Beast Card Fundamentals – Revised Edition
He opened it.
Immediately regretted it.
Rule 1: Beasts must be subdued before sealing.
Rule 2: Subdual usually requires weakening or killing the beast.
Rule 3: Failure to properly kill results in "corrupted summon incidents."
Jeather paused.
"…So I either kill it or it comes back angrier."
He turned a page.
"Yes."
"…That was a very confident 'yes' from a book."
He kept reading.
Beast Cards weren't "summoned."
They were basically:
"You fight something until it stops moving, then steal its soul and call it a collectible."
Jeather slowly closed the book.
"…This world is just legalized monster murder with extra steps."
From behind him:
"Correct."
Jeather jumped slightly.
"…Don't answer like that!"
The shopkeeper shrugged.
"You're reading in a shop that sells dead things. What did you expect? poetry?"
Jeather flipped more pages.
Regions:
Urban Zones: safe-ish
Frontier Zones: slightly suicidal
Forbidden Zones: immediate regret
Abyss Layers: no survivors, no refunds
Jeather muttered.
"…Why does everything have 'no survivors' as a category?"
The shopkeeper called out.
"Marketing!"
"That's not marketing, that's a warning label!"
"It's both."
Jeather continued reading.
Beast Marks appeared after sealing.
He glanced at his arm.
Nine-leaf clover glowing faintly.
"…Mine looks like I joined a cult by accident."
The mark pulsed.
Jeather narrowed his eyes.
"Don't agree with me."
It pulsed again.
"…Yeah, I see you."
He turned another page.
Dragon marks: flames.
Spirit marks: halos.
Beast marks: animal symbols.
Demon marks: chains.
Then:
Unknown marks: DO NOT STUDY WITHOUT SUPERVISION
Jeather blinked.
"…That's me."
He looked at his arm again.
"…I'm a 'do not study without supervision' type of person."
The shopkeeper leaned over slightly.
"Rare classification."
"Why does that sound like an insult?"
"Because it usually is."
Jeather sighed and closed the book.
"So let me get this straight."
He counted on his fingers.
"One: I have to kill things to get stronger."
"Two: my power system is basically legalized theft of monster souls."
"Three: I now live above a shop that sells said stolen souls."
He looked out the window.
"…And I'm still unemployed."
The shopkeeper nodded.
"Welcome to reality."
Jeather pointed at him.
"You could've led with that instead of emotional damage."
He stepped outside again.
The apartment stood quietly.
His home.
Apparently.
Somewhere inside—
A sister lived under his name's history.
With an aunt.
Far away.
Safe.
Removed from this chaos.
Jeather exhaled.
"…Great. I inherited a house and unresolved family trauma."
He looked at the building.
"Do I get a tutorial for this part too?"
Silence.
"…Of course not."
He glanced at his reflection in a window.
Black hair. Slim build. Slightly tired eyes.
"…At least I look like someone who would survive 30 seconds in a fantasy world."
A pause.
"…Barely."
Then he thought of them.
Jefferson.
Duke's son.
Perfect summoner.
Walking disaster with noble funding.
Precious.
Princess.
Politically dangerous and emotionally
unreadable.
And him.
Jeather.
Local failure.
Now apparently:
Monster-bound, system-bugged, unauthorized anomaly.
He sighed.
"…Why am I always in the 'this should not exist' category?"
The mark on his arm pulsed faintly.
He looked at it.
"Not helping."
It pulsed again.
"…You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Jeather turned toward the horizon.
Outside the city.
Beyond controlled zones.
Beyond rules.
Where beasts weren't classified.
Only survived.
He adjusted his sleeve.
"I need supplies."
A pause.
Then corrected himself:
"I need better life choices."
Another pause.
"…Actually I still need supplies."
Inside him, the clover mark pulsed softly.
Not threatening.
Not guiding.
Just… amused.
And somewhere far away—
Jefferson read a report.
Paused.
"…He's reading."
A noble beside him blinked.
"Yes?"
Jefferson's expression darkened slightly.
"That's worse than running."
And in another kingdom—
Precious sipped tea while reviewing political maps.
"Failing boys usually die quickly," she said casually.
Then smiled faintly.
"But curious ones… don't."
Jeather walked forward.
Into a world that treated death like currency.
And apparently—him like an error message.
"Alright," he muttered.
"Let's see how badly I can break this system."