Manav returned home in the taxi, paid the fare, and stepped inside. His house was modest, a single-story structure, quiet and unassuming. As he entered, his eyes fell on his plastered right hand.
"Why didn't I get the digital body of a Minecraft player like other transmigrators?" he muttered, frustrated.
[Ding! You must complete at least three achievements to obtain the Digital Body.]
"Great. Then tell me how to earn these achievements," he demanded to the air.
No response came this time.
"Seriously?" Manav sighed, feeling the silence mocking him.
Shaking his head, he shifted focus. "Alright, let's think. What should I do with these wooden blocks?" His gaze moved to the chest he had crafted earlier.
"Yes! A bed! I need to make a bed. If I don't, how will I respawn after dying? Wait—does the respawn function even work here?" he asked aloud, hoping for a response.
[Affirmative. However, you must sleep on the bed at least once a month, and no one else must touch it. If either condition is violated, happy death.]
"Figures. Guess I'll need wool. Let's see who sells raw wool around here." He booted up his computer and began searching online for suppliers.
Three hours later, he sighed in disappointment. He hadn't found any reliable source for wool, but he did stumble upon an article about cryptocurrency. Curious, he downloaded a few programs to mine Bitcoin.
"I'll aim for at least 10,000 Bitcoins," he mused optimistically.
A growl from his stomach interrupted his thoughts. "What time is it?" He glanced at the clock.
"Nine o'clock already? Damn, I need to call Gwen about that dinner she promised. Perfect excuse to meet her—and maybe even confirm if she's been bitten by a spider. That jump at the dockyard wasn't normal," he thought, dialing the number Gwen had given him.
"Hello, Helen Stacy here," a mature, polite voice answered.
"Hello, ma'am. This number was given to me by Gwen. Could I speak with her?" Manav asked.
"Gwen! There's a call for you—a boy," Helen called out. After a brief pause, she returned to the phone. "Could you tell me your address? I'll make sure your food reaches you before 10 o'clock. Apologies on my daughter's behalf."
"Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate it. I'm having a hard time managing with my dominant hand out of commission, and I'm not used to American food. Your help means a lot," Manav replied gratefully and hung up.
Looking at the clock, he decided to make use of the time before dinner arrived. "Let's dig an underground room," he said to himself. He began working on a spot in the concrete floor of his living room.
After thirty minutes of effort, he finally managed to dislodge a 1x1x1 meter block of concrete.
"Damn! I forgot—stone-type blocks disappear if you don't use a pickaxe. And now I've got this one-meter-deep hole that's impossible to climb out of with my broken hand. Guess I'll wait until I get some iron tools from the dockyard," he muttered, covering the hole with a wooden block.
As he sat back down, drinking water, he thought aloud, "Digging stone blocks is exhausting without the Digital Body. If I had it, I'd be stronger than Black Widow, at least. I need to figure out these achievements."
The doorbell rang, interrupting his thoughts.
"Must be Gwen," Manav said, getting up to answer the door.
He opened it to find not Gwen, but her father, George Stacy, standing there with a warm smile.
"Hello, son. It's late, so I thought I'd bring the food myself," George said as he stepped inside.
"Well, Mr. Stacy, if you're hungry, why not eat with me? Living alone gets lonely sometimes," Manav offered with a grin.
"If you insist," George said, following Manav to the kitchen. Together, they set the food on the table.
"Your daughter has done an amazing job. Millet sogra, ghee, red chutney, and chaas—it's rare to see this kind of food here," Manav praised, genuinely impressed.
"First time I'm seeing her cook, too," George said with pride. "She must've started as soon as she got home."
"Can you help crush the sogra and pour some ghee on it? My hand's not up for the task," Manav requested.
George obliged, preparing the dish as instructed.
"Thank you, Mr. Stacy," Manav said, pouring chaas into two glasses.
As they began eating, George asked hesitantly, "Why don't you use a spoon? Germs, you know."
"I sanitized and washed my hands thoroughly. Trust me, try eating this Indian-style—your taste buds will thank you," Manav encouraged.
Intrigued, George followed Manav's lead, eating with his hands and sipping chaas.
"This is…spicy, but I can't stop!" George admitted, surprised by how addictive the flavors were.
"It's good, but not perfect. The sogra is a bit undercooked, and the chutney lacks authentic spice," Manav critiqued lightly.
"Well, it's her first time. Not bad for a beginner," George chuckled.
After finishing, George packed up and got ready to leave. "Rest well, son. Recover quickly."
"Thank you for everything, Mr. Stacy. Safe travels," Manav said, closing the door behind him.
Manav lay down on his bed, thinking about the day.
---
A week passed, during which George often brought meals to Manav while Gwen remained absent. Manav discovered their house was only ten minutes away, and he began building a rapport with the family.
---
Two weeks later, Manav's hand was fully healed. He finally felt ready to return to the dockyard.
"Time to mine some iron," he said to himself, packing his gear. Wooden blocks, pickaxes, swords, and sticks—all neatly stored in his chest-backpack.
He hopped on his new bicycle, bought with part of the $100 George had given him, and pedaled toward the dockyard.
Reaching the familiar fence, Manav locked his bike securely with multiple locks.
"At least now it won't get stolen," he muttered, crawling through the dog hole.
Standing inside the dockyard, he took a deep breath. "Let's get to work."