III
I woke up to the sound of muffled chatter outside my window.
My body ached, the kind of stiffness that came from sleeping on a mattress that might as well have been a slab of rock. Groaning, I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled into the shower. The water was lukewarm at best, but it was enough to wash off the remnants of last night. Short and to the point, just like everything else about this place.
The scent of bacon lured me downstairs. The common room of the inn was dimly lit, with rays of sunlight streaming through the cracks in the wooden shutters. A burly man with a bushy beard and a glare that could cut stone stood behind the counter.
"That's 50 worths," he said, his voice a low rumble. Now that I got a better look at him than I had last night, his tired eyes softened the intimidation factor. Still, I wasn't about to push my luck. His level display read [Level 22]. Not exactly a big deal, but enough to give ordinary folks a hard time. I handed him the money without a word.
With my breakfast in hand, I found a corner table and settled in. The plate held beans, toast, an egg, and a couple of strips of bacon. Not exactly a feast, but it would do. I'm not much of a breakfast person, but I needed this. I had skipped dinner last night, and my stomach wasn't shy about reminding me.
As I ate, I let my eyes wander around the room. There were fewer adventurers here than there had been last night. Instead, the crowd was a mix of locals and travelers. The conversations around me buzzed with energy, and I couldn't help but eavesdrop.
"So anyone here heard about the steel monster?" a man at the next table asked.
"It was called a train, idiot," another replied.
"Yeah, the train. The first train to ever grace Amsten, is it?"
"I heard it was powered by magic."
"It's powered by a steam engine, dumbass."
The argument continued, voices rising and falling as they debated the details. Machinery Faith, scientists, magic guilds—all names and factions I recognized. The Unification War came up too, though the way they spoke about it made it sound like ancient history.
"Three decades is old news? I call bullshit," one man said. "People forget about the War too easily. It is the Unification War! It is a big deal!"
"Well, the train happened like half a decade ago, and that's what I call relevant news."
I tuned them out as I finished my meal, but the pieces were coming together.
This was the city of Amsten.
Back in Questworks, it hadn't been particularly noteworthy. A small hub with little to offer beyond a waypoint for adventurers. But the mention of the train changed everything. If the first train was introduced half a decade ago, then this was the beta period of the game. I had foreknowledge—a map of events and developments that could unfold before me.
Instead of feeling triumphant at the advantage, I felt a knot of unease tightening in my chest. Knowing what was to come didn't feel like a gift. It felt like a burden.
It was clear now—this world wasn't just a game. It was far too detailed, far too vivid. Every sound, every texture, every fleeting emotion confirmed it. And that changed everything. All the small, inconsequential things the game glossed over suddenly became crucial.
Things like identification.
I couldn't just walk around as a nobody, someone who'd seemingly appeared out of thin air. That would raise too many questions, questions I wasn't prepared to answer. So, I left the inn and started asking for directions to the City Hall. Most people were helpful enough, though I kept my inquiries vague to avoid suspicion.
After weaving through the streets, I arrived at the imposing structure of City Hall. Its architecture was ornate but practical, with stone columns and a faintly aged façade. People bustled in and out, some carrying stacks of parchment, others engaged in hushed conversations.
I found a quiet corner and activated my skill.
[Time Stop].
The world froze around me. The lively sounds of the city fell silent, replaced by an eerie stillness. People stood like statues, their movements paused mid-step or mid-gesture. I moved through the time-locked scene, entering the building without anyone so much as glancing my way.
Inside, I navigated the halls, searching for what I needed. Records, documents—proof of existence. It didn't take long to find an office lined with shelves of neatly organized files. Their system was surprisingly straightforward, even primitive compared to what I'd dealt with in my old life.
I didn't know much about bureaucratic systems, but my experience at the animation studio taught me one thing: improvisation could get you far. I sifted through the records, found a few examples, and started crafting my own identity.
It wasn't hard. I borrowed elements from existing records—names, dates, and other details—and pieced together something that would pass a casual inspection. Paraphrasing and slight adjustments made it unique enough to avoid suspicion. With the forged documents complete, I inserted them into the system, ensuring my existence was officially recorded.
By the time I was done, the world outside was still frozen. I retraced my steps, exited the building, and released [Time Stop]. The city came back to life around me as if nothing had happened.
Feeling a mix of relief and guilt, I wandered off to a nearby park. The air was crisp, the trees swayed gently in the breeze, and the distant chatter of people filled the space. I sat on a bench, staring at the neatly trimmed grass, my mind swirling with thoughts.
What should I do next?
Frankly, I was at a loss.
Adventure? Quest? Save the world? None of it sounded like the kind of thing I could dive into right now. My mind was a mess of conflicting thoughts. Part of me felt obligated to take action, to make use of this strange situation I found myself in. Another part just wanted to sit back and figure things out at my own pace.
"I guess making Amsten my base of operations isn't a bad start…" I muttered to myself.
It was better to busy my hands than do nothing. Staring into the void wasn't going to solve anything.
With that decided, I took to the streets, letting my feet guide me to wherever they pleased.
Before long, I found myself standing in front of a tailor shop. Its wooden sign swung gently in the breeze, the name faded but still legible. The glass windows showcased elegant outfits on mannequins—far removed from the ratty suit I currently wore.
Stepping inside, I was greeted by the scent of freshly pressed fabric and a space that radiated understated sophistication. The tailor, an older gentleman with a sharp gaze and a pencil tucked behind his ear, eyed me as I entered.
"Came to have a fitting, eh?" he said, his tone a mix of amusement and curiosity. "So, what rocks your boat, drabby sir?"
I gave him a straight look and replied, "Obviously nothing drabby. You know what? Surprise me."
The man's eyebrows shot up in interest. Without a word, I pulled out a generous wad of worths and handed it to him. It was more than enough to make his eyes light up with a glimmer of professional excitement. If I was going to do this, I might as well go all in.
"I like a man who knows how to spend," he said, his lips curling into a grin. "Alright, let's see what we can do with you."
The fitting process was… surreal. Measurements, fabric choices, cuts, and designs—all of it happened in a blur of motion as the tailor muttered to himself about what would suit me best. He pulled bolts of fabric from shelves, held them up against me, and then dismissed them with a wave.
"You've got potential, sir," he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "A diamond in the rough, I'd say. Don't worry. We'll have you looking like a proper gentleman in no time."
I let him work his magic, enjoying the process more than I expected. In my past life, I'd always dreamt of doing something like this—walking into a high-end shop, throwing money around, and being treated like someone important. It felt indulgent, almost self-indulgent, but in the best possible way.
The older gentleman worked fast, far faster than I expected for someone so meticulous.
As he moved about the shop, pulling fabrics and tools with practiced ease, he paused to ask me a question. "Is there a theme you'd like to go by?" he said, glancing at me with a raised brow.
I thought about it for a moment, and a wry smile crossed my face. "Time," I answered. It felt oddly fitting—funny, almost, given my ability to stop it.
He nodded thoughtfully, as if the word alone conjured a world of possibilities in his mind. "Time, eh? A fascinating choice. Let's see what we can do."
While he worked, I noticed a few oddities around the shop. Paraphernalia that didn't exist in my old world—or even in Questworks, as far as I could remember. A clock powered by glowing crystals ticked quietly on a shelf. A fabric-cutting tool shimmered faintly with runes, slicing effortlessly through even the thickest cloth. This world, as I kept reminding myself, was far more detailed than the game it was based on.
Obviously, it was because magic was common knowledge here, though not everyone could wield it. That didn't stop the creation of enchanted items, which seemed to have found their way into everyday life.
By the time the fitting was complete, I stood in front of a mirror, staring at someone who barely looked like the disheveled person who had walked in. The suit was sleek, tailored perfectly to my frame, and the fabric felt impossibly comfortable.
The older gentleman began to explain his work with the pride of a true artisan. "This suit," he said, gesturing toward my reflection, "is designed to convey an air of refinement and precision. To those who see you, it suggests someone in control—measured, deliberate. The materials are enchanted to maintain their shape and resist wear, but you'll still want to have it dry-cleaned after four to six wears."
That last part was surprisingly practical. I'd never worn suits often in my past life, so the advice was genuinely helpful.
I checked the cufflinks, their design catching my eye. They were shaped like tiny clock faces, intricate and detailed. I couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship.
"There's more," the tailor said, pointing to my right side. "Feel just there."
I reached down, letting my fingers brush over the fabric. To my surprise, I found a nearly invisible pocket.
"You could tuck a pocket watch in there," he explained, his voice tinged with enthusiasm. "The chain would dangle just so, adding a bit of flair to the look."
I smiled at the thought. Looked like I'd need to buy a pocket watch now.
The most notable feature of the suit, however, was the accessory pinned to my left breast. It was a brooch of two crossed swords—a longsword and a short sword—designed to resemble the hands of a clock. Behind them, Roman numerals were stitched in dull gold embroidery, mimicking a clock face.
"An homage to your requested theme," the older man said, his voice warm. "Time is a relentless force, but wielded wisely, it's the greatest weapon of all."
I ran my fingers over the brooch, appreciating the weight of it. "I'm satisfied," I said, and I meant it.
The older gentleman's face lit up with a smile that stretched ear to ear. "Excellent! You wear it well, sir."
I took one last look in the mirror, appreciating the craftsmanship. The suit, the details, and the thoughtfulness of the design made it clear that this man was a master of his craft.
"Thank you," I said simply.
The tailor gave a small bow. "It was my pleasure. Time well spent, wouldn't you agree?"