Just as my fingers brushed against the door handle, a sharp knock rang through the room, freezing me in place.
My head snapped toward the door, heart pounding. Had the staff figured out I'd taken the ice? Were they here to confront me, to demand payment for something so trivial? My mind spiraled with worst-case scenarios, but I forced myself to take a deep breath, steadying my nerves.
After a brief hesitation, I stepped forward and pulled the door open.
Relief washed over me. It wasn't about the ice.
Standing there was a man with medium-length brown hair, slightly tousled and falling just over his forehead. His haircut was simple, unremarkable, but the faint stubble on his chin hinted at the early stages of a beard. His dark eyes met mine with an unreadable expression, his posture relaxed yet purposeful.
It was Millio.
"... Is it okay if I come in?" Millio's voice was even, his expression unreadable.
I hesitated for half a second before stepping aside. "Uh… yeah, sure."
Damn. Why did I always make things awkward?
Milio walked past me into the room, his movements steady and deliberate. I closed the door behind him, turning to face him. It was strange—Milio didn't seem like the type to initiate conversations, especially not like this. What could he possibly want?
"I spoke with one of the cleaning ladies earlier," he started. "She told me a bit about this world. Apparently, there are four major kingdoms in this country. Do you remember Jacquinn mentioning this place was called the Amepotera Kingdom?"
"Uh… yeah," I answered, though, in truth, I had almost completely forgotten that detail.
Milio nodded slightly before continuing. "Well, according to her, there's a rumor floating around. The kingdom in the north, Thiles, is supposedly researching ways to travel between worlds." He paused, letting the weight of that statement settle before adding, "Once we clear our debt next month, I plan on heading north to check it out. I wanted to ask if you'd come with me."
I blinked. "You're planning to leave?"
"Yeah," he said without hesitation. "I already talked to Victor. He has no interest in returning to our world. But I wanted to hear your answer."
So Millio wanted to go back. It made sense—he had no memories of this world, no connections to it. Of course, he'd want to find a way home. For him, this place was nothing more than an unknown, dangerous land.
But I didn't feel the same.
I had no ties to my old life, no family waiting for me, no future worth returning to. This world, for all its uncertainties, was a fresh start. A second chance. Something I never had before.
"I don't want to go back," I said after a beat of silence. "But I'll go with you to the north—if I don't have other plans by then."
Millio's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he studied me. "I don't get it. Why wouldn't you want to go back? It doesn't make sense."
His voice had a sharp edge now, frustration creeping into his tone. "There's a real chance we could die here. You almost died the moment we arrived, and you still think this place is better than our world?" He jabbed a finger in my direction as if trying to shake some sense into me.
I met his gaze without flinching. "There's nothing for me there."
Silence stretched between us. He looked like he wanted to argue, to pry into my reasons, but in the end, he just stood there. The air between us felt heavy, filled with things neither of us said aloud.
Finally, his expression shifted, something softer slipping through the frustration. "I don't have any memories," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But I wonder—what were my parents like? Did I have siblings? Was there anyone waiting for me?" His hand clenched into a fist at his side. "Ever since that incident in the palace, I've felt like this world isn't safe. And honestly… I just want to get the hell out of here."
I understood his reasoning. Unlike me, he wanted to return to something familiar, even if he didn't remember it. But I couldn't say the same. If I went back, all that was waiting for me was a dead-end job and a life of mediocrity, working myself into the ground until I was too old to do anything else.
"I'll help you get back," I said, voice steady, "but I'm not going with you."
Millio scoffed, shaking his head. "You're insane."
Maybe I was. But I'd rather take my chances in this world than return to the life I left behind.
He didn't argue anymore. Instead, he stepped toward the door, pausing for just a moment before glancing over his shoulder. "Thanks," he muttered, his voice quieter this time. "I'll take the help."
Then he was gone.
I let out a slow breath before stepping outside, making my way toward the bathhouse. The receptionist had said it was on the second floor.
I could still feel the weight of our conversation lingering in the air, but for now, I let the thought of hot water and steam distract me.
I sighed and stepped outside, heading toward the bathhouse as the receptionist had instructed. She mentioned it was on the second floor.
Upon reaching the second floor, I found a large open doorway leading into the bathhouse. Just inside, a man sat behind a table, positioned in front of two separate entrances—one likely leading to the men's section and the other to the women's.
I approached hesitantly. "Male showers?"
He barely looked up, merely extending his hand in expectation. Realizing he wanted my key, I fumbled for it and held it up for verification. With a quick nod, he gestured toward the entrance, signaling that I could proceed.
Stepping inside, I was met with a long row of open cupboards. Some were empty, while others held neatly folded clothes. The space stretched far, but something immediately felt off.
I scanned the area, looking for a private changing room. There was none.
Wait… was I supposed to change here? Out in the open?
That couldn't be right. I hesitated, glancing around. The area was eerily empty, yet there was no enclosed space for privacy. Maybe I was missing something.
Determined to find a better option, I walked past the cupboards and entered the next section of the bathhouse.
What I saw made me freeze in place.
The room was lined with shower heads—at least twenty of them—all affixed to the walls like something out of a prison bath. Steam curled through the air, mixing with the sounds of running water. And then… I saw them.
Several men stood beneath the showers, completely naked, casually washing up as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
I backed out immediately, retreating into the cupboard area.
Were people really this comfortable exposing themselves in public?
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. So, this was how it worked. There was no private changing space, no partitions, no stalls. Just an open cupboard, an open bath, and zero modesty.
I hesitated, glancing around again. Still no one nearby.
Fine.
I quickly changed but kept a towel wrapped around my waist. There was no way I was walking in there fully exposed. I didn't care how normal it was for everyone else—I had limits.
I stepped into the shower room, keeping my gaze fixed straight ahead. Without bothering to glance around, I made a beeline for the nearest showerhead. My fingers found the cool metal button, and I pressed it without hesitation, bracing myself for the rush of water.
"Ahhh—!"
I nearly jumped from the shock. The water was ice-cold, sending a shiver straight through me.
Great. Just great.
I didn't want to shower without my towel, so I kept it wrapped around my waist. Of course, that meant it became completely drenched, clinging uncomfortably to my skin. I stood there stiffly, arms crossed over my chest, trying to endure the awkwardness.
I glanced around and noticed the other men using some sort of soap. Right… I hadn't brought anything with me. Well, that was an oversight.
After about five minutes of standing under the freezing water, I decided I'd had enough. The real reason I came here was for the bath. That was the part I was actually looking forward to.
Moving toward another entrance, I stepped through and found myself in a massive bathhouse. The first thing I noticed was the water—a light green hue, steaming gently in the dim lighting. The air was thick with warmth and the scent of minerals, instantly more inviting than the frigid showers.
Despite the number of people already soaking inside, the bath was large enough that there was still plenty of space. I quietly made my way to a corner that seemed relatively unoccupied.
The moment I stepped into the water, my body reacted instantly. A deep, almost involuntary exhale left my lips as the warmth wrapped around me, chasing away the lingering chill.
Goosebumps prickled across my skin as I slumped back, resting against the edge. The steam was thick enough to obscure the figures around me, which was a relief—I didn't particularly want to make eye contact with strangers while half-naked in a communal bath.
For the first time in a long time , I felt genuinely relaxed.
I sank further into the water, letting the heat soak into my muscles.
This place… was incredible.
How had they even come up with something like this? I had never experienced a bathhouse before, but I was already a fan.
"You do realize you're supposed to enter the bath without the towel, right?"
"Ah—hah…"
I was too lost in the sheer comfort of the bathhouse to care. The warmth seeped deep into my bones, melting away every ounce of tension. My body felt weightless, my mind drifting in the steam-filled haze.
Then, I felt a light tap on my shoulder.
Blinking lazily, I turned my head, still caught in the blissful daze, and found myself looking at a man with red hair parted in the middle, draping over his face like curtains.
"Vic?"
Victor arched an eyebrow before settling into the water a few spaces away. His shoulders slumped as he let out a long, satisfied sigh, his usual sharp demeanor softened by the bath's embrace. "I saw you here, so I figured I'd join you. Hope you don't mind."
"Ah… hah," I murmured, letting my head tilt back against the bath's edge. The heat curled around me, soothing every inch of my body. For the first time since arriving in this world, I felt truly at ease.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself a moment of pure, uninterrupted rest. The silence stretched between us, comfortable and unforced. It felt good—really good—to just exist without worrying about survival, debts, or the unknown dangers lurking ahead.
Thank god we came here. It was worth every bit of the three silver.
A thought lingered in the back of my mind—if the bathhouse in the outer city was this good, what were the facilities like in the inner city? Everything there was supposedly more advanced, more luxurious… and, of course, more expensive.
I leaned back, letting the warmth of the water seep deeper into my muscles. Yeah… I needed to start making money fast. The sooner I could afford to move there, the better.
Did Millio talk to you?" Victor asked, his tone indifferent, as if the answer didn't really matter to him.
"Yeah..." I muttered, sinking further into the water until only my head remained above the surface. "I told him I'd help him get back to our world, but I'm not going with him."
Victor tilted his head slightly, watching me. "Why not?"
I exhaled, staring at the ripples in the bath. "There's nothing for me there. Here… maybe I can be something. Maybe I can make something of myself."
A brief silence settled between us, heavy yet unspoken.
Then, I finally turned my gaze toward him. "What about you?"
Victor's expression remained unchanged, but there was something about the way he sat—rigid, almost restrained. His voice was quiet, yet firm. "There's something I need to do.. only then will I truly be free."
I studied him carefully, the weight behind his words lingering in the air. What did he mean by free?
For a moment, I wondered if he was like me—someone with nothing waiting for him in the other world, someone desperate to carve out a new path here. But something about him felt different.
Then, the image of the number 777 burned into his wrist surfaced in my mind.
What did it mean?
I couldn't shake the feeling that Victor was hiding something.
Victor barely moved, his gaze fixed straight ahead. Noticing my stare, he finally muttered, "What?" His tone was indifferent, but I could tell he was aware of my lingering gaze.
"I was just wondering where the other group is," I said, glancing around absentmindedly.
I couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty. The more familiar faces we had, the better. We hadn't seen the others since we were separated, and if they were here—hopefully staying for the same week as us—we could at least figure out how to repay our debt together.
Victor let out a low hum of agreement. "Hopefully, they're here..." A pause followed before he added, "Did you talk to anyone? Pick up any information?"
I froze slightly at his question.
I turned to him, blinking in realization. Both Victor and Milio had already started gathering information about this world. Meanwhile, I hadn't even thought about it. I had been too caught up in adjusting, trying to process everything, and hadn't considered taking a more proactive approach.
For a split second, I considered telling Victor what Millio had told me—just to save face. But he probably already knew. No point in pretending.
"...No," I admitted reluctantly. "What did you find out?"
Victor leaned back slightly, his tone calm but informative. He explained that he had been gathering intel about the area, and one of the biggest things he discovered was the significance of the statues in the inner city. They weren't just decorative monuments—they were representations of the ten A-Rank gods that resided in this world.
Beyond them, only two S-Rank gods were known to exist, while the number of B, C, D, and E-Rank gods was so large that people had lost count.
He also managed to locate the guild—one of the first things he had set out to find. However, when it came to understanding how it actually worked, he ran into a wall. No one he spoke to seemed to have enough knowledge to explain its structure or function.
I couldn't help but be a little impressed. He was already gathering useful information while I had just been going with the flow.
Still, a part of me felt an unexpected sense of relief knowing that my god wasn't at the very bottom of the ranking system. It was strange—insignificant, even—but for some reason, that small fact filled me with a subtle sense of pride.
Victor's god was also C-Rank, the same as mine, which made me wonder—how rare was it for someone to be connected to an A-Rank god? What exactly determined these ranks? And, more importantly, how did a god ascend from one rank to another?
From what I had gathered, my goddess, Nyvara, wanted to ascend to a higher rank . That much was clear. But it also seemed like she planned to use me as a means to achieve that goal.
The thought unsettled me.
I also began to wonder about the leveling system of our gifts. Was it like a game where I had to gain experience?The simplest method I could think of was combat. Did I need to kill something to level up?
Curious, I asked if he had any idea how the leveling system for our gifts worked, but Victor Victor shook his head.
"I didn't ask," he admitted. "I don't want people to know I'm gifted."
That struck me as odd. Back at the palace, it seemed like all outworlders were gifted. Could he really keep up that lie forever? It felt like something that would fall apart eventually.
I frowned slightly. "Aren't all outworlders gifted?"
"Supposedly, yeah. But I don't think that kind of information is made public..." Victor mused, his voice thoughtful. "Honestly, I think it's because outworlders are rare here. Meeting one probably only happens once in a blue moon."
That made sense, but it left me wondering—how long had people from our world been coming here?
Every year, millions of people go missing. Was this where some of them ended up? And if so, when did it all begin? How many generations of outworlders had been pulled into this place before us?
After ten minutes of soaking in the bath, we finally decided to leave. Victor, far braver than me, had no problem strolling in without a towel. But when it came time to step out of the bathhouse, completely exposed to the open space? Yeah, that was a whole different level of awkward.
As we re-entered the shower area, a new problem hit me.
How the hell was I supposed to dry myself when my towel was already soaked? Was I just supposed to stand there like an idiot and wait until I air-dried?
I hesitated before turning to Victor. "Uh…"
He glanced at me, then at the dripping mess of fabric wrapped around my waist, and let out an amused scoff. "You're an idiot, you know that?"
Harsh. But… not inaccurate.
Victor shook his head before tossing something my way. "Here, use this. I brought an extra."
Relief washed over me as I caught the dry towel. "You're a lifesaver."
After drying off and changing back into my clothes, I nodded to Victor. "See you in the morning."
He gave a simple nod before heading off in his own direction.
As I made my way back to my room, a strange sense of ease settled over me. This world was still unfamiliar, still filled with unknowns. But for the first time since arriving, I wasn't dreading tomorrow.
Just as I was about to open the door to my room, I caught a glimpse of someone carrying a stack of plates so tall that I couldn't even see their face. From the size of their frame, it looked like a short person. As they walked by, I recognized them—it was the same young girl I had run into earlier.
She seemed determined, but I couldn't ignore the heavy huffs and puffs escaping her lips. I hesitated, glancing between her and my path forward. Maybe she didn't need my help. She did tell me not to interrupt her, after all.
Sigh. I'm too nice, aren't I?
Without another thought, I hurried over and grabbed some of the plates from the top of her pile. "You're going to drop these if you keep going like that. Let me help," I said, taking more than half.
"Ahh… No, no, no! I can do it, mister!" she protested, her big brown eyes staring up at me in defiance.
I ignored her and started heading downstairs.
"Mister, I can do it… Ahh! You—you're the weird one!"
"Weird?" I raised an eyebrow. Maybe I should just give the plates back. Actually, why were these plates even upstairs? Isn't the dining area downstairs?
"Ahh, sorry! But I can do it, weird mister!" she insisted, walking alongside me.
I chose to ignore her. Something told me that if I responded, she'd just keep calling me that.
I glanced at her, taking in her disheveled appearance. Her shoulder-length brown hair was unkempt, and her apron bore stains of dirt and food. Smudges of grime streaked her round face, giving her a slightly worn-out look.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Give… me… the plates… or Aunty will get mad," she muttered, her words slow and deliberate as she descended the stairs. Her tone was sharp, edged with impatience, as if she were bracing for trouble.
"Relax," I said, keeping my grip on the plates. "How about I hand them back to you just before we reach her? That way, you get the credit."
She blinked, hesitating before nodding. "Ahh… okay," she mumbled, a faint trace of relief in her voice.
Damn, this girl was something else.
I looked ahead and noticed that most people had already left. Only a few remained at the front, scattered here and there. I continued walking but soon realized—I had no idea where to go. Stopping in my tracks, I waited for her to lead.
For some reason, she stopped too, staring at me.
"Hurry up, we need to go," she said, her face twisted in annoyance.
"I don't know where to go."
"Ahh, you're right… follow me," she said before quickly hurrying ahead.
As we moved forward, I glanced around at the people in the area. Something felt off. None of them looked like ordinary civilians. Many were dressed similarly to the guards we had encountered in the inner city, clad in leather armor. In fact, if I was being honest, I didn't see a single person in casual civilian clothing.
Was this place some kind of hotspot for adventurers?
"Look, boys! The plates are bigger than she is!"
"You're right," another voice chimed in, followed by bursts of laughter from the table ahead.
I glanced over and spotted a bald man clad in black leather armor, a metal chain draped across his chest. Beside him sat two others—both sporting full-grown beards and dark brown hair—chuckling as they exchanged looks.
Turning my attention back to the girl, I caught the slight tremble in her lips. She was looking away from them, her expression tense, a deep frown etched on her face. It looked like she was on the verge of tears.
They were mocking her.
A flicker of irritation stirred in me, but I was smart enough to keep my head down. Getting involved with a group like that wasn't worth the trouble, especially when I knew nothing about them or the kind of power they held in this world.
As we passed, I stole a quick glance in their direction before shifting my focus back to the path ahead, choosing to walk behind the girl. Picking a fight with three men wasn't a smart idea. The best thing to do was ignore them. People like that existed everywhere—arrogant, drunk on whatever sense of power they thought they had. The safest bet was to keep moving.
"What are you looking at?" the bald man sneered, his gaze locking onto me.
Was he talking to me? No way, right? I wasn't even doing anything.
I kept my eyes forward, ignoring him.
Just as I was about to move past, one of his lackeys stepped in front of me, blocking my path. "You ignoring the boss?"
He was around the same height as me, maybe a little bulkier. I met his stare with a calm, unreadable expression, then glanced over at the bald man.
"Can I just put the plates back?" I asked flatly, my voice devoid of any real concern.
I'd been in situations like this before—people trying to throw their weight around, puffing themselves up, hoping to get a reaction. It was a game I had no interest in playing.
"What?" the lackey barked, clearly offended by my indifference.
"Leave him," the bald man interrupted, raising a hand to silence his lackey. His gaze lingered on me for a moment before he smirked. "Go put the plates back. I know you. There's something I want to talk about when you return."
The lackey stepped aside, and I continued walking, following the girl into the kitchen.
She hurried inside, setting the plates down before turning to me with teary eyes.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, staring at the floor. "It's my fault… It's always me."
I sighed, reaching out to gently ruffle her hair before crouching slightly to meet her gaze.
"It's okay," I said with a small smile. "We're just gonna talk, that's all. Can you do me a favor and get me some ice? It helps cool me down."
The girl blinked at me, puzzled. "You're a weird one, mister," she muttered, rubbing her eyes.
Still, she quickly scurried away, returning moments later with a handful of ice cubes.
I took the ice cubes, slipping them into my pocket. With a focused thought, I willed them to change—within seconds, they shifted, reshaping into a small, sharp ice knife in my grasp.
Better to be prepared.
They didn't seem openly hostile, but I wasn't taking any chances.
With a quiet breath, I turned and walked back toward their table.
The bald man gestured to the seat across from him, and as I approached, the two lackeys shifted aside, making space for me to sit between them.
"You're an outworlder, aren't you?" the bald man asked, leaning forward, his gaze sharp as he studied me.
"Yeah, I am," I replied, keeping my tone neutral.
A slow grin spread across his face as he let out a chuckle. "Well, well… It's rare to meet one of your kind." His laughter grew louder, drawing the attention of his lackeys. Then, with an exaggerated smirk, he added, "So tell me… is it true that outworlders eat shit?"
I stared at him, unimpressed, choosing not to dignify that with a response. It was clearly meant to be a joke—or rather, an attempt to provoke me.
The bald man caught on to my annoyance, his smirk widening as he leaned back. "Relax, kid. I'm just messing with you. Learn to take a joke." His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it, like he was testing me.
Then, he tilted his head slightly, his grin never fading. "Do you know who I am?"
I frowned slightly. How the hell was I supposed to know who he was? Was he someone important? Dangerous? Damn it.
I slipped my hands into my pockets, fingers grazing the cold edges of my ice-formed knife, ready for anything. A tense silence hung between us before I finally spoke.
"No."
The bald man smirked, clearly amused, and tapped the badge pinned to his chest. It bore the Roman numeral III.
"Third-class hunter, Dunstan," he introduced himself, voice laced with arrogance.
Hunter. That was a new term. Another ranking system, maybe? Was third-class the highest, or was it somewhere in the middle? He didn't seem like someone who was gifted, but I wasn't ruling anything out.
Dunstan watched me carefully, his smirk widening. "I can see it in your face—you don't even know what that means. Knew it. You outworlders really are dumb as rocks," he chuckled, running a hand over his bald head while his lackeys burst into laughter.
Annoyance flickered in my chest. They were mocking me. Not that I cared much about their opinions, but something about their smugness irritated me.
"What do you want?" I said flatly. "If you've got nothing to say, I'm leaving."
I stood, turning to walk away, but before I could take a step, one of the lackeys grabbed my wrist.
I stopped, staring at him, then flicked my gaze toward Dunstan.
"Where do you think you're going?" the lackey sneered, his grip tightening around my arm.
I yanked my hand back with little effort, breaking his hold. His eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by my strength. He was about to stand, probably ready to escalate things, but—
"Wait, boys," Dunstan drawled lazily, waving a hand. "No need to get violent. I'm just saying… I know you outworlders get a fat sum of money from those noble families." His grin sharpened. "If you need information, I can help—for a price. Want to know how the guild works? Or maybe you're curious about the Eight Great Families?"
I wasn't interested.
"Not buying," I said bluntly, stepping away.
Dunstan's smirk twitched. "You'll regret it," he warned.
I didn't even look back. I kept walking.
What a bunch of assholes. They thought they could scam me out of my money—probably expected me to be clueless and desperate. I wasn't interested in dealing with bottom-feeders, especially not someone who enjoyed picking on children.
I stepped into my room and shut the door behind me, pausing for a moment before double-checking the lock—once, then again.
I clenched the ice blade in my pocket, my grip tightening as frustration and bitterness surged through me. My jaw locked, my breathing shallow.
Without thinking, I yanked the blade out and hurled it at the wardrobe. Thunk. The ice dagger buried itself deep into the wood, its jagged edge quivering from the force of impact.
I stared at it, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. What was I even thinking?
Letting out a slow breath, I turned toward the bed and sank onto it, staring up at the ceiling. The day had been going well… until it wasn't.
I hated that feeling—powerlessness. It reminded me too much of my old life, where I had no control, no way to change anything. My fists clenched involuntarily, frustration simmering beneath the surface.
I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to let it go. Dwelling on it wouldn't change anything.
Tomorrow will be better. It had to be.
With that final thought, I shut my eyes and willed myself to sleep.