When Almond woke up, he instantly knew that he was not where he had fallen asleep.
The air carried a fresh, almost sweet smell to it. Something impossible to find in the polluted mega-cities he was used to.
But more obviously, the room around him felt completely out of place.
It was medieval, with wooden beams, stone walls, and rustic furnishings. Nothing like his cramped one-bedroom apartment.
Despite living an uneventful life, Almond had always prided himself on one thing.
His level-headedness.
It took a lot to shake his nerves, and he used that ability to tackle his current situation.
First, he checked himself.
Rising from the bed, he walked to a bronze mirror hanging on the wall. The face staring back at him was his own. Brown hair, an average height and build, but with a rugged, handsome maturity.
Alright. I still look like me. That's a good start.
He turned his attention to the rest of the room, searching for anything that might give him a clue as to where he was.
On a wooden stool lay a set of simple brown medieval clothes—not the kind worn by nobles, but by workers or merchants. Beside them sat a sheathed dagger.
Not seeing a better option, Almond dressed quickly, fastening the weapon at his waist before stepping out of the room.
The moment he did, the realisation hit him.
This wasn't just some random medieval house.
Outside his room was a modest dining area, with wooden tables and chairs arranged neatly across the space.
At one end was a bar counter, and behind it were shelves that held a variety of barrels, likely filled with ale and wine. A door off to the side led to a small kitchen.
It was an inn.
Have I been sent to the past… to become an innkeeper?
He scratched his chin in thought.
But why an innkeeper? Is this seriously my fate?
Before he could dwell on it further, a sudden knock at the door startled him.
His body tensed. He realised for the first time that the building had no windows giving him no way to see who was outside. Instinctively, his hand hovered near the dagger at his waist as he approached the door.
Taking a breath, he pulled it open.
Creak
A cool breeze swept in, carrying the sounds of chatter. Beyond the doorway stretched a bustling medieval marketplace, filled with merchants, traders, and townsfolk in the distance.
But Almond's focus was locked on the person in front of him.
A woman stood there, her tanned skin shining in the morning light. Her long red hair was braided back, revealing a beautiful face. She wore a white and brown tunic, loose-fitting yet failing to conceal the curves of her full hips and large breasts.
She smirked.
"Good morning, Innkeeper. Have you opened for business yet? I'm dying for a drink."
For a moment, Almond was too stunned to reply.
The woman raised an eyebrow, waving a hand playfully in front of his face. "Hello? Just a drink, sir. I'm sure you've got drinks."
Almond snapped himself back into reality.
So, I really am the innkeeper here… how? I don't know the first thing about running an inn.
Still, he pushed aside his hesitation and stepped back. "Come on in."
The woman walked past him, her hips swaying with each step. The fabric of her tunic clung tight to her ass, giving Almond a clear view of each round cheek.
She took a seat at one of the tables, glancing around. "Not bad at all. It's about time someone opened an inn in the central district. The orcs were about to go crazy. You know how they get when they don't have booze."
Almond paused mid-step.
"...Orcs?"
The woman gave him a puzzled look. "You know… big, green-skinned, muscular. Surely you've seen one before?" She let out a chuckle. "What, are you from another world or something?"
A bead of sweat formed on Almond's forehead.
This isn't the past. This is a whole new world… just like those transmigration novels.
Hiding his nerves, he forced a small smile and moved behind the bar.
"Just ale, please. What's your name, anyway?"
He grabbed a wooden mug from the rack and positioned it beneath one of the barrels labelled Ale. A simple pull of the tap released the golden liquid, slowly filling the mug.
I have to admit… this is kind of therapeutic.
Once full, he walked back and handed the mug to the woman.
"My name's Almond. What about you?"
She reached for the drink, grinning. "Almond? That's a strange name. I'm Ulnessa—"
"Ahh—"
Her words were cut off as she let out a soft moan.
Almond froze. His fingers had barely brushed against hers as he passed the mug, yet her body tensed and her cheeks turned red.
The reaction was far too intense for a simple touch.
Ulnessa pulled her hand back quickly, eyes blinking with confusion. "S-sorry about that. I think I'm getting sick."
Almond narrowed his eyes.
What kind of sickness makes you moan just from touching someone's hand?
More concerning, he noticed something else. Her nipples had hardened, and were now poking through the fabrics of her dress. The sight filled him with lustful urges that he forced himself to swallow.
Ignoring her reaction, he turned back toward the bar, pretending not to notice.
Meanwhile, Ulnessa stared at her hand, mind racing.
W-What in the gods' name was that?
She dropped her hands to her thighs and felt at herself.
A small wet patch had formed between her legs.
Her breath hitched. I was right… He made me wet just by touching my hand…
Eyes locked onto the innkeeper, she watched him absentmindedly inspect the rest of the barrels.
Who is this man?
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