Stamina: 50 / 50

  ~~~

  Strength: 1

  Toughness: 1

  Wisdom: 1

  Speed: 1

  Mana Force: 1

  Luck: 1

  ~~~

  "Dang," Austin muttered after a quick scan of his stats. "Guess I'm starting fresh in a new world." He flicked through the menu again just to make sure he wasn't missing anything—nope. Every single number stared back at him with the same depressing one.

  "Like… newborn baby fresh," he added, shaking his head. "Cool. I am officially as threatening as a warm dinner roll."

  If the three moons overhead and the air that smelled like nature's best cologne hadn't already convinced him he was in another world, this system screen sealed the deal. This was real.

  "Wait…" He froze mid-thought. "Where's that skill I got? Yeah—the one she almost had a divine meltdown over before giving it to me? That's gotta be worth something."

  Austin stared at the HUD, willing it to cooperate. Maybe there was a trick to it. "Alright… how do I…" He tapped the air like he was pressing invisible buttons. Nothing.

  "Maybe it's voice activated," he reasoned. He straightened up like he was about to make an important call.

  "Skills," he said aloud, putting a little extra command in his tone.

  For a moment, nothing happened—and then, with a smooth ping, the HUD shifted, panels sliding away to reveal a brand-new menu.

  Austin's eyes widened. "Oh yeah. Here we go baby."

  SKILLS:

  Limit Break (Unique) (Passive)

  Removes all growth restrictions on a selected stat, allowing it to increase far beyond normal limits.

  Selected Stat: None

  Austin stared at the glowing blue panel hovering in front of him. His newest skill pulsed faintly at the top of his list, its letters etched in clean white text:

  Limit Break, huh. Interesting. He read it again. A unique skill that increases the growth rate of any selected stat beyond normal limits.

  Austin leaned back against the patch of grass beneath him, letting the cool earth press into his shoulders as morning light filtered through the forest canopy above. Sunbeams slipped between the leaves in lazy streaks, birds chirped like nothing universe-shattering had just happened, and for a moment everything felt almost… peaceful.

  "That was weird," he said aloud, staring up at the branches. "Like, really weird."

  He frowned and scratched the back of his neck, replaying Lizzy's reaction in his head—the hesitation, the panic, the way she'd looked like she'd just realized she'd microwaved something with metal inside.

  "I don't get why she didn't want to give me this skill," Austin muttered. "I mean, if a goddess hands you a magic coin and then immediately regrets it, that feels… concerning."

  He paused.

  "…Very concerning."

  Still, it was too late now. The skill was his. Whatever it was, it had already settled into him, sinking deep into his bones and thoughts, quiet but undeniable. Fighting it felt pointless—like arguing with gravity or trying to return a tutorial pop-up after clicking Accept.

  So Austin exhaled and let go.

  He accepted the skill the way a monk might accept a new sutra: calm on the outside, mildly panicking on the inside, and trusting that future-him would figure out what it actually meant. Whatever cosmic nonsense Lizzy had dumped on him, he'd deal with it one step at a time.

  After all… it wasn't like he could return it for store credit.

  Austin examined the panel closer, noting how plain the classification was. It wasn't marked "S-Rank," or "Divine," or even "Epic." Just… Unique.

  "Guess it doesn't need to sound fancy to get the job done," he said with a half-smile.

  A faint wind brushed his hair, and Austin's thoughts drifted to something one of his old foster families used to tell him—back when he still believed life might turn around. Be grateful for what you have, because there's always someone out there grateful with nothing.

  Austin let out a slow, thoughtful exhale, the kind people made when they were about to do something important—or at least something that felt important. He nodded once to himself, as if confirming an unspoken agreement.

  "Alright," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Time to make a life-altering decision based entirely on vibes and video game logic."

  With a flick of intent, his stats screen snapped back into existence, hovering in front of him like a smug digital judge. Numbers glowed softly, each one quietly daring him to mess up. Austin's eyes traveled down the list while he tapped a finger against his chin, posture stiff with exaggerated seriousness.

  "First of all," he said, pointing at the top of the list, "Luck is absolutely off the table."

  He snorted. "Sure, better drop rates sound amazing in theory. Legendary loot, rare pulls, all that good stuff. But none of that matters if I'm face-down in the dirt five minutes from now. Dead men don't open treasure chests."

  He scrolled.

  "Wisdom. Mana Force." He squinted at the two like they'd personally offended him. "Yeah, no. Those are magic stats. I don't care what anyone says—if a stat has the word Mana in it, it expects me to start chanting or waving a staff."

  Austin gestured at himself. "And I currently possess zero spells, zero incantations, and zero desire to explode because I mispronounced a rune."

  Another flick of the list.

  He paused when Toughness came into view.

  "Huh." He leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "Toughness."

  He tilted his head, reading it again as if the word might change meaning if he stared long enough. "I've never actually seen this stat before. No Defense. No Vitality. Just… Toughness."

  A beat passed.

  "Which honestly sounds like something you'd measure by how many times you can get punched before you stop standing."

  He chuckled at his own thought. "So yeah, this probably boosts health, damage resistance, pain tolerance, or maybe just how stubborn my body is about dying."

  That actually gave him pause.

  "Not gonna lie," he admitted quietly, rubbing the back of his neck, "being harder to kill is pretty tempting."

  He stared at the stat for a few seconds longer, imagining himself tanking hits, shrugging off damage, refusing to go down no matter how ugly things got.

  Then he sighed.

  "But surviving doesn't mean winning," he said. "It just means prolonging the part where I get bullied."

  With one last glance, he scrolled again.

  Now there were only two left.

  Strength.

  Speed.

  Austin leaned back slightly, arms folding as he studied them like rival philosophies. This was the real choice—the one that said something about who he wanted to be in this mess.

  Speed was appealing. Dodging. Outmaneuvering. Darting in and out of combat like a blur. Landing hits, escaping before the counter. Stylish. Efficient. Safe.

  But strength…

  Strength was simple.

  Strength meant ending fights.

  He chewed his lower lip, memories surfacing uninvited—every game where he'd chosen agility and spent hours chipping away at enemies that just wouldn't die. Every time he'd thought, Man, if I just hit harder, this would already be over.

  "I've always liked being the heavy hitter," he said softly. "The kind of guy who swings once and decides the outcome."

  He glanced down at his current numbers and winced. "And let's be honest—my strength right now is… tragic."

  Speed would help him avoid danger. Strength would let him remove it.

  Austin huffed a laugh. "Yeah, speed's great and all. Running fast, dodging attacks, living that anime protagonist life."

  He pointed at the Strength stat.

  "But what good is running if whatever's chasing me just keeps coming?"

  A grin slowly tugged at his lips—small at first, then growing as excitement sparked in his chest. It was the first time in days he'd felt something other than low-grade dread.

  "Alright," he said, voice firm now. "Decision made."

  He straightened, shoulders squaring as if the choice itself had given him a little more confidence.

  "Strength it is. If I'm gonna survive this place, I'm doing it by hitting so hard the problem stops existing."

  He smirked, eyes glinting. "Sure, that probably means I'll explode if something sneezes on me."

  A beat.

  "But hey. All I have to do is not get hit."

  He nodded approvingly at his own flawless logic. "We love a glass cannon."

  With renewed focus, Austin opened his skill menu once more, letting the noise of doubt fade away. He centered his thoughts, selected the glowing option, and committed. He mentally selected Strength. A soft chime echoed through the air—gentle, like a bell from a distant temple.

  "Alright," Austin said, exhaling. "Moment of truth."

  He reopened his skill page, his heart thumping with anticipation. There it was—Limit Break: Applied to Strength.

  SKILLS:

  Limit Break (Unique) (Passive)

  Removes all growth restrictions on a selected stat, allowing it to increase far beyond normal limits.

  Selected stat: Strength

  A grin spread across his face. "Perfect." Austin said, looking at his newly edited skill.

  Whatever came next, at least he'd go down swinging.

  "Alright," Austin said aloud, clapping his hands together once like he was starting a meeting that no one else had bothered to attend. "Next steps. Inventory check."

  He immediately patted down the front pocket of his gray hoodie.

  Nothing.

  He checked again, slower this time, as if the items might appear if he gave them enough time to feel ashamed.

  Still nothing.

  He moved on to the pockets of his black joggers—left side, right side, back pockets, even the tiny useless one that existed purely to betray him.

  Empty.

  "So much…" he muttered, holding his hands out in front of him and turning them palm up like a tragic magician, "…nothing."

  No phone.

  No wallet.

  No keys.

  Not even his headphones.

  Austin froze.

  "…Wait."

  His eyes widened slightly as realization crept in, slow and cruel. "I must've left my phone and wallet in my bag when I got home."

  He winced, physically curling in on himself. "Which means I wouldn't have been able to buy that meat."

  A pause.

  "…Dang."

  He let his shoulders slump. "That's just a little depressing."

  He stood there for a moment, letting the full, beautifully stupid chain of events play back in his head like a highlight reel designed specifically to roast him.

  Left the house broke.

  Went to the store anyway.

  Tried to be a decent human being.

  Died saving a goddess who absolutely did not need saving.

  Woke up in another world with zero money, zero items, and zero pants pockets of destiny.

  Now here he was. Alive-ish. Alone. Broke on a cosmic level.

  "…Wow," he said softly. "That escalated poorly."

  But then he inhaled deeply and straightened his shoulders, forcing his spine to remember what optimism felt like.

  "But you know what?" he said, nodding firmly to himself. "It's okay."

  He injected as much fake enthusiasm into his voice as humanly possible, like a customer service rep trying not to cry. "It's fine. Totally fine. I've been through worse."

  A beat.

  "…Probably."

  He closed his eyes and took another deep breath, grounding himself. Panic wouldn't help. Spiraling definitely wouldn't help. Humor, however—humor was his emotional duct tape.

  "Alright," he murmured, thinking back to every RPG he'd ever sunk hours into. "Normally, this is where the tutorial chest appears."

  He glanced around.

  Nothing exploded into existence.

  "Usually you'd get, I don't know… a short sword. A dagger. Maybe a stick with delusions of grandeur." He squinted at the empty forest. "Heck, sometimes you get a free spell if the devs are feeling generous."

  The devs, apparently, were not feeling generous.

  "Cool," Austin said flatly. "Hard mode it is."

  He scanned the ground, eyes searching for literally anything he could use as a weapon. A rock. A broken branch. A suspiciously sharp leaf. Eventually, he decided a sturdy stick was his best bet.

  A few minutes later, he stood there with empty hands again.

  The thick branches looked like they weighed as much as regret—one swing and his shoulder would probably detach out of spite. The thinner ones, meanwhile, looked like they'd snap if he glared at them too hard.

  "Dang," he sighed. "It's like I hit 'New Game,' cranked the difficulty to 'Nightmare,' and forgot to pick a class."

  Or pants with pockets.

  With no weapon, no items, and no dignity left to lose, he clapped his hands together once more.

  "Alright," he said. "Guess it's time to hit the road."

  He turned slowly, scanning the forest for anything that looked like a landmark. A path. A clearing. A suspiciously friendly NPC waving him over.

  Nothing.

  The trees were massive and ancient, their trunks thick and unmoving, stretching endlessly in every direction. They looked like they'd been here long before Austin existed—and would still be here long after his inevitable, statistically probable death.

  As he stared, a random memory bubbled up from the dusty archives of his childhood in the foster home. Some old cartoon playing in the background while he ate stale cereal out of a chipped bowl. A yellow sponge. A grumpy squid. A pizza.

  Moss always points toward civilization.

  "…Worth a shot," he muttered.

  He walked up to the nearest tree and inspected the bark.

  No moss.

  Tried another.

  Still no moss.

  Five minutes later, he'd checked at least a dozen trees and found absolutely nothing but bark, disappointment, and the creeping suspicion that cartoon logic might not apply to reality.

  "Alright," he said, stepping back. "Plan B."

  He closed his eyes, spun in place a few times like a drunken compass, and stopped. Whichever direction he faced—that would be his destiny.

  He opened his eyes.

  Immediately, his stomach dropped.

  The tree in front of him was wrong.

  Its bark was darker than the others, nearly black, twisted and warped like it had grown that way out of spite. Its branches clawed toward the sky, sharp and crooked, blocking out the light. Even the air around it felt heavier—thicker, like the forest itself was holding its breath.

  Austin stared at it.

  The tree stared back.

  "…Yeah," he said slowly. "Nope."

  He took a careful step backward. "Something about that tree doesn't look right."

  Another step.

  "I don't know what it is," he continued, nodding to himself, "but that is 100% a side-quest that ends with my death."

  He turned around, pointing firmly in the opposite direction. "I'm gonna take that as a sign from the universe and go literally anywhere else."

  With that decision firmly made, Austin turned his back on the creepy tree and headed in the opposite direction—empty-handed, broke beyond reason, wildly underprepared, and painfully aware that one bad call could turn him into a cautionary corpse propped up as background lore.

  But hey.

  He had a new life now.

  And maybe—just maybe—he'd do a little better with this one than the last.

  Maybe…

  Chapter two

  Austin had been walking for what felt like an eternity. His internal clock—assuming it even functioned in this world—probably insisted it had only been a couple of hours. His legs, however, were filing a formal complaint that suggested it had been closer to two weeks of nonstop suffering.

  He was not built for this.

  Back on Earth, the farthest he ever walked was a few blocks to work or a quick trip to the corner store. Anything longer than that involved public transportation, rideshares, or serious emotional bargaining. Hiking? Nature walks? Those were activities other people did. People with water bottles, backpacks, and a suspicious amount of enthusiasm.

  "Man," Austin groaned, awkwardly vaulting over a low-hanging branch and nearly tripping on the landing. "This feels like way more than I signed up for."

  He paused, then sighed.

  "Well… technically, I didn't sign up for anything." He shook his head as he kept moving. "I just did a good deed."

  That thought alone earned him a dry laugh. "Guess no good deed goes unpunished. Or rewarded. Or… whatever this is."

  He frowned thoughtfully. "I haven't really figured out what situational context I'm currently in."

  Yeah. He was rambling—probably borderline whining.

  But rambling helped.

  Talking—even if it was just to himself—kept his thoughts from spiraling. It kept the panic at bay, kept the creeping dread from setting up permanent residence in his head. And right now, sane felt like a limited resource.

  He glanced up at the sky and let out a breathy laugh. "You know, even with three moons just hanging out like it's no big deal, this sun is still absolutely determined to roast me alive."

  He wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. "Guess that's the warmest welcome this world could give me."

  He smirked at his own dumb joke, then squinted at the light filtering through the canopy. Judging by the angle of the sun, it had to be around early noon—whatever noon meant in a place with three moons and zero familiar rules.

  Still, there was one small mercy.

  "At least I've got my sneakers," Austin said, lifting one black shoe mid-stride and inspecting it like it was a sacred artifact.

  He didn't fully understand how he'd been transported to another world with his clothes intact when his body back home was very much dead. The logistics of that felt like a fast track to an existential headache, so he chose not to think about it.

  "Yeah," he muttered. "If I had to do this barefoot like some kind of fantasy newborn, I'd already be crying."

  Austin pushed onward, weaving deeper into the forest. The ground grew increasingly uneven, roots twisting across the dirt like nature's personal vendetta against ankles. He hopped over a few, stumbled on others, and generally felt like the terrain itself was judging him.