The icon pulsed again.

  Curiosity—annoying and persistent—won out over exhaustion. Austin lifted a hand and tapped it.

  The red interface shifted, folding open into a private chat window.

  At the top, Selene's full name was displayed neatly, like the System was making sure he understood exactly who was taking up space in his life now.

  Selene Elandros

  A message waited beneath it.

  Did you make it back to the inn safely?

  Austin stared at the words, and then—despite everything—he laughed quietly into his pillow.

  He'd really thought he'd left texting behind when he left Earth.

  Yet here he was. In another world. Lying in bed. Messaging a noble girl who flirted like breathing was optional.

  Like this was normal.

  He communicated back mentally with words that felt clumsy from fatigue.

  Yeah. Just got in. Barely alive.

  A response came almost immediately.

  Good. I would be very displeased if my Master died after I invested so much time in his Toughness.

  Austin snorted.

  You mean after you watched me get chewed on for hours like you were enjoying a play?

  The typing bubbles appeared.

  I was enjoying it, Selene wrote. But only because you were being so brave.

  Austin rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt, but the smile on his face wouldn't leave.

  They kept talking. The chat flowed easily, naturally, as if they'd been doing this for months and not… a single day.

  Selene complained that her mother had apparently been furious about her leaving the faction without telling anyone. Furious enough that even Selene's confident tone in the messages couldn't fully hide the tension beneath it.

  She said I was irresponsible, Selene wrote. As if I'm not aware. As if I haven't been told that my entire life.

  Austin's thumb hovered over the screen. He had no idea how noble factions worked. No idea what rules Selene had broken or what consequences waited for her tomorrow.

  But he could recognize the shape of that feeling. The weight of someone else's expectations pressing down until you couldn't breathe.

  Sounds like she was worried, he mentally responded. Still sucks though. Good luck dealing with it.

  A pause.

  Then:

  Thank you, Selene replied. I calmed her down. Eventually. It helped that I returned alive and not covered in blood.

  Austin stared at that for a second, the corner of his mouth lifting.

  Bare minimum goal achieved, he communicated back.

  Selene answered with a laughing emoji that somehow looked perfectly in-character for her.

  Then the chat shifted—lighter, softer—as if she'd decided she wanted the night to be fun again.

  Academy gossip.

  There is a student who keeps asking people to punch him to "prove he is the strongest," Selene wrote. It is insufferable.*

  Austin froze mid-breath.

  Logan.

  There was no way it wasn't Logan.

  He didn't even need to ask. The mental image of that idiot proudly offering his shield like it was a badge of honor was too accurate.

  Austin communicated:

  No way.

  Selene replied:

  Yes way.

  Austin buried his face in the pillow and muffled a laugh. The bed shook under him.

  He didn't mention—couldn't—how he'd fallen for that exact trap earlier today. He was going to take that shame to his grave.

  Selene continued.

  Also there was a food fight a few days ago. Someone used too much water magic to "win" and flooded the entire eating area. Repairs are still happening. No meals served for days.

  Austin blinked in disbelief, laughing again—soft, helpless.

  Magic or not, he thought, these are just college kids with spells.

  He sent:

  How does anyone survive at that academy?

  Selene replied:

  Barely. We are all resilient.

  Then came the story that made Austin sit up a little despite his exhaustion.

  A student challenged a teacher to a duel.

  Austin's eyebrows shot up.

  Even with his new Strength, he knew that was suicidal. Teachers weren't just stronger—they were experienced. They had the kind of control that turned raw stats into something lethal.

  Selene confirmed exactly what Austin expected.

  He was face-down on the ground very quickly, she wrote. I almost felt bad. Almost.

  Austin laughed out loud—an actual, real laugh that filled the quiet room and made it feel less empty.

  The conversation reminded him of staying up late messaging his ex back on Earth—those long, slow nights where the world felt far away and the chat window felt like its own little universe.

  But this time there was no heaviness in his chest afterward. No ache. No sad nostalgia that turned warm memories into knives.

  This was easy.

  This was fun.

  And somehow, even in a cheap inn room in a world that wanted to kill him daily, it made him feel… less alone.

  Minutes blurred into an hour. Maybe more. Austin didn't even know. His eyes started drooping, his blinking slowing, his hands getting sloppier on the interface.

  At one point he tried to write something coherent and his fingers betrayed him.

  Im abt to knocck out lol

  He stared at the typo, too tired to fix it.

  Selene replied almost instantly.

  Goodnight, my Austin. Sleep well. We have lots of training tomorrow.

  Austin's chest warmed in a way that had nothing to do with healing magic.

  He smiled as the chat window dimmed and faded from his vision, leaving only darkness and the soft creak of the inn settling around him.

  He sank deeper into the pillow, exhaustion finally pulling him under like a gentle tide.

  His last thoughts were simple. Warm.

  He was really starting to like Selene.

  And he was glad he wasn't going to be grinding alone anymore.

  Let's just hope the rabbicorn bites don't have to last much longer…

  The thought drifted away mid-sentence.

  And then Austin finally slipped into a well-earned sleep.

  Chapter eleven

  Austin woke up in a tangle of sheets, half off the mattress, one arm thrown over his face like it could block out more than just the morning. Pale light leaked through the small window and spread across the room in slow stripes, warming the wooden floor and catching dust in the air. For a heartbeat, he stayed still and let the rare comfort settle into his bones.

  He was… almost rested.

  Then his mind caught up.

  Right. Dungeon. Rabbicorn teeth. More bleeding. More pretending this is normal.

  The thought landed like a cold hand on the back of his neck. He rolled onto his stomach and groaned straight into the pillow, muffling the sound like the inn itself might judge him for being dramatic. His body felt heavy in that specific way it always did after too many fights—like his muscles had been wrung out and hung up to dry, still damp, still aching.

  "Lucky me," he muttered, voice thick with sleep and sarcasm.

  He forced himself up, blinking until the room sharpened into focus. His joints cracked when he stretched—neck, shoulders, back—each pop a reminder that he'd been collecting bruises like trophies. The sigh he let out felt too big for his chest, as if it had been building for days.

  Even so, buried under the dread was something else. A flicker. A pulse.

  Nerves. Excitement. Hunger.

  Training with Selene later. Another dungeon run. Another chance to get stronger, faster, harder to kill. Another chance to prove he could survive here—where surviving wasn't a metaphor, it was a daily requirement.

  He wiped his face, dragging his hands down as if he could pull himself into a better mood, then flicked open his faction HUD with a practiced thought.

  A new message hovered there.

  Selene: I'll be ready to train in the dungeon this afternoon.

  Austin stared at the words for a second. The simple confidence in them was almost irritating. Almost comforting, too.

  "Afternoon, huh?" he said aloud, like saying it made the hours between now and then more manageable. "Alright… guess I've got time to kill."

  His eyes drifted down to his clothes as he swung his legs off the bed, and his mood took another small hit. The shirt was one he'd brought from Earth—soft cotton, faded in a way that made it feel familiar, like a memory you could wear. He'd been clinging to it without really admitting why.

  The leather armor he wore every day had not been kind.

  A ragged tear near the hem had widened into a stretched, ugly hole, the fabric fraying like it was giving up. When he poked it, it pulled apart another millimeter with a traitorous little rip.

  Austin hissed through his teeth. "Come on."

  It wasn't just a shirt. It was proof. Proof he'd had a life before all of this. Proof that Cleveland, Ohio was real and not something he'd imagined in a fever.

  Yeah, no way I'm ruining this, he thought, anger blooming unexpectedly in his chest. This is officially a one-of-a-kind vintage Earth relic now.

  He'd been washing it every day since arriving at the inn—scrubbing it in cold water like he could wash the dungeon off of himself too. Same with his pants, his socks, his underwear. It was less "laundry" and more "desperately trying not to smell like blood and sweat." The routine had become another form of survival.

  But the constant washing had become one more exhausting chore piled onto everything else. And he had money now—real money, earned the hard way, measured in pelts and pain.

  Enough to stop living like he was one bad day away from going feral.

  "Alright," he told himself, pushing to his feet. "New clothes. Multiple sets. No more daily bucket-scrub misery."

  The thought of "multiple sets" felt absurdly luxurious.

  He dressed quickly, ignoring the sting in his shoulders as he pulled the battered gear into place, and headed downstairs. The inn was waking up too—muted voices, the smell of something warm and savory, the creak of floorboards under hurried footsteps. People moved with purpose here. Everyone had somewhere to go, something to do, something to survive.

  Austin stepped into the street and let the morning air hit him. It was crisp, carrying the scent of damp stone and woodsmoke. The town looked almost peaceful in the sunlight—like it wasn't built on the edge of a dungeon that chewed people up and spit them out.

  He headed for the Adventurer's Guild first, boots striking the cobblestones with a steady rhythm. The building was already active, the wide front doors open like a mouth swallowing in adventurers. Inside, the familiar buzz wrapped around him—voices trading rumors, laughter too loud, the clink of gear, the subtle edge of people who lived by risking their lives.

  His eyes immediately swept toward the counter.

  Kara wasn't there.

  A small, stupid disappointment pricked at him, sharper than it should've been. He'd gotten used to her presence—her quick smile, her way of making the guild feel less like a machine and more like… something human. Something that didn't just see him as numbers and profit.

  Austin tried to swallow it down.

  Of course she's not there, he thought. She's a person. She has shifts. She has a life. You can't just—

  Still. The empty spot behind the counter felt wrong.

  He shifted the weight of his pack—pelts inside, stacked and tied—and forced himself to move. He approached the closest receptionist, a man with a stiff posture and a face that suggested he'd rather be anywhere else. The transaction was efficient and impersonal. Austin handed over the pelts, watched them get counted, weighed, and appraised. The Aura he received hit his account with a satisfying weight. Not that he could feel that weight, but it was still proof of progress.

  Proof he was still alive.

  Every time he earned more, it meant he'd fought more. Risked more.

  On the main street, he turned toward the clothing shop he'd passed days ago and entered.

  The shop was warmer than outside, thick with the smell of dyes, wool, and oiled wood. Racks and shelves overflowed with folded tunics, trousers, belts, and underlayers that looked sturdier than anything he'd worn back home. A bell chimed overhead, and a shopkeeper glanced up with practiced appraisal—eyes skimming Austin's gear, his posture, the way he moved like someone who might be one wrong word away from snapping.

  Austin resisted the instinct to shrink. He was tired of being looked at like an outsider. Tired of being treated like a stray dog that might bite.

  "I need clothes," he said simply. "Stuff that works under armor. Multiple sets."

  The shopkeeper nodded, as if that explained everything.

  Austin ran his fingers over fabrics and immediately noticed the difference. Rougher. Thicker. No soft cotton. Everything here felt built for weather and work and combat. Built to be used hard and washed in cold water and still survive.

  He picked underdressing layers first—simple, fitted pieces meant to stop armor from grinding skin raw. Then a dark gray tunic and matching bottoms that looked plain enough to avoid attention but strong enough to take abuse. The color was practical. The seams were double-stitched. The whole thing felt like it had been made for someone who might need to run for their life.

  When he tried them on in the cramped changing area, he caught his reflection in a polished metal plate hung as a mirror.

  The person staring back at him didn't look like a guy who had woken up in Ohio.

  He looked… like he belonged here.

  The fabric sat against him with a firm, almost protective weight, and when he strapped his armor over it, the pieces settled better. No tugging, no catching, no helpless little tear widening every time he moved. The armor actually fit the clothes like it was supposed to.

  Exhaling a breath he'd unknowingly held, he felt tension dissipate.

  "Okay," he murmured, rolling his shoulders. "That's… way better."

  He bought a few sets—enough that he wouldn't have to wash everything every night like a desperate raccoon guarding its only pair of pants. The coins left his hand quickly, but the sense of relief that followed felt worth the price.

  Back outside, he paused and looked down at himself.

  "Guess I'll blend in now," he said, voice faintly amused.

  Then his mouth twisted. "Not that blending in is really my style."

  He tugged the tunic strap tighter, adjusting it with the casual familiarity of someone learning to live in new skin. The thought made him snort.

  It doesn't get more undercover than healing a noble heir on day one… and then a week later having a different noble heir leave her faction to join yours. Yeah. Real subtle, Austin.

  His life here had become a series of insane events stacked so high he'd stopped reacting properly. People in this town whispered about nobles like they were untouchable figures—power wrapped in silk. Austin kept stumbling into them like he had magnets in his pockets.

  He returned to the inn and climbed the stairs, dropping his old Earth clothes in his room like they were fragile artifacts. He folded the shirt carefully, smoothing the frayed edges with his thumb. It looked smaller now, weaker, like it was losing the fight to time and wear. His throat tightened in a way he didn't want to examine too closely.

  He forced himself to turn away.

  By the time he finished his errands, the sun had climbed higher, brightening the street and sharpening every shadow. The town had fully woken. People flowed around him—merchants shouting, children darting between stalls, armored adventurers moving in groups like wolves.

  Austin rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar tension settle in his muscles as the afternoon neared.

  "Perfect," he said, and meant it.

  He opened his faction HUD again and sent Selene a quick message.

  Austin: Headed to the dungeon. I'll wait for you there.

  The reply came so fast it almost startled him.

  Selene: I'll be there first.

  Austin blinked at it.

  For a second, his brain offered up reasonable explanations. She's efficient. She's already nearby. She's a noble with better resources. She—

  Then the part of him that ran on sarcasm and adrenaline kicked in.

  "Oh?" he typed back, grinning despite himself. So eager to see me, huh?

  The moment he sent it, he felt the weight of the words settle in his stomach.

  His face warmed—not with embarrassment, exactly.

  With something sharper. Something that made his chest feel strangely full.

  He stared at the message, then at his own reflection in the dim window glass of the inn hallway.

  He didn't take it back.

  Instead, he adjusted his new clothes, checked his gear, and stepped out into the light, the path to the dungeon waiting like an open mouth at the edge of town.

  ***

  When Austin reached the dungeon entrance, he stopped so abruptly his boot scraped stone and sent a thin grit of dust skittering across the floor.

  The mouth of the dungeon yawned ahead—an ugly wound in the earth framed by worn stone, damp with a constant sheen that made it look like it was sweating. Cold air breathed out of it in slow pulses, carrying the smell of wet rock, old blood, and that faint metallic tang that always clung to places where living things fought and died.

  And standing right in front of that darkness like she belonged there—like she'd stepped out of a storybook and into his worst possible timing—was Selene.

  She was dressed in green, but not the practical kind of green adventurers wore to blend into brush. This was a rich, fitted shade that hugged her like it had been stitched directly onto her body. The fabric caught the light with a subtle shimmer when she moved, like a leaf slick with rain. It traced every line and curve with almost unfair precision—waist, hips, shoulders—leaving Austin's brain scrambling for words that weren't just noises.

  Her hair framed her face in loose, deliberate waves, the kind of effortless style that absolutely was not effortless. Against the gray stone and the dungeon's sickly chill, she looked like color made flesh.