Disorientation clawed at him first, followed swiftly by a dull throb echoing behind his eyes. "What happened?" Ren thought, the words forming mentally long before he trusted his voice. He deliberately controlled over his breathing, pushing back the initial wave of nausea. Panic was a useless in thid situation. His dormant medical training kicked in subconsciously as he did a quick internal check no sharp pains suggesting fractures, breathing was steady. Perhaps a slight concussion, from the headache?. He struggled to open his eyes, with heavy lids, blinking against the dim light filtering from somewhere far above.
When his vision cleared, he saw cold, damp brick pressing against his back. He was slumped in a narrow, refuse-strewn alleyway, his eyes quickly scanned the limited surroundings – decaying wooden crates leaching dark stains onto the ground, overflowing bins emitting a faint, sour odour, slick, uneven cobblestones beneath him.
"Where am I?"
He wasn't panicked, but analytical, He methodically accessed his last memory:leaving the brightly lit convenience store, the familiar crinkle and weight of the plastic bag containing his late-night snack. Walking back along the familiar pavement. Then... a flash. Blinding white light. After that? A complete memory gap until waking here. The sequence was illogical, a violation of known physics,Logically inconsistent.
He remained perfectly still for another measured moment, straining his ears, peering into the deeper shadows for any sign of immediate threat. The alley seemed deserted. Satisfied, Ren carefully pushed himself upright, wincing as his head swam. A pat-down followed: wallet still secure in his back pocket, keys still clipped firmly inside. But as his hands moved over his torso and limbs, something felt undeniably off. His frame felt subtly leaner, his familiar reach seeming shorter as he felt for his phone. He held up a hand, turning it slowly in the dim, uncertain light filtering down from the alley mouth. It looked… smaller? The definition wasn't quite right. A deeply disturbing hypothesis wormed its way into his consciousness. He wasn't just in a wrong place; he felt… younger. Significantly younger. He couldn't be certain without a mirror, but his internal sense of his owm body screamed seventeen or eighteen, definitely not the twenty-one.
Fumbling slightly, driven by a new urgency, he retrieved his phone. His thumb swiped instinctively, activating the camera, flipping it to the front-facing view. The dim alley light offered poor illumination, but the image reflected on the small, dark screen was unmistakable. The face looking back was undeniably his, yet smoother, startlingly free of the usual signs of fatigue. The persistent dark circles under his eyes – hard-won souvenirs from studying and gameing – were simply gone. His usually slightly messy black hair, perpetually resisting attempts at order, seemed oddly neat, falling into place with unnatural perfection. The evidence was stark, irrefutable. He was younger. The physical dissonance wasn't imagination or disorientation. A new layer of impossibility settled over him, chilling despite the relative closeness of the alley. He quickly exited the camera app, fingers automatically glancing at the top corner of the screen. The expected icon glowed back: No Service. An anticipated complication, given the preceding anomalies, but deeply unhelpful. Information and communication were primary tools for survival, and there are currently no signal.
Ren warily moved towards the mouth of the alley, hugging the concealing shadows near the grimy brick wall. He paused just before the edge, listening intently. The street beyond rumbled with unfamiliar sounds – the clatter of wooden wheels on stone, the thud of heavy footsteps, and fragmented snippets of loud conversation. The language itself was utterly alien, bearing no structural resemblance to Japanese or English, yet unsettlingly, he found he could grasp the meaning, the basic intent behind the words filtering directly into his consciousness. This spontaneous, effortless translation was just another baffling layer added to the impossibility. He took a final, careful peek around the corner, eyes scanning methodically, muscles coiled, prepared to retract instantly at the first sign of danger.
The scene that unfolded before him made him freeze mid-breath. His cultivated calm facade held, betraying no outward gasp, but his eyes widened fractionally, his mind racing to absorb the impossible tableau. Large, cumbersome wooden carts trundled past, yes, but they were pulled by hulking, scaled quadrupeds with thick, powerful legs and long, flicking tongues – giant lizards, undeniably real and mundane to the locals. His mind, trained to categorize and analyze, stuttered, struggling to fit these creatures into any known biological framework. He deliberately forced his gaze away, sweeping it across the crowded thoroughfare, his methodical observation kicking into high gear.
No cars, no bicycles, no asphalt. People bustled past in a chaotic stream, but their clothing was a bewildering tapestry of archaic, seemingly medieval styles – practical tunics, roughspun cloaks fastened with simple brooches, worn leather vests, even swords belted openly at hips. Nothing remotely modern. But the incongruity didn't end there. Mingling seamlessly with the otherwise normal-looking humans were individuals displaying startling anomalies. He saw hair in vibrant, unnatural shades – shocking pinks and electric blues that seemed intrinsic, not dyed. He registered a tall man with sharp, tufted cat-like ears twitching atop his head as he haggled with a merchant, and nearby, a woman whose long, canine tail swished gently behind her as she walked. Further down, a towering figure covered in greenish-brown scales, with a distinctly reptilian snout – undeniably a lizardman – navigated the crowd with an air of complete normalcy. Humans, diverse beastfolk, reptile humanoids… all coexisting under a sky that felt subtly different, . Nothing was remotely familiar with the earth.
This wasn't just being lost. The lack of signal, the inexplicable de-aging confirmed by his own phone, the impossible creatures pulling carts, the bizarre mix of humanoid species mingling with humans in medival clothing, the automatic understanding of an alien language... The evidence accumulated, point by point, pointing towards a conclusion so illogical it felt like madness. Yet, his observant nature couldn't deny the what was happening in front of him, no matter how impossible. A fragment of a thought surfaced, solidifying into cold certainty.
"I'm in another world"
The realization landed not with a surge of panic, but with a profound, chilling clarity that momentarily stole his breath. It explained everything. It also meant every rule he knew, every scientific principle he'd mastered, every survival skill honed for his world, might now be utterly irrelevant. He quickly suppressed the cascade of implications, focusing. Assess. Adapt. Survive. A fleeting, almost predatory flicker sparked deep in his eyes, quickly masked. The sheer excitement, the breaking of known rules, held a dangerous allure he hadn't anticipated. He forcefully quelled the inappropriate thrill. His immediate priority was survival.
He glanced down at his attire – plain black sweatshirt, black pants – utterly conspicuous amidst the rough fabrics around him. He still held the plastic bag from the convenience store, its contents (potato chips, instant ramen, a coke bottle) feeling absurdly out of place. Exposure was high risk. Passive observation wasn't enough. Information was paramount, but whom could he trust? No one. The local underworld, cliché though it might be, often traded in information and desperation. It was a risk, but potentially a calculated one. He needed a baseline assessment of local threats and capabilities, and testing the waters with low-level criminals seemed the most direct, if dangerous, route. Besides, the possibility lingered, sharp and exciting: If giant lizards and beastfolk exist... is there magic? The thought required investigation.
Taking a deep, centering breath, Ren stepped out of the alley's concealing gloom and merged cautiously into the bustling marketplace. Curious glances flickered his way, drawn by his strange clothes, but none held open hostility, merely passing interest. He kept his pace measured, his eyes constantly scanning, absorbing details – the currency exchanged (copper, silver, and gold coins of unfamiliar design), the types of goods, the casual presence of armed individuals, the interactions between different species. He could understand speech but couldn't decipher the angular script on shop signs. Learn the written language, he logged mentally. Acquire currency. Understand the power dynamics. Test for magic. The mental checklist grew, each item critical. After letting the market's flow carry him for a time, he made a deliberate decision. Passive observation had yielded its initial info; it was time for a more active approach.