Chapter 2: The Lazy Life is the Best Life
With life laid out the way it was, Chris made a very simple decision.
He wasn't going to be a hero.
No savior.
No world-conquering tyrant.
Not even a halfway decent hunter.
He just wanted to live his life his way — preferably horizontal, preferably warm, preferably with snacks.
Maybe it was because his old world was peaceful. No wars. No monsters. Just the soft glow of computer screens, the click of keyboards, and the occasional cat video.
He never had the hunger for power. Never needed to be strong.
So when he was reborn in Arcadia, with magic and monsters and stats floating around like air particles, his first thought wasn't "How do I level up?"
It was:
"How do I get a skill that cleans the house for me?"
Learning the language as a baby was hard. Especially when your adult brain was busy daydreaming about nap-friendly skills.
But one day, as he stared at the wooden ceiling of his tiny home, something flickered into view.
A panel.
Shimmering like a soft blue hologram.
[Status Panel: Chris]
Name: Chris
Age: 5
Class: None
Race: Human
Skills: [Inspect Lv.1]
Titles: None
Attributes:
STR: 2 AGI: 3 INT: 5 VIT: 3 LUK: 7
There it was.
His entire existence, digitized.
Just one skill: [Inspect].
He was five years old and buzzing with excitement.
"This is it! This is the start of my magical journey!"
He tried inspecting everything. Chairs. Air. Cats. Dirt. His own hand.
He learned how to identify plant types (useless), calculate the density of rocks (even more useless), and the optimal nap times for the neighbor's dog (extremely useful).
But as the days passed… his motivation slowly leaked away.
Instead of "how to become strong," he found himself asking:
"Is there a skill that makes cleaning automatic?"
"How do I learn [Auto Cook]?"
"Can I unlock [Pillow Fort Creation] if I believe hard enough?"
By age ten, he had developed what could only be called a "Professional Lazy Lifestyle."
And then he saw it.
The Eye.
Floating in the corner of his room. Still. Silent. A black void that seemed to suck in all the light around it.
He blinked.
"...You again?"
Because deep in his memories, something told him it had always been there. Like a presence watching from the shadows. He raised his hand, focused, and whispered:
[Inspect]
The panel flickered.
[Eye Of ???]
??? ??? ??? ???
"Welp."
He shrugged and went back to eating bread.
Years passed.
Chris grew. Not in strength. Not in power.
But in comfort.
His goal in life? To master the art of living with minimal effort and maximum results.
He learned how to cook well enough not to die, hunt weak monsters that barely fought back, and manage just enough chores to avoid his mom scolding him.
Until one day.
The day he turned 18.
The door to their small home slammed open.
"Mom!" Chris shouted, beaming with pride.
"I'm back!!"
He held up a sack of herbs and beast meat. Clean cuts. Efficient collection. Minimal scratches.
For most people, this was a Tuesday.
For Chris?
This was a milestone.
A personal record.
He'd gone outside, hunted something... and didn't take a nap for a whole four hours.
He looked proud. Triumphant. Heroic, even — if the definition of "heroic" included a slightly rumpled shirt and bedhead.
His mother, standing in the kitchen, turned with a smile.
"Welcome home, sweetheart. Did you remember to take the discount herbs?"
"Of course," he grinned. "Double-discounted. I even haggled."
She stared, stunned.
Her son. Bargaining. Moving. Doing things.
Something was definitely up.
That night, as the fire crackled and the sky outside darkened, the Eye returned.
Hovering outside his window.
But this time, something was different.
It wasn't silent.
It was… whispering.
Chris...
It's time.
The panel appeared once more.
[Eye Of ???]
????????????
{Synchronize with Host? Y/N}
And this time…
He didn't say "Welp."