Time became a strange, squishy blur.
The sun would rise. Lyra would drool. I'd dangle. Sometimes she'd chew. Sometimes she'd nap. Always in that order. Always looping.
The sun kept rising. The baby kept wailing. And I remained… chewed.
I wasn't sure if I had lost track of time, or if time itself had taken one look at my situation and gone, "Yeah, nah—he's not important."
All I knew for certain was this:
I, a perfectly average dude with above-average gacha luck and below-average life choices, had been reincarnated—as a six-sided choking hazard dangling off a necklace. Even with all the isekai light novels I'd read—or skimmed just to laugh at the title's twelve-paragraph synopsis about vending machines falling in love—none were ever this absurd.
#internalbleeding
Congratulations. You've unlocked: Existential Jewelry Mode.
…
I congratulated myself.
Because clearly, no one else was going to.
Still clinging to the hope that maybe—just maybe—this was all part of some elaborate RPG tutorial.
That I'd get a system ping. An UI pop-up.
Welcome, Adventurer! You've unlocked: Level 1 — Chew Toy of Shame!
An achievement, at least.
But no.
Just drool. And despair.
No system menu. No tutorial. No divine guidance.
Just me, dangling from a baby's neck, trying not to develop motion sickness every time she sneezes.
Welcome to Eden, the world I'm currently in.
Kingdom of Eden— magic in the air, monsters under the bed, forgotten bloodlines everywhere. Ancient ruins glow like discount rave parties, while adventurers risk life and limb for "epic loot" that's usually just someone's cursed grandma jewelry. Most dungeons are clearly marked on the map as "Certain Death: Do Not Enter," which, of course, makes them peak five-star TripAdvisor hotspots.
Eden's got its full package—buy one get one—like those 'marry the daughter, inherit the mother-in-law' plotlines like those bookmarked video sites I swear I was gonna delete... eventually.
Elves with ears long enough to slice bread and attitudes sharp enough to match. They're elegant, near-immortal, and naturally gifted in magic—especially nature and spirit spells. I once saw a toddler elf grow a full hedge maze to avoid chores. Respect.
Humans? Jack-of-all-trades.
They don't live as long or glow as much, but they're scrappy and stubborn as hell.
Give a human a stick, and he'll invent five sword styles, two schools of combat philosophy, and charge tuition before lunchtime.
Then there's dwarves. Short, hairy, and absolutely built like magical refrigerators.
Masters of blacksmithing, rune tech, and headbutting their problems into submission.
Legend says one of them headbutted a mana crystal so hard it gained sentience and now refers to him as "Papa."
And the beastkin?
Fast, charming, and cursed with superior smell and seductive haggling skills.
You go to the market for tomatoes, you come home with three fur scarves and emotional baggage.
Eden is bursting with powerful clans, dangerous monsters, ancient secrets, and literal glowing caves full of treasure...
And me? I got reincarnated in a farmhouse.
The Swift family—Lyra's family—are ordinary folks. Farmers through and through.
No secret nobility, no ancient bloodlines, no world-ending curses (as far as I can tell).
Just chickens, goats, a barking mutt named Turnip, and a baby girl who thinks I'm edible.
Most of what I know about this world came from eavesdropping during lazy afternoons and chaotic diaper changes. Adults love to talk.
Apparently, the neighbor's kid recently awakened as a fire mage.
And by awakened, I mean he sneezed and turned their outhouse into a smoldering crater.
The villagers called it a "miracle."
His mom called it "a nightmare that smells like barbecue."
Then, a few days later, some adventurer guild made headlines by unearthing a hidden ruin filled with ancient relics and cursed loots. The whole town buzzed with excitement, which naturally led to wild speculation about who had hidden treasure buried under their backyard.
While hanging laundry and chatting with the neighbor across the fence, Lyra's mom joined the conversation like it was just another village rumor.
"You hear about that guild up north? Dug up a whole vault of magical junk under some poor farmer's cabbage field. My husband's already talking about digging behind the barn."
The neighbor laughed.
"Well, I heard your husband's great-grandfather had that weird locked shed no one uses. Some folks say he buried gold or something under it."
"If there's treasure under this house," Lyra's mom replied dryly, "it's probably just chicken bones and goat poop—which they composted for fertilizer. I married into floor creaks, a howling mutt, and a man who thinks goat cheese twice a year counts as romance."
The neighbor burst into giggles, and the two women laughed like old friends who had earned every right to roast their husbands and still love them afterward.
Meanwhile, I just dangled there—swinging softly from Lyra's neck—trying not to absorb too much secondhand sass.
That treasure rumor though?
It stuck with me.
Apparently, treasure-hunting was a real thing in Eden. Some even whisper that beneath cabbage fields lie relics so rare they breathe—Living Artifacts. Like me, probably. Maybe. Who knows.
So guilds getting rich overnight? Not exactly a common thing around here. Entire legends passed down through generations about "whispers beneath the roots" and "sealed truths under old bloodlines." All that dramatic stuff.
Honestly, it was the kind of world I always dreamed about growing up.
In my old life, I imagined waking up in a place like this.
Wielding a flaming sword, farting dragons, maybe smirking my way through a flirt battle with a cat-eared assassin girl.
You know—the usual.
Childhood dream about joining a guild, exploring ancient ruins, finding some mythical artifact, and shouting something cool like:
"Don't touch that—unless you want to awaken the sleeping chicken of calamity!"
And now?
Here I was.
Awakened.
As a dice.
Strapped to the neck of a tiny human who thought I was a snack.
Romantic, right?
Speaking of which...
Let me tell you about the time I hit rock bottom.
And by rock bottom, I mean gummed within an inch of my spiritual life.
It started like any other day. Lyra was rolling around on a straw mat, giggling at air like it told her a good joke. I, her loyal dice necklace, hung loosely from her neck, minding my own business, soaking up sunlight and self-pity.
And then she looked at me.
With that spark in her eye.
The one that said:
"Today... Lyra eats the cube..!!."
She grabbed me—both hands—locked her eyes on my polished dice surface, and opened her mouth like a void of destiny.
No hesitation. No mercy.
"No. No. NO. Don't you dare—!"
I screamed—loud, desperate, and entirely internal.
My eyes were poking out.
Literally.
Even though I wasn't sure I had eyes.
Or even one.
Let alone two.
CHOMP.
I was in.
I was inside.
Warmth engulfed me. Pressure from all sides.
Something slid across my face—gummy, wet, unstoppable.
My world became soft, warm, and horrifying.
I was inside. A flood of warm drool, gummy pressure, and spiritual trauma swallowed me whole.
Something soft. Slippery. Wriggling.
It started brushing against me—left, right, again and again—smearing me like I was a sacred cube-shaped candy summoned by some ancient teething ritual.
It was a very… bizarre feeling.
A long-forgotten sensation I hadn't experienced since arriving in this world.
I've been "swallowed" before—you know what I mean.
But this?
This never felt so whole.
Like, literally my whole being.
No teeth. No pain.
Just warmth… and things better left omitted.
Then, suddenly—
I felt it.
A fire. Flickering to life where I no longer had a body.
Something ancient stirred inside me.
Not pain…
But pressure.
A phantom spark, like forgotten power being nudged awake by a child's innocent chaos.
Each gummy squish sent waves through my core—if I even had a core.
And then—urgh…
I think… I just let go of something deep and important inside me.
And then…
A wave of silent regret washed over me.
Heavy.
Ancient.
Personal.
I was speechless.
No, more than that—I was unworthy.
This wasn't just embarrassing.
This was a tragedy.
A poetic, soul-crushing insult to all that made a man... a man.
I wanted to die.
Again.
Properly this time.
But the fire inside me refused.
It burned quietly—taunting me, whispering from the void.
I didn't have it.
And yet, somehow, it was still mine.
This...
This was the story of a man's fall.
A tale of dignity lost in a sea of baby drool and unanswered prayers.
And worst of all?
I think she liked it.
But the nightmare didn't stop there.
Because the next day…
She tried to sit on me.
Like, not accidentally.
Full eye contact.
A slow-motion descent.
No words. No warning.
Just chaos in a diaper, treating me like a throne forged by destiny.
"NOPE. NOPE. NOT AGAIN. I'M NOT BUILT FOR THIS—"
THUD.
And then… it happened.
From the heavens above—or rather, from the abyss below—came forth a terrible omen.
A warmth.
A pressure.
A shift in atmosphere.
THE BROWNY OMITTED METEOR
FELL.
Impact imminent. Sanity not found. Hope permanently deleted.
I was baptized in despair.
Anointed by forces too dark to name.
My life didn't flash before my eyes—just a long, silent error screen.
#DiceRights
And in the distance, I swear I heard the wind whisper:
"You rolled a natural six."