No one would believe me if I told them I'm not from this world. And honestly, I wouldn't blame them. It sounds insane, even to me. But that's the truth: I died, and now I'm here.
Curse you, Truck-kun.
It wasn't even a cool death. No saving a kid or pushing someone out of danger. Nope. I got run over while stumbling home in a haze of alcohol and Sprite-fueled euphoria.
Classy, right?
But strangely enough, my new reality turned out better than my old one. Sure, this world doesn't have smartphones or electricity, but there's something refreshing about its simplicity.
Welcome to Imurea—a classic fantasy realm straight out of an RPG. No game systems, though. No stats or character classes. It's as if someone ripped the mechanics out of a video game and left behind a medieval Earth. Thank goodness for that, because if stats were a thing, my dump stat would probably be Luck—or maybe Defense. Either way, not my problem anymore.
My main concern now? My teacher.
Nero is the gruff alchemist who took me in after my parents abandoned me. Life as a kid here wasn't exactly smooth sailing, but Nero gave me a roof, food, and a purpose. He didn't adopt me—I'm not his daughter or anything—but he's been a better parent to me than my real ones ever were.
And alchemy? It's my lifeline.
Nero is the town's only alchemist, crafting potions and remedies for a living. His craft has grown vital in a world where magic is fading.
There was a war some time ago—mages fighting mages, leaving entire regions in ruins. Magic was the source of the destruction, so when it was over, people turned their backs on it. In some parts of Imurea, practicing magic is outright illegal. People had to turn to other solutions—less dangerous ones—and that's where alchemy stepped in.
Alchemy has existed for centuries, but it was overshadowed by magic until the war forced a shift. It's not without its risks, but at least it has limits. Alchemy operates on logic: you mix ingredients, follow a recipe, and voila—results.
For Nero, alchemy is more than enough to keep the shop running and a roof over our heads.
Alchemy itself was discovered centuries back, but its use stopped as magic became the main source of energy and the only thing that resolved humanity's problems.
Still, there's a part of me that misses the idea of magic. Back in my old life, I used to love playing mages in RPGs. But here? I get it. I've heard enough horror stories about the war to know why people fear it.
Nero, though, seems to hate magic on a personal level. He doesn't talk about it much, but I'd bet my last coin the war took something—or someone—from him.
Speaking of bets, here's one I'd lose every time: surviving teenage hormones.
Reincarnation doesn't come with a free pass. I'm stuck reliving puberty—mood swings, acne, the whole disgusting package. It's weird; mentally, I still feel like a woman in my late twenties, but this body has other ideas. At least the raging hormones make me act like a believable teenager. Small mercies.
And homeschooling? A blessing. No teachers, no classmates stealing my stationery. Just me, Nero, and the endless grind of learning alchemy.
At seventeen, I haven't seen much of the world yet. But someday, I want to explore. Maybe I'll convince Nero to let me travel—that's how he got to perfecting his craft. Until then, I'm stuck here in Olfea, dreaming of freedom.
"Celeste! Get down here, you lazy girl!"
Ah, there goes my daydream.
I peek out the window of my bedroom and spot Nero down by the shop, his scowl aimed directly at me. He's got that perpetually grumpy look: gray hair he doesn't bother to dye, a beard that says "I've given up," and a furrowed brow that could scare off a charging bull. Still, I can't deny he's got that rugged charm. If I weren't stuck in a teenager's body—and if he hadn't been raising me since I was ten—I might've entertained the thought.
But alas, that ship sailed before it even left the dock.
"Coooming!" I holler back, dragging my feet down the stairs.
The shop is as cluttered as ever: shelves lined with jars of ingredients, from herbs to… animal parts. Alchemy in all its gory glory. Nero's counter is stacked with trinkets and potions, and outside, the showcase is set up to attract customers.
That's where I come in. My job? Smile, wave, and bring people over. It's like being a living, breathing advertisement.
"Ten minutes, Celeste!" Nero grumbles as I approach. "Who are you trying to impress? The Third Prince? He's not coming here anytime soon."
"Rude," I retort, pouting. "I wanted to look presentable, okay? Someone has to bring in customers with their charm—and it's clearly not going to be you."
His glare intensifies, and I brace for a smack on top of my head.
"Get to work already, you brat."
I grin at him and step in front of the showcase.
Olfea is bustling this morning. The cobblestone streets are packed with villagers buying supplies, merchants hawking their goods, and children running around. The town is small but lively, especially with the annual Goods' Selling event coming up in just a couple of days.
As I call out to passersby, people start trickling into the shop. Nero handles the actual selling, explaining how to use the potions and remedies we make. He used to give verbal instructions only, but after a near-miss with someone who couldn't remember how to use a disinfectant properly, I convinced him to add written labels.
Now, every jar has a set of instructions glued to the back. Nero still insists on explaining everything in person, though. It's part of his charm—or so he claims.
"Good morning, Celeste!"
A familiar voice pulls me from my thoughts. I beam as I spot Elena, the blacksmith's daughter.
"Elena! Hey!" I practically bounce over to her, earning a chuckle.
Elena is a saint—kind, patient, and gorgeous. Nero is head over heels for her, though he'd rather swallow nails than admit it. I've made it my mission to play matchmaker before I die of old age.
She smiles warmly at Nero, and I swear his face flushes. It's hilarious watching this grumpy man turn into a shy schoolboy.
"Elena," I gush, tugging her toward the showcase. "You have to check out Nero's latest potions. They're perfect for your dad's shop!"
She laughs, indulging me. "I was planning to stop by anyway, Celeste. No need to push me."
The rest of the day passes in a blur of sales and chatter. By the time the last customer leaves, I'm exhausted but satisfied.
"Pretty good haul today, huh?" I say, grinning.
Nero hands me a small pouch of coins.
"Some extra allowance," he says gruffly. "Go buy something and leave me in peace."
I grin and trot off, tossing the pouch in my hand. For all his grumpiness, Nero has a heart of gold.
Olfea's beauty never fails to amaze me. The cobblestone houses, the vibrant streets, the friendly faces—it's a far cry from the life I left behind. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I belong.
The streets of Olfea are alive with their usual charm, filled with familiar faces and the comforting hum of daily life. Shopkeepers wave as I pass, their hands as weathered as their voices are warm. I wave back, my mind already wandering to a dilemma as old as time: should I save Nero's coins for an emergency or blow them on something? Preferably something shiny. Or sweet. Or shiny and sweet.
Maybe I could get Nero a little gift as thanks for the coins. He's not one to care about the price, but he's a sucker for the thought behind it. That, or he'll roll his eyes and ask why I wasted money. Worth the risk.
As I turn the corner to a smaller and tight street to avoid the waves of people, that's when I spot him—a figure moving awkwardly through the tight space, head swiveling like a bird searching for a predator.
A frown tugs at my lips. He's sneaking.
The old Olfean saying springs to mind: "Sneaking is the art of thieves." It's mostly an exaggeration; few in Olfea actually sneak around. But this guy? He's definitely not from here. If anyone else notices his behavior, the local guards will be on him in an instant.
Curiosity gets the better of me. I match his pace, slipping behind him unnoticed. Just as he pauses to glance over his shoulder, I tap him firmly on the shoulder.
"Ah!" he yelps, nearly jumping out of his skin. He spins to face me, amber eyes wide, like I've caught him red-handed.
"C-Can I help you?" he stammers, attempting to smooth his frown into something more neutral.
I smirk, crossing my arms. "Can I help you? You were sneaking around like a thief. Kind of hard not to notice."
"I was not…" His voice trails off as he glances back over his shoulder, clearly uneasy.
"Sure, sure." I lean in conspiratorially, dropping my voice to a whisper. "A little advice: in Olfea, anyone sneaking around gets labeled suspicious. If the guards catch wind of you, you'll have a lot more explaining to do."
I pull back, grinning as his face shifts into something between annoyance and resignation. "So," I add, "who are you?"
"Someone walking by," he mutters.
"Great! Nice to meet you, Mr. Someone Walking By. Now, why don't you tell me what you're really doing here? You look like you're hiding from someone."
His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, I think he won't answer. Then, with a sigh heavy enough to crush stone, he speaks. "I'm not hiding from anyone. I just don't want to be recognized."
That catches me off guard. I study him more closely now, taking in the olive complexion, raven hair, and those sharp amber eyes. His clothes are plain, fit for a traveler, but there's something about the way he carries himself—like the world owes him its attention.
"Not wanting to be recognized, huh?" I tilt my head, squinting. "Unless you're part of the Royal Family, I don't think anyone would bother you."
He stiffens, and my eyes widen as the pieces click. "Wait… are you actually a member of the Royal Family?"
The silence is damning. My excitement spills out before I can rein it in. "You are! Oh, this is amazing! But what's a royal doing in Olfea? Don't tell me—are you eloping? Who's the lucky—"
"It's not like that!" he snaps, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair.
The prince—I mean, "Mr. Not-So-Sneaky"—lets out a long, dramatic sigh, as though he's just realized he's stuck with me. Which, let's face it, he is.
"You've got quite the imagination," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Thanks. I try." I flash him my best grin, the one that usually gets me out of trouble. "So, if you're not eloping, what's the deal? Running from an arranged marriage? Or did you just get bored of the palace food?"
His amber eyes narrow. "You really don't know when to quit, do you?"
"Nope," I chirp, popping the 'p.' "Now spill. You clearly don't know how to sneak properly, which means you're not used to being out of your fancy castle. And judging by the way you're looking around, either someone's chasing you, or you're lost. So which is it?"
He looks like he wants to argue, but then his shoulders slump. With a resigned sigh, he mutters, "Why should I be sharing my secrets with a random bystander?"
I frown, pretending to be offended, before flashing him a grin. "First of all, my name is Celeste, so I'm not a random bystander anymore. Second, I want to know because you're sneaking around my town, and anyone who dares disturb its peace…" I place my hands on my hips, striking the most intimidating pose I can muster, "…will face my fury."
He raises an eyebrow at me, clearly unimpressed. The slight smirk tugging at his lips makes it even worse.
"Ah, yes," he says, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "How terribly rude of me. My apologies." He nearly rolls his eyes, but I catch the faintest trace of a smile breaking through his aloof facade.
"Well, at least you're learning some manners," I quip, crossing my arms.
He sighs again, crossing his arms like he's weighing whether this conversation is worth his time. Finally, he says, "I wanted some peace and quiet. Away from the palace. To think."
I stare at him, doing my best to keep a straight face. But honestly, how can I not laugh? This guy ran away from his golden palace—probably with servants waiting on him hand and foot—just to have some alone time? Whatever's going on in his head must be serious.
"Well, if that's the case…" I glance down the street, thinking. There's an inn not far from here—small, quiet, and practically forgotten by the rest of the town. Perfect for brooding princes in search of solitude.
I step closer and point down the road. "Take the street to the left, go straight, and at the fork, turn left again. There's an inn there—very out of the way. No one really walks by that area, so it's as secluded as you'll get."
His amber eyes widen, just a fraction, and he looks at me like I've handed him some kind of rare treasure.
"What?" I ask, grinning. "Am I the first person to be nice to you? Or are you just that impressed by my local expertise?" I give him a playful wink. "I get it—I am pretty irresistible. But—"
"Thank you," he cuts me off abruptly, flicking his robe with dramatic flair as he turns to leave. "I'll take my leave now."
I watch as he strides toward the main street, the sunlight catching on his jet-black hair.
"Hey!" I yell after him, cupping my hands around my mouth. "Don't sneak around! Just walk like you belong here!"
His shoulders tense at my words, and I can't help but smirk.
Leaning back against the alley wall, I watch him disappear around the corner. A sigh escapes me, part disbelief and part amusement.
"Runaway princes coming to Olfea," I mutter, shaking my head. "That's definitely new."
With that unexpected encounter behind me, I decide to treat myself to something sweet. A little indulgence never hurts. I stop by the bakery, picking up treats for myself and Nero, then head back to the shop.
The day feels almost normal again, but I can't shake the strange excitement lingering in the air.
The unexpected appearance of royalty in this peaceful little town might just be the beginning of something bigger.