Ren stepped into the building called Moonlight Cat—the Adventurers' Association that the Captain had mentioned earlier.
As the wooden door behind him slowly closed, the sounds inside grew clearer, filling his ears. The clinking of cups, boisterous laughter erupting from a corner of the room, and the drunken, off-key singing of a man who had clearly lost control.
The main hall was spacious, with a high ceiling supported by thick wooden beams. Oil lamps hung from above, casting a warm yellow glow that reflected off the rough wooden tables scattered throughout the room.
The adventurers—they came in all shapes and forms.
Some wore heavy armor, proudly displaying old scars on their arms. Others sat cross-legged on tables, twirling daggers between their fingers. A few were slumped over, heads resting on empty beer mugs. Some carried swords, spears, axes… even weapons Ren couldn't name.
But one thing stood out the most—
Not a single one of them acknowledged his presence.
Ren stood near the entrance, frozen for a moment. No one turned. No one greeted him. The world inside this room… moved on, with or without him.
Not because they were rude. Not because they were arrogant.
But because that was simply how this world was.
You wouldn't be recognized… until you did something worth noticing.
Ren clenched the hem of his shirt tightly. His fingers felt cold, and his breathing slowed—trying to sync with the rhythm of the noise around him, a rhythm he couldn't yet understand.
Amidst the waves of sound and movement, the loneliness clung to him, unshaken.
Yet, eventually, his gaze settled… on a wooden counter at the far side of the room.
Unlike the rough and noisy adventurers, those seated there seemed calmer. Two… no, eleven people. They wore no armor, carried no oversized weapons. Their clothes were clean, neat, and strangely…
"…Modern," Ren murmured without thinking.
The moment the word slipped past his lips, he froze.
*'What was that…?'*
The word had come to him instinctively—without clear meaning, yet powerful enough to silence him. As if something deep inside him—something he couldn't yet remember—had reacted to the sight.
And before his thoughts could wander further, a voice called out to him.
"It seems we still have another guest."
The voice came from behind the counter.
A man.
His hair was green, long, and tied back in a ponytail. A fringe partially covered his right eye, but his left remained sharp, as if it could assess anyone in a single glance. He wore a high-collared, long-sleeved outfit in black with gold accents—elegant, a stark contrast to the rough atmosphere around him.
His gaze locked directly onto Ren, who now stood not far from the counter.
"Welcome to Moonlight Cat, O lost one… who has strayed into this world."
The voice was quiet, almost a whisper. Yet it was clear, deep—full of meaning.
Ren stared at the man without blinking.
Confused.
Dazed.
But for the first time since arriving in this place…
Someone had acknowledged him—not as a burden, not as a threat, but as a guest.
As someone… who had been expected.
The eleven people seated along the wooden counter—some chatted quietly, while others were lost in their own worlds.
A few glanced toward Ren as he entered. Brief looks, neither judgmental nor welcoming, but enough to remind him that he was a new face here.
One of them, a silver-haired man sitting at the far end of the bar, paid no attention to the surroundings. He simply sipped alcohol from a metal cup in his hand, eyes closed, as if the world wasn't worth his notice.
"Feel free to sit wherever you like," the green-haired man said calmly.
Ren glanced around briefly, then gave a small nod. He took slow steps, weaving past adventurers laughing loudly, singing songs he didn't recognize, enjoying the night as if tomorrow didn't exist.
His steps halted at an empty stool in front of the counter. Just as he was about to sit, his eyes unconsciously flicked toward a brown-haired man seated not far from him.
The man smiled.
A light smile—wordless acknowledgment. Ren returned it with a hesitant nod, still unsure of what to do… or say.
And before the silence could stretch any further, the brown-haired man spoke.
"So… what kind of place is this, really?"
His tone was cheerful, relaxed—like someone who had spent too long in a foreign land and had simply accepted it.
But the question wasn't answered immediately.
"I'll start from the beginning," said Loki—the green-haired man behind the counter, resting his hands on the slightly worn wooden surface. "Before anything else… welcome."
His emerald eyes swept over them one by one, his voice soft yet cutting clearly through the noise of the room.
"Welcome to Midgard… and to the Moonlight Cat Adventurers' Association. My name is Loki. I oversee this place."
His smile widened, warm on the surface. But to Ren, there was something else beneath it.
That smile…
Wasn't just a greeting.
It was the smile of someone who knew far too much.
"Midgard…?" A bewildered voice came from Ren's right.
A blonde girl stared at Loki with confusion. Her gaze was sharp, filled with suspicion—and unease. The clothes she wore were thin and form-fitting—unlike the rugged styles of the other adventurers. Too clean. Too foreign.
Ren glanced at her briefly and realized… he might not be the only one who knew nothing.
Perhaps…
All of them here were the same.
People who were… lost.
"Midgard?" repeated the disheveled-haired man, his tone bitter, almost sneering at fate.
Then—
"Don't screw with me… you bastard!!"
His fist slammed hard against the wooden counter, the impact cutting through the noise of the room.
Glasses rattled. Some nearly toppled over.
Instantly—silence.
All conversations stopped. Laughter died in throats. Dozens of eyes turned toward him.
Loki remained where he stood, unmoving. His smile had vanished. His green eyes were now calm… too calm.
"I would hope," he said in a tone so cold it hung in the air, "that you can control your temper in this place. I'd prefer tonight… to remain a peaceful one."
His words might have sounded polite.
But the aura radiating from him thickened the air. No direct threat was spoken, yet everyone could feel it—one more wrong move, and blood might spill tonight.
The disheveled-haired man slowly swept his gaze behind him.
Cold, sharp, hostile stares came from adventurers who had seemed indifferent earlier. Now, they were all silent—but their hands hovered near sword hilts and axe handles.
Ready… as if just waiting for the signal.
*…I'm surrounded.* The man thought. *And none of them would hesitate to kill me if I pushed further.*
His breathing was heavy, but slowly, he sat back down.
Ren could only watch in silence, his heart pounding faster than ever. In this place—even a single outburst could cost someone their life.
This wasn't the world he knew.
This was a harsh, cruel world.
"Continue, Guide," the silver-haired man said flatly, still spinning his cup idly, as if the storm that had just passed was none of his concern.
Loki smiled faintly.
"Very well," he said casually. "It seems things have settled down again."
He glanced toward the corner where the musicians sat. With a subtle gesture, they resumed playing—flutes, harps, and small bells ringing softly, weaving a warm melody that flowed like the night wind.
Gradually, the noise returned. Conversations picked up again, though not all ears had fully turned away from Loki.
"This world," Loki began again, interlacing his fingers on the table, "is called Midgard."
Ren swallowed. That word again. Midgard.
"I don't know the exact reason why you've awakened here," Loki continued, his voice quieter now, as if ensuring only those who needed to hear would listen, "and you… are not the first."
"There have been others before us?" asked a girl with shoulder-length hair. Her voice wavered, but curiosity pushed through.
"Yes," Loki nodded. "We call those who don't belong to this world… Lost Children."
Ren felt his body tense slightly. The term felt foreign, yet… fitting.
"Lost Children…" he murmured, as if tasting the reality slowly. "Children who've lost their way…"
"You could say that," Loki replied, pulling out a sheet of paper from beneath the counter. "Those who awaken in Midgard with no clear memory of their origins, no knowledge of this world, no place to return to. That is what you are."
Ren's eyes met the silver-haired man's briefly. Their gazes didn't linger, but it was enough to convey that… perhaps, they were the same.
Both empty.
Both lost.
"Hey… is there any way for us to go back to our original world?" the blonde girl asked, her voice soft yet clear amid the faint music and murmurs.
The question hung in the air like a cold drop of dew in the middle of the heated room.
Ren glanced at her. He wanted to know too.
More than anyone—he wanted to know… if he really came from another world. And if so… did that world even exist?
Loki exhaled slowly. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing his next words carefully.
"Hmm…" he mused quietly. "I don't know if you can return to your original worlds or not."
He placed both hands on the table, looking at each of them in turn.
"Because… so far, I've never heard of a single Lost Child who managed to go back."
The room fell silent again. The blonde girl lowered her head. Her shoulders trembled slightly—perhaps from disappointment, perhaps from the fear that had just settled in.
"I see…" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
Ren clenched the fabric of his pants under the counter, tight. Even if he wanted to return… he didn't even know *where* to return to.
The only thing he knew now was this: he had woken up alone in a quiet field.
And now, he sat in a foreign world called Midgard.
"Hey, why are we overthinking this?" the red-haired man chimed in, grinning broadly, his voice trying to dispel the lingering tension. "Maybe we came from somewhere else… but at least we can start fresh here, right?"
A few heads turned toward him. His tone was light, but somehow—it warmed the air.
"Right, Loki? We can live in this world?" he pressed, looking at Loki, who only responded with a faint glance and a small nod.
"Of course," Loki finally said. "But… right now, your options are very limited."
"Limited?" The disheveled-haired man narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
Loki reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small object—a flat piece of metal that gleamed under the torchlight. It looked like a card, but its surface was engraved with intricate patterns.
"All of you… don't have this yet," he said, placing the card on the counter. "An identification card. Everyone who lives in Midgard must have one."
Ren studied the metal closely. It looked like iron… but when Loki handed it to one of them to touch, the man looked surprised.
"It's so light…" he muttered.
"Not ordinary iron," Loki said. "But more importantly, without this, you are nobody in Midgard. You can't rent a room, buy food, or even walk freely in this city without being watched."
"H-how do we get one…?" the red-haired man asked, slightly uneasy.
Loki smirked faintly, slipping the card back into his coat. "Simple. You become adventurers. That's the only way to be recognized… and start a new life in this world."
His words fell like an absolute decree.
"How do we obtain this so-called identification card?" the silver-haired man asked calmly, still staring at his cup.
Loki glanced at him briefly before nodding. "The method is simple. You just need to register as adventurers here. After that, you'll receive a temporary identification."
"So not an official card like yours?" the silver-haired man asked without looking up.
"Correct. To get an official card like mine, you'll need to pay a production fee of one gold coin."
The words instantly made the room feel heavier. Some exchanged glances, and Ren unconsciously clenched his fists.
"One gold?!" the red-haired man muttered, his voice reflecting the shock of many in the room.
Loki smiled, but his tone remained steady. "Yes, and I know that's not a small amount. That's why, for Lost Children like you, there's an exception."
He crossed his arms, scanning each of them before continuing.
"You can register for free. However, to become temporary members, there's still an administrative fee of one hundred silver."
"Wait… free but still have to pay?" the brown-haired man asked, confused.
"Don't worry," Loki continued, unfazed. "The fee will automatically be deducted from the rewards of any quests you take later. So, you don't need to pay upfront. Think of it as… an installment system."
Loki leaned back against the wooden wall behind him, watching them all.
"The choice is yours—become adventurers and carve a place in this world, or wander nameless, unprotected… in a world that has never been kind to outsiders."
The tension in the air began to ease, though traces remained.
Ren stayed silent. One gold for a card… and he didn't even know what money looked like in this world. But at least now, there was a path forward.
"Is... this really the only way for all of us?"
The voice was soft, yet clear in the heavy silence. A girl with shoulder-length hair stared at Loki, her eyes filled with unconcealed anxiety.
Ren turned toward her. Her face was pale, her fists clenched tightly on her thighs—as if she was forcing herself to stay strong, even though in her mind... none of this made sense yet.
Loki looked at her for a moment. His gaze was flat, and his voice this time was colder, sharper—devoid of the playful tone from before.
"For now, yes. Becoming adventurers... is the only option you have."
He paused, then continued with a heavier tone.
"If you leave this place and wander without an ID card, sooner or later... you will be caught."
Loki crossed his arms, letting his words linger before adding:
"And in this world, people without identities are nothing more than... objects. You will be sold. Enslaved. And slaves without identification cards... are treated worse than animals."
The girl lowered her head. There was nothing more to say. Some around the bar stiffened, even the red-haired man lost his smile.
Ren felt the air around him grow heavier.
Midgard.
This world was not a kind place. Not to outsiders. Not to Lost Children.
And to survive... there was no other choice but to become an adventurer.