Lucas was just a man who had grown sick of city life.
Right now, he was sitting in a room, facing a pair of plump breasts straining against a white buttoned shirt, held up by arms crossed with authority.
"Are you really sure you want to resign?" asked a mature woman with that bossy vibe.
"Yes, ma'am." Lucas replied calmly.
The resignation letter lay on the desk. The tidy office bore witness to Lucas's determination in deciding his own life.
"These days it's hard to find a job. Don't be stupid!" the woman snapped at him.
Lucas didn't flinch. His decision stood firm.
"Don't you realize thousands of people end up unemployed and burdens on their families because of reckless choices like this? Think about your future carefully."
The woman tried one last time to sway him.
Lucas folded his arms on the desk, eyes dropping once more to the resignation letter.
"I just… don't belong here," he said softly, but with resolve.
She glared at him, but Lucas was already standing. He grabbed his worn-out briefcase, gave a brief nod, and said,
"Thank you for everything."
Silence filled the room, broken only by the stiff ticking of the wall clock.
When the door closed behind him, Lucas took a deep breath. It felt like shedding a weight that had been crushing his chest for years.
Outside, the chaos of the city greeted him: honking horns, rushing footsteps, and glass towers looming high. Lucas walked through the crowd with steady steps, as if the busy world no longer had anything to do with him.
A week after leaving the city's hustle and bustle, Lucas had already grown used to his new routine.
That day, he crouched beside his grandfather, hands dirty with wet soil. Rows of tomato plants stood neatly, their leaves glistening with leftover dew.
"Hahaha, look at this! The seed you planted yesterday already grew faster than mine," his grandfather laughed, patting Lucas on the back.
Lucas chuckled along, sweat dripping but his face light and relaxed.
This... This is was what I wanted.
Not tall buildings, not suffocating meetings—just a small garden, fresh air, and simple laughter.
The afternoon sun leaned west, the sky clear blue with thin clouds drifting by. Birds flew past, and the chirping of crickets began to echo.
"Lucas, I'll head home first. You can keep going if you want," his grandfather said, fixing his straw hat.
"Alright, Grandpa. I'll be back soon too."
Lucas waved, his eyes still glued to the line of newly planted crops. Peace clung tightly to his chest.
But a few minutes later, the atmosphere shifted.
A gentle breeze turned into a sudden, forceful gust. The tomato leaves trembled violently. Lucas lifted his head, confused.
The once clear sky turned gray, clouds piling up as if someone had suddenly painted them over with a dark brush.
"Weird… it was sunny just now." Lucas stood up, scanning his surroundings. The wind grew harsher, branches scraping against each other with a harsh rasp.
A thunderclap rumbled in the distance.
BOOM!
Lucas flinched. He broke into a run, leaving the field behind, cold sweat dripping down his neck. Something's wrong here!
But his steps froze when a blinding streak of white split the sky right above him.
Light devoured his vision, thunder roared in his ears.
FLAAASHHH—KRAAAACK!
Everything went dark.
"AGGGHHH—!"
His scream was cut short as his body slammed against cold wooden planks. His breath came in ragged gasps, heart pounding like he had just been thrown from the clouds.
Slowly, Lucas forced his eyes open. The blue sky was gone.
Instead, he saw dark wooden beams overhead, a dim oil lamp swaying, and the sharp stench of alcohol stabbing his nose.
"…eh?" He blinked, hands trembling as he tried to push himself up. "Why the hell… am I on the floor?"
His body felt heavy, sore—like waking up after gooning till three in the morning. He turned his head, and that's when he noticed it: several pairs of eyes were in the room… but none of them were looking directly at him.
They were pretending to be busy.
Someone stared into an empty table, another buried their face in a glass, and a couple of men whispered to each other—stealing nervous glances at him before quickly turning away.
Lucas swallowed hard. The hell's going on?
He stood up slowly, brushing the dust off his pants. His eyes swept across the room: round tables, creaky chairs, shelves lined with bottles of booze, and a fat man in a stained apron wiping a glass behind the counter.
Lucas frowned.
"…A bar? Or… a tavern?"
Everything felt foreign, yet disturbingly real.
His hand rose to his face—then froze. The skin under his fingers felt different. Younger. Smoother. Even his body didn't feel the same: taller, lightly muscular.
This… this isn't my body…
BAM!
The wooden door slammed open so hard that everyone inside the tavern instinctively ducked even lower.
A woman strode in with firm steps. Light armor clung to her body, her boots thudding sharply against the floor. Her brown hair was tied up messily, her face cold, eyes narrowed with disdain.
Those eyes locked straight onto Lucas.
"Young Master." Her voice was flat, but heavy with pressure.
Lucas blinked, pointing at himself in confusion. "…Me?"
The woman didn't bother answering. She marched straight over, her gauntleted hand seizing Lucas by the collar.
"Eh—hey, wait—!" Lucas nearly fell again as his body was yanked forward.
Everyone else in the tavern pretended not to see a thing. Heads lowered, some even covered their ears on purpose. The only sound that remained was the knight's firm footsteps, dragging Lucas outside like a criminal.
"I—I can walk on my own! At least let go first—!" Lucas tried protesting, but the woman ignored him completely.
Her expression soured as she leaned down slightly, whispering so only Lucas could hear.
"Useless trash. All you ever do is burden the Baron and the Baroness…"
Lucas froze on the spot.
"…Huh!?"