The quiet clinking of cutlery echoed softly as Yoong Soo finished the last bite of his breakfast. The warmth of the toast lingered on his tongue, faintly buttery, the kind of comfort that came from someone's careful hands.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, staring absently at the half-empty glass of milk beside his plate.
Rowan. That was his name now.
The thought sat heavily in his chest. He wasn't Yoong Soo anymore—not here. He was Rowan, a boy who had grandparents that smiled at him every morning, who had a home filled with the scent of soil and warm food. A boy who had a life that wasn't his to begin with.
If Grandma Dane and Grandpa Lewis were here, then where were Rowan's real parents?
He frowned, resting his chin on his hand. Maybe they were working somewhere far away. Maybe they were gone. Either way, asking about it felt dangerous. Too soon. Too strange.
He shook the thought off with a quiet sigh. "No need to push my luck," he murmured.
Finishing his meal, he gathered the dishes and walked to the sink. The sound of running water filled the room as he carefully washed the plate, the glass, and the utensils one by one. His movements were deliberate, slow enough to appear natural, though his mind was constantly racing.
After drying the dishes and setting them neatly in the cabinet, he took one last sip of water before wiping his hands clean. Then, with a steady breath, he turned toward the glass door.
He grasped the handle and slid it open.
A soft breeze brushed against his face, warm and fresh.
What greeted him outside made him pause.
The garden stretched wide, glowing in the morning light. Rows of plants swayed gently under the sun—some familiar, others not. There were tall stalks with large, colorful leaves that shimmered faintly when the wind passed through them, small bulb-shaped plants with twisting stems that looked almost alive, and clusters of flowers so vivid they seemed painted by hand.
Among them were vegetables he recognized—cabbages, carrots, even plump tomatoes—but beside those grew things that clearly belonged to no ordinary world. A vine wound around a wooden stake, bearing fruit that glowed faintly like moonlight trapped inside glass.
The air smelled of earth, dew, and something faintly sweet, almost magical.
And there, bent slightly over a row of bean plants, was Grandma Dane.
She wore her straw hat again, its wide brim shading her face. A small basket hung from her arm, half-filled with vegetables. Her hands moved with slow precision, plucking ripe beans and placing them neatly inside.
Yoong Soo slipped on a pair of sandals resting by the door and stepped into the garden. The soil crunched softly beneath his feet as he approached.
"Grandma," he called out, careful to keep his tone steady. "What should I do?"
She looked up, smiling at the sight of him. "Ah, you're finally here. Good timing. Help me pick the beans that look ripe, will you? The ones that are full and firm. After that, water the plants before the sun gets too high."
He nodded automatically, but the words stuck for a moment. His body didn't move. For the first time since waking in this world, the instinctive responses he relied on didn't come. Panic flickered briefly in his chest.
"Rowan?" Grandma's voice cut through his thoughts, light but curious. "Did you hear me?"
He blinked, forcing a sheepish laugh. "Ah, sorry, Grandma. I just… forgot how to tell which beans are ripe."
Her shoulders shook with a small laugh. "You always forget the simple things, don't you? Come here, I'll show you again."
He felt a small wave of relief wash over him. That answer fit perfectly—it sounded like Rowan.
Grandma Dane straightened slightly, motioning for him to come closer. "See these pods?" she said, touching one of the bean vines. "When they're smooth and small like this, they're not ready yet. But when they start to feel firm under your fingers, that's when you pick them."
She handed him one of the full pods. "Like this. Feel it?"
He nodded, rolling it gently in his hand. "Yeah. It's… heavier."
"That's right." She smiled approvingly. "Now go on. Let's see if you can remember this time."
Yoong Soo crouched beside her and began working carefully, plucking each ripe bean one by one. The vines rustled quietly under his touch. Every time he placed one in the basket, the scent of earth filled his lungs.
Grandma hummed a tune while she worked, something soft and familiar, and for a moment, he forgot about the weight of his situation.
The simple rhythm of the work, the sunlight on his back, the rustling of the plants—it all felt strangely grounding.
When the basket was nearly full, Grandma straightened and brushed the dirt from her hands. "Good job. Now, go water the rest before they start wilting. The hose is by the fence."
He nodded, walking to where the hose was coiled beside a small wooden shed. It was old but well-kept, its paint faded and chipped in a way that made it look lived-in. He turned the faucet gently, and water began to flow.
The first spray misted over the air, catching the light and scattering it into tiny rainbows. He smiled slightly at the sight before focusing on the plants, watering each row carefully. Some leaves sparkled faintly under the droplets, almost shimmering.
He looked up toward Grandma Dane, who was now kneeling by another patch of soil, planting new seeds. Her expression was calm and content.
"You really love taking care of this place," he said.
She glanced up at him, smiling softly. "Of course. This garden's been with me longer than most people have. It's where everything feels alive. You'll understand one day."
"Maybe I already do," he said quietly, watching a droplet slide down the petal of a flower.
Grandma chuckled. "Then you're growing up faster than I thought."
He laughed under his breath, returning to his task. The sound of running water and birdsong filled the air, blending into a gentle harmony.
Time passed gently. The sun had climbed higher, and the morning breeze that once carried the scent of dew now smelled faintly of soil and warmth.
Yoong Soo—Rowan, as he now had to remember, followed Grandma Dane back into the house.
Rowan set the basket filled with freshly picked vegetables on the table, their colors bright against the pale wood. Green beans, tomatoes, and odd, glowing fruits shimmered faintly under the light that poured in from the window.
"Thank you for helping, dear," Grandma Dane said with a soft smile, brushing the dust off her straw hat.
"It wasn't much of a big deal," Rowan replied, trying to sound casual.
She chuckled, her eyes warm. "Still, you've done plenty. You should take a shower, look at you—covered in dirt again."
Rowan looked down at his arms and laughed lightly. "You're right. I'll go wash up then."
Grandma waved her hand with a knowing grin as he turned toward the stairs. "Don't take too long, or the water will run cold."
"Got it," he said over his shoulder, the corner of his lips lifting faintly.
As he climbed the stairs, his thoughts began to stir. The floorboards creaked softly beneath his feet, each step giving him time to think.
What chapter is this world in right now?
If Evelyn already had her system, then she must be deep into the events of the novel. But if not, he might have arrived before it even began—before everything spiraled into chaos.
He needed answers.
He reached the top of the stairs, eyes drifting to the white door of his room. Inside, the laptop and phone he had noticed earlier sat neatly on the desk. Maybe, just maybe, those held the clues he needed.
But first, a shower.
He pushed the thought aside and opened his closet, searching through the folded clothes. He picked a plain white t-shirt with a black tiger design across the chest, a pair of blue shorts, and matching underwear. They were simple, but soft and freshly washed, a comforting kind of normalcy.
Then came the problem.
He looked at the hallway and frowned. "Where's the bathroom?" he muttered to himself.
The air was silent except for the faint ticking of a clock somewhere downstairs. After a few seconds of hesitation, he decided to take a chance on the door next to his room. He reached for the knob, turned it—and to his relief, the faint scent of soap and steam greeted him.
"Lucky guess," he whispered under his breath, smiling a little.
He stepped in and turned on the shower. The water came down in a soft, steady stream, warming his skin as he washed away the traces of soil from the garden. The sound filled the small room, rhythmic and calming.
He caught sight of himself in the fogged mirror above the sink. His reflection stared back—dark eyes, black hair, sharper features than he remembered. Still him, but… not entirely.
"Same face, just upgraded a bit," he murmured, running a hand through his wet hair. "Guess reincarnation comes with a beauty filter."
A small, amused smile crossed his lips as he stepped out, towel slung around his shoulders. His hair was still damp, small droplets running down his neck as he walked back to his room.
Now dressed in his new clothes, he finally turned his attention to the desk.
The laptop sat neatly in the middle, screen closed, beside it a blue phone. Both looked ordinary enough, but in this world, appearances rarely told the truth.
He pulled the white chair out from under the desk and sat down. The chair gave a faint creak under his weight.
"Alright," he said, cracking his knuckles with a grin. "Time to figure out what's going on."
He opened the laptop and pressed the power button. The screen came to life slowly, flickering once before a wallpaper appeared—an image of a dragon soaring through storm clouds.
"Cool choice," he muttered, impressed despite himself.
Then came the problem.
A small box appeared at the center of the screen: Enter 8-digit password.
He froze, staring blankly for a few seconds before blurting out, "What?"
His voice echoed louder than he expected. In a panic, he clapped his hand over his mouth and leaned on his seat towards the door, listening. No sound came from outside.
He exhaled slowly in relief, then slumped back into the chair.
"Of course it's locked," he grumbled. "Why wouldn't it be? I just got here from another world; of course I don't know the password."
He rubbed his temples and glanced around the desk, searching for any clue. Maybe the password was written somewhere—on a note, or a scrap of paper hidden under the books. But there was nothing obvious.
Then his gaze fell on the phone lying beside the laptop.
"Right," he said, reaching for it. "If not the laptop, maybe this one will work."
The phone's dark screen came alive at his touch, revealing a calm wallpaper of a mountain and lake under morning light. The time read 9:23 AM.
He swiped upward—and immediately frowned.
Another lock screen. Another 8-digit password.
"You've got to be kidding me."
He dropped his head on the desk for a second, groaning softly. But when he lifted his face again, his eyes caught a faint white glow on the bottom of the screen. A small fingerprint icon pulsed there.
His expression shifted.
"Wait… fingerprint login?"
He pressed his thumb against the glowing mark. The phone scanned it once, twice—then clicked open.
A laugh burst out of him before he could stop it. "It worked, it actually worked!"
The home screen spread open before him—rows of icons, the signal bar glowing faintly, and the name Rowan displayed in the corner.