My eyes open to a sky that's too blue.
Not the washed-out gray I remembered through the cracks of my apartment blinds, but a real, raw blue — clean, endless, almost mocking. For a moment, I think I've fallen asleep with a VR headset on again.
Then I feel it.
Grass. Real grass, brushing against my neck, rough and alive. Wind moving over me, soft but carrying a faint earthy scent — like summer fields after rain. I sit up, confused, my heart beating too calmly for someone who just… died.
Wait.
I did die, didn't I?
A flash — blinding headlights, wet pavement, a coffee cup spilling, that instant where everything tilts. Then nothing.
And now I'm here.
Alive. Or something like it.
I look down at my hands — normal. No glowing tattoos, no summoning circle, no divine voice telling me to save the world. Just plain, slightly dirty hands. My clothes are simple — linen shirt, old boots, and a leather strap hanging loosely around my chest. I touch my belt. Empty.
No phone.
No wallet.
No signal.
But I recognize this place. The open plains, the hill in the distance, the faint line of trees forming the edge of a forest.
I know this map.
"No way… this is the Greenfield Meadow."
That's what it was called in Life of Adventure. The starting area. A place for new players to kill slimes and rabbits, maybe get eaten by wolves if they wandered too far.
Except — in the game, the sky wasn't this bright. The wind wasn't this cold. And there wasn't this faint smell of something real — the smell of soil, old grass, and the faint metallic tang of minerals hidden in the soil.
I take a deep breath, trying not to laugh. It comes out as a dry wheeze.
"Seriously? A second life? And still broke?"
No gold, no food, no weapons. Just a body and my memories — of a game that, apparently, was real all along.
💸💸💸
I remember the hero of the game — the nameless adventurer who started from this very meadow and rose to become the savior of the continent.
He'd appear around this area soon, taking his first quest at the nearby village.
That means… I've been summoned before the story begins.
I should panic, right? But panic feels oddly silly. I've died once. Now I'm here. Survived by luck, or maybe by the absurd logic of fate.
Back on Earth, I was Harlan, twenty-four, freshly graduated, jobless, and exhausted. Life didn't hand me much besides unpaid bills and crushing monotony. I was ambitious once — had big dreams about startups, wealth, and freedom. But I failed spectacularly.
I spent nights playing Life in Adventure just to feel a little alive. Watching a hero grow, conquer, and earn what I couldn't in the real world. And now… here I am.
I smirk at the irony.
"You get the world, Harlan. But no cheat codes."
Knowledge of the game floods me — map layouts, monster types, quest locations, the Hero's rise. I know the roads that are safe, where ambushes happen, even the spot where the first slime spawns.
I have foresight.
That's better than a blessing.
💸💸💸
I stand, brushing off the grass. My legs wobble — maybe from shock, maybe from realizing I don't even have breakfast money.
In the distance, smoke curls above treetops. A village.
In the game, that's Rivermond Village, the first town. An inn, a general store, an adventurer's guild… perfect for beginners. But I'm no beginner. I'm not even an adventurer. I'm a spectator with ambition and survival instincts.
I grin.
For once, knowledge might actually mean power.
💸💸💸
Trouble Arrives Early
The wind shifts. There's a rustle in the grass.
I freeze.
Something moves — small, quick, heavy. A rabbit? No, the sound's wrong.
I glance around. Sunlight glints off something wet and green.
Then it croaks.
"Oh, hell no—"
A Slime.
Wobbling, translucent, and the size of a watermelon, sliding through the grass toward me. Its jelly-like surface catches the sunlight, reflecting my own confused face.
I know this monster. Level 1 trash mob. Easy XP. But here? I have nothing. Not even a stick.
I scan desperately and spot a half-broken branch. Better than nothing.
The slime wiggles closer.
I swallow.
"Okay… I played this game for 200 hours. I can handle this."
I swing. The branch bounces off like I just slapped a bowl of jelly.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding—"
The slime lunges. I jump back, nearly trip, and kick instinctively. My boot splashes a chunk of goo across the grass.
It writhes, then melts.
I stand panting, clothes stained, smelling like… salad gone wrong.
"Yeah. Real hero material."
💸💸💸
Something glints among the slime's remains — a small green crystal shard. Copper value in the game, proof here that I'm not dreaming.
I pick it up carefully. Cold, oddly beautiful.
"That's right. First drop in my new life."
I glance toward the distant smoke again. My stomach growls.
"Let's sell this, get food, maybe a bed. Then… see what happens next."
💸💸💸
Each step crunches the grass underfoot. I feel both absurd and alive — like a character in a game I know too well, only now I'm actually here.
Voices drift with the wind — merchants shouting, hammers clanging, dogs barking. Real life. Real smells. Real danger.
I can imagine the Hero arriving here soon, shiny and clueless, about to take his first quest. People will cheer, and I'll watch from the sidelines. Or maybe profit. Maybe influence. Maybe just survive.
I shrug.
"Greedy. Ambitious. Failed once. Let's see if the world forgives me this time."
Sunlight dips lower. My shadow stretches long across the path, a thin silhouette of a man who isn't the story's hero.
But maybe that doesn't matter. Maybe knowing the story is enough.
"Fine," I whisper. "If the world's giving me a second chance, I'll take it. Even if I have to steal it."
And with that, I step toward Rivermond Village — toward bread, coin, and whatever adventures the world decides to throw at a lowly, greedy man who remembers too much.