Light moved across a plain ceiling in a slow, steady pulse. Rian Vale opened his eyes and looked up at cheap plaster. He lay still long enough for the silence to press into him. No pain. No blood. Nothing that explained why he should be breathing.
A translucent panel hovered at the foot of the bed. It glowed pale blue and text ran across it with calm precision.
Good Deed Leveling System initializing.
User revival complete.
Welcome, Rian Vale.
The words felt unreal. He pushed himself up, the mattress protesting under him. The room was small and worn. A narrow window showed a sliver of street. A counter held a battered kettle and a single burner. A tiny fridge hummed in the corner.
He should have been relieved. Instead he felt light-headed and hollow, as if the rain and headlights from his last memory were still clinging to him. He touched his side. No scrapes. No broken ribs. His fingers trembled.
The panel pulsed again.
Life status: Previous life terminated. New life integrated.
System class: Growth Type.
Starter Quest: Make Your Own Breakfast.
Time limit: 60 minutes.
Reward: Responsibility +1, Experience +10, Skill unlock: Beginner Focus.
Rian stared at the screen. He had imagined something grand, not a cooking lesson. He swung his legs over the bed and stood. The floor was cold. The room felt smaller when he was upright.
He opened the fridge with hands that would not stop shaking.
Inside were three eggs in a thin carton. One cavity in the tray was cracked and empty. A carton of milk crouched at the back. A jar of jam leaned against a half loaf of dry bread. That was it. Everything looked like it had already been used once.
The discovery hit him harder than the truck had. He had died poor before and awakened to the same scarcity. The thought knotted in his chest.
He picked up the milk and squinted at the date. The ink had blurred. He brought it to his nose and the sour sting told him what the numbers did not. He set it down and closed the door gently, as if the fridge itself might be fragile.
A small, hot shame rose up. He had been the child whose parents smoothed every problem away. He had never learned how to do the small things. They had paid bills, fixed leaks, packed lunches. He had never boiled water on his own.
The panel pulsed a helpful note.
Tip: Growth begins with small steps. Use available resources wisely.
He blinked and swallowed. He wrapped his fingers around an egg like it was delicate truth. His hands were clumsy. He tapped the shell and cracked it awkwardly, shards falling into the bowl and the white slipping across the counter.
A red notice flashed on the screen.
Penalty: Reckless handling detected. Confidence −0.1.
System hint: Slow motion and care recommended.
Embarrassment burned his face though no one watched. He wiped the mess with trembling fingers and cleaned the counter carefully. Two eggs remained.
He steadied his breath. He set the pan on the single burner and forced himself to think in steps. He cracked the next egg with a practiced patience he did not have and watched it settle into the bowl without wrecking the shell. He warmed a sliver of oil. The pan hissed and he flinched back as if heat were sharp enough to cut.
When the egg hit the pan it curled at the edges and browned. He tipped and flipped it clumsily. It did not look like any omelet he had seen in glossy food shows. It looked honest.
A soft chime sounded.
Quest complete.
Rewards granted: Responsibility +1. Experience +10.
Skill unlocked: Beginner Focus +10 percent XP from life-skill quests for 1 hour.
A tiny icon bloomed above his Responsibility bar. Numbers ticked up. Rian felt a small, surprising warmth that had nothing to do with the food.
He sat at the tiny table and took a bite. The egg was uneven, a bit burnt on one side and slightly underdone in the center, but it was warm and real. The toast was dry and gummy with jam that tasted like sugar and memory. He ate slowly, as if each chew might teach him something.
Tears pricked his eyes. He blinked them away because he did not want to sob in an empty room. In his first life, people took his failures and made them small. They fixed what he broke. They shielded him from consequences. Now there was a panel telling him what to do and three eggs counting against him.
He rose and washed the pan with hands that did not want to stop shaking. Water ran warm over his fingers and steadied him. The system pulsed again, softer this time.
Rian moved to the window and pushed aside the thin curtain. Below, the street was already waking. People hurried under umbrellas. A patrol passed, moving with a purpose he could not name. Their jackets had glowing insignia and gear he did not recognize. Belts strung with cases and tools. Protective pads. They walked like they belonged to something official.
He frowned and squinted. He had no memory of such uniforms. Nothing in his old life had looked like that.
A new message blinked across the panel.
Basic World Tip: This world contains Awakened individuals who protect civilians and fight monsters. Common term used by locals: Hunters.
Further details will unlock as user stabilizes basic life skills.
Rian stood frozen. Hunters. Monsters. Awakened abilities. The words had the ring of a new language. For a long second he felt like a child at a market, watching strangers and guessing what their items were.
He pressed his palms to the window. The people below walked past without looking up. The world outside belonged to rules he did not yet understand.
A small honest thought rose inside him, quieter than fear.
If this is all new, I will have to learn it. All of it. From the bottom up.
The system pulsed as if answering him.
Primary objective updated: Stabilize basic life. Secondary objective: Prepare for awakening potential.
Rian swallowed. The breakfast had filled more than his stomach. It had given him a tiny piece of competence. He set the cleaned plate on the rack and arranged the remaining eggs carefully back in their carton.
He wrapped the expired milk in a cloth and set it behind the kettle. He could not use it. Not now.
He turned back to the room and felt the edges of the space sharpen into plans. The panel was less an oracle and more a map. The world would not hand him understanding. The system promised to teach him when he proved he could handle the small things.
He rolled his shoulders and allowed himself a crooked, tired smile.
"Okay," he said to the quiet room. "One step at a time."