Morgan took one step forward, then another, observing everything around him with attentive eyes, trying to comprehend this strange world he had found himself in. Every movement he made awakened within him a contradictory mix of fear and curiosity—a discomforting feeling, yet familiar at the same time. Despite the strangeness of the place, he did not feel completely lost; Ryan's memories were still clinging to his mind, granting him a vague sense of familiarity.
Morgan stopped at the corner of a narrow street, where a suffocating stench of rotten food rose into the air, making him frown involuntarily. There, he spotted a group of five people whose clothes looked strange and torn, as if they hadn't been replaced in a very long time. They stood close together, speaking in low voices, until one of them noticed Morgan from afar.
The man's eyes widened suddenly, and he raised his hand, pointing a trembling finger toward Morgan. His companions noticed his shaking before they all turned toward the direction he indicated. The moment their eyes fell on Morgan, their faces went pale, and they froze in place.
A thin man spoke in a trembling voice, "He… he's alive."
A man whose face was covered with several obvious scars stepped forward and spoke sharply, "What nonsense are you spouting, idiot? I'm certain he died. I checked his pulse myself back then… he wasn't breathing."
The thin man nodded in agreement, then hesitated before saying, "Boss… I believe you, but then who is standing in front of us now? It can't be an illusion, can it?"
Another person intervened—he seemed to be the smartest among them—and spoke while trying to stay composed, "It might just be someone who looks like him. As you know, the world is vast. Or perhaps someone disguised to look like him… or—"
He paused, then lowered his voice, "—or it could be a vengeful spirit that returned to take revenge on us."
The moment the thin man heard that, he trembled in terror, turned around abruptly, and began running at full speed. The scarred man shouted as he watched him flee, "You rat! Stop right now, or I'll kill you!"
But the thin man didn't stop. A moment later, the scarred man processed the smart one's words, and his expression shifted into pure panic as he too started running. The rest of the group followed one after another, clearly understanding the situation far too late. As they fled, the scarred man kept screaming repeatedly, "Oh gods, please protect me from that evil spirit!"
As for Morgan, he remained standing where he was, staring at their behavior with a completely blank expression, as if what was happening before him was a meaningless, absurd scene. He watched them run in a strange manner—taking small, unbalanced steps, stumbling, crashing into walls, and falling to the ground—while their eyes remained fixed on him, not on the path ahead.
Once they had completely disappeared, Morgan let out a quiet sigh and muttered, "What are those idiots doing? Are they filming a scene from a comedy movie?"
He shook his head lightly, then turned and continued on his way, saying, "They're truly a strange bunch… I hope I never run into them again."
Morgan suddenly stopped walking, his eyebrows knitting together in deep thought.
Where should he go now?
He had no home, no place he belonged to—would he really continue walking aimlessly?
Before his thoughts could fully form, the faint sound of his stomach growling cut through them. Morgan exhaled slowly and gave a faint smile as he muttered to himself:
"Let's postpone thinking about the future for now… what matters is finding something to eat."
He began sorting through Ryan's memories carefully, digging through them one by one, until he finally found what he was looking for: the location of the market. Without hesitation, he changed direction and headed there immediately. The market wasn't far—just a few steps away—so Morgan quickened his pace slightly.
As soon as he drew near, a wave of overlapping voices washed over him:
"Come and try our grilled meats—delicious and irresistible!"
"Hot, fresh Gunder soup! Drink a bowl in the morning and feel energized all day!"
"Amber fruit! Come try it, and you'll go straight to heaven!"
"Fermented berry and margine juice! One sip and you'll never stop!"
"Chicken! Fresh chicken!"
"Fresh vegetables picked straight from the farm, at a cheap price! Buy now and get extra for free!"
The street vendors shouted along the road, displaying their vegetables, fruits, and hot foods, trying to entice hurried passersby. Some people stopped to inspect the goods carefully before buying, while others waved their hands impatiently and moved on, simply because they didn't have enough money.
Morgan took a deep breath, looking around with eyes shining with hunger. He wanted to rush forward immediately and devour everything within reach—but reality was harsh… he had no money.
He remained standing there, thinking about what he could do, his eyes unconsciously scanning the vendors' faces, searching for someone who looked kinder than the rest. His gaze settled on an old man who appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties.
"Ah… this person seems suitable. He looks kind… maybe he'll give me some food."
With that simple decision, Morgan approached him cautiously until he stood directly in front of the cart. The old man was busy at first, so Morgan stayed silent, staring at the hot dishes laid out before him. The scent of fresh food crept into his nose and clung to his throat, making his saliva flow involuntarily as his eyes remained fixed on the seasoned meat glistening under the daylight.
After a few moments, the old man finally noticed Morgan's presence. The instant his eyes met Morgan's, his expression changed abruptly, his features tightening as he spoke in a harsh voice:
"What are you doing here, thief? Are you trying to steal from me again? I won't allow it this time!"
Morgan froze for a split second, then quickly shook his head, raising his hands in a gesture of denial, and said hurriedly, "No, no! I'm not here to steal from you, sir, I swear. I just… need a little food."
But the old man's scowl darkened further, and his tone grew sharper. "You won't fool me this time. Get out of here before I hit you."
At that moment, Morgan's mind began working at full speed. He had to find a way to get food before being chased away. Before he could come up with anything, Ryan's memories suddenly surged into his mind.
This old man… his name was Arben.
He was known among the neighborhood's children for his strange habit: if someone brought him a riddle he couldn't solve, he would give them a full meal for free.
Morgan's eyes widened slightly, then he lifted his head confidently, looking at Arben and saying, "Hmm… Mr. Arben, I have a riddle for you."
For a brief moment, Arben's face lit up with interest before his scowl returned as he growled, "Is it like those stupid riddles you told me last time?"
Morgan quickly shook his head, denying it, then said seriously, "No, this one is different."
He took a short breath and said, "Tell me… was the orange named because its color is orange? Or was the color orange named because it resembles the orange?"
As soon as Morgan finished speaking, Arben stared at him blankly for several seconds, then placed a hand on his chin and began thinking deeply.
Meanwhile, Morgan laughed inwardly, telling himself: You'll never solve it… I searched for it on the internet and never found an answer.
Heavy moments passed before Arben finally sighed slowly and said in a low voice, "I don't know the answer… take whatever food you want."
At that moment, Morgan felt overwhelming joy. He quickly took as much food as he wanted for free, trying to hide his smile. As he turned to leave, he heard Arben's voice again from behind him, "Wait… can you tell me the answer?"
Morgan stopped, then turned back slowly, a faint, sly smile forming on his lips as he said, "I refuse."
Then he walked away, leaving the old man standing there…
Morgan finally reached the corner of a slightly dilapidated street, but compared to the other places, it was much better. He had spent nearly twenty minutes moving through the narrow alleys, searching for a relatively clean spot where he could eat his food comfortably without feeling disgust or anxiety.
When he found this corner, he felt a sense of relief. He sat down quietly, leaning against the wall, and finally took out his food.
He took a piece of meat, and as soon as he put it in his mouth, he felt the juices slowly flowing, mixed with a warm flavor he had not expected at all. He paused for a moment, as if time had frozen, and his eyes widened in genuine astonishment.
The taste… was very delicious.
He had never imagined that food could be of this quality, and without realizing it, he began eating quickly, piece after piece, as if his body feared that this feeling would disappear suddenly.
Each bite was better than the last.
Suddenly, he felt a slight burning in his eyes, and a single tear rolled silently down his cheek. He did not try to wipe it, but said in a low voice, almost a whisper:
"So this is what real food tastes like…"
He remembered how he used to make his own meals before. Bad cooking, almost tasteless, but he forced himself to eat it. He only endured it because he remembered his mother's words always advising him: "Don't rely on fast food too much, learn to depend on yourself."
The result was daily suffering with meals that were barely tolerable.
But now… he felt truly alive.
Morgan ate all his food, leaving nothing behind. When he finished, he felt a slight fullness in his stomach, smiled tiredly, and said with a sigh:
"So this is food… otherwise, nothing."
After satisfying his hunger, his mind gradually returned to thinking.
What would he do now?
His goal had been clear from the beginning: to return to his world.
And the only way was to perform those strange rituals, but he did not know the substance they had mixed…
Therefore, he could not perform anything at the moment.
He breathed deeply and realized he had to think of a closer, more realistic step.
First, he needed a place to spend the night… at least.
He wondered to himself:
"Is there work I can do? Work that pays well?"
He began reviewing what he could do, trying to assess his abilities and the options available to him in this strange world. He remained absorbed in his thoughts, standing in a state of daze and stagnation, not noticing what was around him…
until he suddenly collided with something.
Morgan fell backward, groaning in pain, thinking he had hit a wall or an iron post. He got up slowly, placing his hand on his head where a slight swelling had appeared, muttering resentfully: "I should have been more careful… I almost smashed my head with this collision."
But as soon as he raised his head, he froze, astonishment written on his face.
It was not a wall in front of him… it was a person.
A man in his mid-twenties, tall, with jet-black hair falling down his back, calm features yet carrying a hidden coldness. His eyes were dark, with faint yellowing that intensified his gaze and gave it a strange, hard-to-ignore feeling.
When Morgan realized he had collided with a real person, he flinched immediately and leaned slightly in a quick apologetic gesture, saying sincerely:
"I-I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't paying attention to what was in front of me. Please forgive me."
The man did not respond immediately, only staring at him with a cold, silent gaze that made Morgan feel a bit of tension and fear creep into his chest. His breaths quickened without him noticing, as if he had made a grave mistake unintentionally.
Then, unexpectedly, a slight smile appeared on the man's face, and he said in a calm tone:
"Don't worry, it's not a big deal. I should have been more careful too."
Morgan exhaled in relief, feeling the weight lift from his chest. He was about to leave after bowing slightly in respect, but the man's voice stopped him before he walked away:
"Um… excuse me, could you point me to a hotel nearby? I seem to be a bit lost."
Morgan stopped and looked at him cautiously.
By nature, he was a careful person, not easily trusting strangers. In his mind, he thought:
"Why are you asking me? Do I look like a tour guide?"
But he did not say it aloud.
He simply shrugged lightly, then pointed with his hand in a direction, saying:
"Go that way, then turn right. You'll find a street on your right; enter it… there you'll find a hotel."
The man's face brightened slightly, as if Morgan's words had lifted a heavy burden from him. He said quickly, extending his hand for a handshake:
"Thank you for your help. I'm really tired. I'll repay this debt the next time we meet."
Then he walked away with steady steps, gradually disappearing into the alleys.
Morgan stared at his back for a few moments before shaking his head lightly and returning to his thoughts.
Darkness had fully fallen, while Morgan had spent the entire day lost in thought, trying to find something he could do to settle in this world. But all his attempts had failed; he was not skilled at anything.
He spent most of his time reading novels. He had not given himself the chance to learn something practical, and he did not feel regret about it. He justified it in his mind:
"Why waste my time learning things that are useless, when I can read web novels whenever I want?"
For that reason, he felt no remorse… at least at that time.
But as night fell, the air grew colder. His body shivered uncontrollably, for the place he was standing in was nothing but a deserted street.
Suddenly, he realized the harshness of his situation.
He had literally become like a beggar.
He hugged his arms to his chest, trying to warm himself, muttering quietly:
"Why was I reincarnated in the body of a poor person? At least if I had been in the body of a rich person… I would live in comfort, surrounded by money on all sides."
And when he thought about money, he felt a strange, inexplicable happiness. He loved money very much, perhaps more than he should.
Morgan stood there, shivering nonstop, until he suddenly felt a strange sensation in his hands. It was as if he had placed them over burning flames.
The heat increased… second by second.
He looked at his hands quickly, his heart pounding, to see something unnatural happening before his eyes.
His eyes widened as he muttered anxiously:
"W-what is happening to my hands?"
A strange mark appeared on his skin, stretching in a long, winding shape. In its center were dark dots, and around them mysterious letters began slowly forming. In just a few moments, a permanent tattoo had appeared, centered by a black shape surrounded by faint red edges.
Morgan felt unbearable pain. Every passing second made the burning sensation intensify, until it felt as though his hands were completely on fire. He screamed from the pain, trying to pull his hands away, but it was useless; the pain only increased, spreading and penetrating deep into him.
Then… the pain spread to the rest of his body.
He felt as if he were being burned alive. He bit his teeth, breathing in short gasps, and this agony lasted for nearly a full minute. He was about to lose consciousness, even believing the end had come, but suddenly — the pain stopped.
Morgan fell to his knees, panting, breathing deeply, trying to gradually regain his breath. After moments of heavy silence, he slowly lifted his head and looked at his hands once again…