Chapter 1: Unlucky Life
"Augh… Sold again. Damn you, Hoshiguma… I was actually starting to warm up to you."
Osha groaned, lying on a pile of half-rotted hay inside the cramped, creaking stable of the ship he was now being transported on. His cat ears drooped miserably, twitching against the awful smells, manure, spilled feed, and something suspiciously like old cabbage stew. His nose, annoyingly more sensitive than most thanks to his feline features, suffered greatly. But honestly, the stench wasn't even the real problem right now.
The real problem was that he'd just been sold. Again.
By Hoshiguma.
The towering, one-eyed ronin who'd taken him in after raiding the caravan he was originally sold into. Five long years he'd spent with those ronins. Five years of eating scraps, dodging blades, and learning how to gamble poorly. Five years where, against all odds, he'd actually grown fond of the grumpy brute. And for a moment a fleeting, naive moment. Osha thought maybe, just maybe, he'd finally found a place he belonged.
Yeah. Wishful thinking.
"Well… at least I've still got you to understand me, Roach."
Osha muttered, reaching out to pat the dusty, brown horse in the stable beside him. The animal let out a gentle, sympathetic neigh, as if it genuinely understood his problems. Osha didn't care if it was the same horse as last time, he called every horse he met Roach for some reason. It felt comforting, like an old friend who kept showing up in his life no matter how bad things got.
He let out a long, exaggerated sigh and turned his gaze toward the ceiling of the ship.
"Fontaine, huh… The land of elegance, justice, and my favorite character of all time… Furina."
A wistful smile tugged at his lips for a moment...
"Yeah, like I have any chance of ever meeting her. If my luck keeps up, I'll probably get sold to a fishmonger before I even step off the boat."
He was only eight years old, and yet his life had been a relentless series of unfortunate events. Sold by his own mother at the tender age of three for a handful of Mora and what might've been a loaf of stale bread. Picked up by Hoshiguma during a caravan raid, and somehow survived half a decade of living among lawless ronins who debated selling him every other week. But Hoshiguma… Hoshiguma, that stubborn old ronin, had started to like him. Osha could tell. It had taken five years, but it happened.
And then the sound of clinking Mora ruined it all.
"In the end."
Osha muttered bitterly, pulling out the small tanto knife Hoshiguma had slipped into his hand before the final goodbye.
"He was still an outlaw who couldn't resist the sweet, chinking sound of Mora."
He traced a finger along the blade's edge, not sharp enough to kill anyone important, but good enough to gut a rat or cut a rope. It was the closest thing to affection Hoshiguma had ever given him.
"At least you didn't leave me empty-handed, you bastard."
And with that, Osha nestled deeper into the hay, ears flicking as the ship rocked gently on the waves, heading toward a fate he was absolutely certain would be as miserable and absurd as the rest of his life.
But hey, maybe Fontaine's horses would be named Roach too.
"Status…"
Osha muttered under his breath, half-expecting no, hoping for a translucent screen to materialize in front of him, just like in all those isekai novels and games he used to read about.
Of course, nothing happened.
He stared at the empty air for a solid few seconds before groaning and throwing his hands up.
"Nyahhh! Why?! Aren't transmigrators supposed to have some sort of cheat skill? A system? A hidden bloodline? A talking sword? Something!"
His voice cracked with frustration, and in his annoyance, he even let out an involuntary hiss, his cat ears flicking in irritation. Beside him, Roach, let out a neigh that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
Osha narrowed his eyes.
"Shut up!"
He hissed at the horse, but Roach merely ambled closer and gently nudged him with its head.
The boy sighed heavily.
"Yeah, yeah… sorry about that."
He reached out and scratched the horse behind its ear, earning a content huff in return. Then, with a dramatic groan, Osha collapsed back onto the hay, staring up at the wooden beams of the ship's ceiling swaying gently with the motion of the sea.
'Eight years.'
He thought bitterly.
'I've been reincarnated in this world for eight whole years, and I haven't even seen one of the characters from the game. Not one. No Ayaka. No Thoma. No Kujou Sara. Not even a side NPC who sells fried fish on a stick!'
His tail flicked against the hay in frustration.
When he first woke up in this new world, he'd been brimming with excitement, imagining himself being spoon-fed fried tofu by Yae Miko in the Grand Narukami Shrine, or maybe training under some grizzled master who'd revealed he was secretly the last descendant of a forgotten warrior clan. He pictured unlocking a Vision at age five, girls fawning over his mysterious aura, and having a smug internal monologue about how overpowered he was.
Instead, reality gave him a household that couldn't care less about him, a mother who sold him for a handful of Mora without batting an eye, and a life that so far consisted mostly of getting sold, sleeping in hay, and naming every horse Roach.
"Damn you, fate…"
He muttered to himself, closing his eyes.
*A few days later...*
Osha lay sprawled on a pile of hay, lazily munching on yet another boiled egg, the only thing the ship's crew ever bothered to toss his way. His cat ears twitched as he sniffed the air, his sensitive nose picking up on something different.
"Hm… the smell's changed."
He muttered to himself, chewing thoughtfully.
"I don't smell the saltiness anymore…"
For days, the overwhelming scent of the sea had clung to everything, wood, rope, hay, even his own hair. But now, it was fading, replaced by something earthier, a mix of damp wood, old stone, and chimney smoke carried by the wind. Land. They must be close.
Osha glanced over at Roach, who was contentedly munching on a bundle of hay nearby. He let out a small sigh, a bittersweet smile creeping onto his face.
"Well, Roach… it was nice meeting you."
He said softly, reaching out to pat the horse's muzzle. The animal let out a soft huff, leaning into the touch like it understood.
It was funny, really. Out of everyone he'd met in this world, a horse was the only one who hadn't tried to sell him, ignore him, or shout at him. Not bad for a four-legged companion he insisted on naming the same thing every time.
His moment of peace was cut short when the door to the ship's lower stable creaked open. Heavy boots clunked against the wooden floorboards as a scruffy-looking porter stepped inside, wrinkling his nose at the mixture of animal and boy stench in the confined space.
The man's gaze landed on Osha with thinly veiled disgust.
"Move it, half-breed."
The words hit like a pebble to the face, small, but irritating. Osha grumbled under his breath, stuffing the last of his boiled egg into his mouth and standing up. His ears flattened instinctively, but he kept his expression neutral. He was used to it by now.
"Yeah, yeah… no need to shout."
He muttered, giving Roach one last pat.
"Take care of yourself, buddy. Try not to get sold."
Roach let out a soft neigh in response, and with that, Osha trudged after the porter, leaving behind the only friend he'd made on the entire miserable voyage.
"Woah…"
Osha breathed out in awe as he stepped out of the ship's cramped, musty stable and into the open air. For a moment, he forgot the smell of manure, forgot being called "half-breed", because the view before him was nothing short of breathtaking.
The ship had docked at a small, picturesque town nestled against a series of hills. Elegant buildings lined the cobblestone streets, their rooftops tiled in blues and golds, and just beyond the bustle of the harbor, a winding road led uphill to a grand estate. A sprawling mansion stood proudly at the top, its ornate towers and stained-glass windows gleaming in the sunlight.
'The architecture… it confirms it. I'm definitely in Fontaine. But this isn't the Court of Fontaine…'
Osha narrowed his eyes, taking in the surroundings with a mix of excitement and caution. Wherever he was, it screamed wealth and nobility which, for someone like him, usually meant two things: trouble… and chores.
Suddenly, a bundle of neatly folded clothes was shoved into his arms.
"Take this."
The porter grunted, barely looking at him.
"And wear it after you shower. You smell like shit.
Osha blinked, staring down at the outfit. It was black, pressed, and stiff with gold-trimmed cuffs and a cravat neatly tucked into the fold. His ears twitched as realization slowly dawned on him.
'Huh? A butler outfit? Am I a servant now?'
He thought, horrified.
He followed the porter down a narrow hallway toward the ship's bathroom, the smell of sea salt now replaced by soap and damp wood. He glanced again at the clothes in his hands.
A butler. Of course. Why wouldn't he be downgraded to a "child labor in formalwear"?
The porter paused outside the door, eyeing Osha as if he were a particularly slow-moving barn animal.
"You do know how to wear it, right?"
Osha forced a smile, tail flicking behind him.
"Oh, sure."
He said dryly.
"I've been dressing like a tiny gentleman since I was born.."
The porter grunted something under his breath and walked off, leaving Osha alone with his fancy new uniform and the depressing realization that he might have just been upgraded… to someone else's problem.
Osha stepped into the ship's bathroom, steam already clinging to the air from the previous crewmembers who had used it. It wasn't exactly luxurious, but to someone who'd spent most of his life sleeping in hay and dirt, it might as well have been a royal bathhouse.
He scrubbed vigorously, making sure to wash every inch of dirt from his body, carefully cleaning his cat ears and tail as well, which, unfortunately, were far more sensitive than he'd like to admit.
"Stupid tail… you collect dirt like a sponge."
He grumbled, muttering to himself as he worked through a particularly stubborn tangle.
Once he was done, he grabbed a towel and dried himself off as best as he could, before turning his attention to the set of clothes waiting for him.
He picked up the butler outfit, running his fingers over the fine fabric, and whistled softly.
"Whoa… this looks awfully expensive…"
He murmured, lifting the coat and examining the golden trim and pristine cuffs.
"This could be worth more than me."
And honestly, it probably was.
He dressed himself slowly, still not entirely used to clothing that wasn't threadbare or held together by sheer hope. The soft fabric felt almost foreign against his skin, but undeniably comfortable. Once everything was in place, the crisp white shirt, the waistcoat, the cravat, and finally the long, elegant coat, he glanced up at the mirror mounted on the wall.
For a second, he didn't even recognize the reflection staring back at him.
"Huh? That's… me?"
Osha stepped closer, ears perking up and tail flicking behind him as he studied his own reflection. His hair, now washed and a bit fluffy, framed his face in soft waves, and his bright, sharp eyes stood out against his pale skin. The uniform, surprisingly, fit him well, almost like it had been made for him.
A slow, smug grin crept onto his face.
"Damn."
He said, turning his head from side to side, examining himself at every angle.
"I actually look… pretty adorable."
He struck a quick, ridiculous pose in the mirror before breaking into a small laugh.
"Maybe this won't be so bad after all."