"Asfinne…"
A voice rang out.
Soft, gentle, and almost too harmless. It sounded like someone calling a name—or perhaps… referring to something I didn't yet understand.
The reason I couldn't be certain was because of the language. The letters carved into the doors—weren't English, nor any language I was familiar with.
So the word Asfinne might not be a name. It could be a title, or some form of address I was never meant to understand in the first place.
I slowly turned my head toward the source of the voice, to the left side of my body.
A woman was standing there.
Light blond hair falling past her shoulders, clear blue eyes looking at me with gentle warmth. She looked to be in her late twenties—twenty-seven, maybe twenty-eight.
She wore muted-colored clothing in a simple medieval style, resembling the attire of a cleaner… or a caretaker.
I wasn't startled—not because I was brave, but because that voice… had "age."
From my deduction,
This place was an orphanage.
And children wouldn't have a voice like that—or rather, she was one of the caretakers.
Alenya.
Even though I wasn't startled,
I felt afraid.
Afraid that my posture, my expression, or even the way I breathed would reveal the truth I least wanted anyone to know.
The truth that—
I am not the owner of this body.
I let out a silent sigh inwardly.
If I had run into another child, this would've been easier.
No—actually, not easier at all. Children grow close quickly. They share secrets easily.
Even if they're not as sharp as adults, they're just as dangerous.
If I had a choice,
I wouldn't want to meet anyone at all.
But I already chose.
I chose to leave the room. I chose to come down and face this world.
I rapidly reviewed the information from the notebook.
A boy who faced danger without showing fear.
A quiet child. Socially withdrawn And Alenya—clearly happy when the writer of the notebook asked about Aldric.
If I truly was "that child,"
Then I had to act like it.
I turned to her and offered a very small smile.
I didn't dare speak.
If the language I used was wrong—if I accidentally spoke English—she would be shocked.
And suspicious.
Alenya smiled back. Her gaze wasn't pressing, not demanding She simply… looked at me.
Silence spread throughout the room—so deep I could hear my own heartbeat.
Finally,
She was the one who spoke.
"Asfinne… you're awake, then?"
Her voice was still gentle, pleasant, with a hint of cheerfulness woven into it.
I inhaled, then slowly exhaled.
The mind game has begun.
I thought to myself.
Asfinne… she knew my name. And the language she was using—I understood it. Even though it wasn't a language from my old world, I somehow "knew" its meaning.
Suspicious.
But this wasn't the time to think about that.
If she wasn't lying, then I would believe her. There was no reason for someone to lie about a child's name without motive.
Awake…
Did she mean waking up from the room?
Normally, a caretaker wouldn't ask a child like this—but Asfinne wasn't an ordinary child.
Quiet.
Unresponsive.
Socially withdrawn. If she was trying to make conversation, it wouldn't be strange.
How should I respond?
A shy child?
An indifferent child?
Or a child who seemed to be hiding something?
But first, I had to be sure.
Sure that this name wasn't a lie.
Sure that she would be the one to reveal information first.
I nodded lightly.
The safest answer possible.
Silence returned—this time, heavier than before.
Alenya's smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, as if surprised… yet also as if she had expected it.
"So, how was it, dear… this morning?"
Her voice sounded again—soft, unchanged, too gentle to refuse.
How was this morning? To a child? The question sounded ordinary, but to me—it was far too suspicious.
Or maybe she was just making conversation. The kind caretakers used with children.
…Or—
Something really had happened "this morning."
An event I didn't know.
An event the real Asfinne should have known.
How should I answer to be safest?
I quickly reviewed my condition.
When I woke up, my body felt sore. My head was heavy—like someone who had slept too long. Symptoms like that could have many causes.
—Me replacing the original consciousness.
—Being unfamiliar with a new body.
—Memories that weren't mine, adjusting.
Or—
Asfinne really had slept for too long.
Any of those answers could be "true."
And the important thing was—she had no way to prove it.
How could she know whether I had overslept last night?
I inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly.
Organized my words, then answered carefully.
"When I woke up… I felt sore all over, and my head hurt a little. But it was still bearable."
Not too much. Not too little.
Just right.
Alenya's smile relaxed visibly—a smile of relief, like someone hearing the answer they had expected.
But I noticed something in her eyes.
Concern—carefully hidden.
It seemed these symptoms were something she had already anticipated.
She continued in a warm tone.
"Asfinne really is a strong child. No matter how much it hurts, you endure it. When you grow up, you'll definitely become a strong man."
Her tone was confident—like she was speaking of something already proven.
I let out a soft laugh.
More bitter than I intended.
Strong?
Just a headache and body aches—
How could that compare to what I'd been through?
My past—
Was filled with things far heavier than this.
She spoke again, as if suddenly remembering something.
"You know, you were unconscious for several days. Everyone was very worried about you."
She smiled—and then stopped.
Stopped… longer than she should have.
As if waiting for something.
Waiting for a reaction.
Waiting for an answer—or a mistake.
My heart twitched slightly. Was she suspicious of me? Or was I overthinking?
I tried to keep my composure, even as everything inside me began to unravel.
I knew this response mattered.
Too slow—it would seem strange.
Too fast—it would seem thoughtless.
So I replied at a carefully calculated pace.
"Is that so…"
I paused slightly, then offered a faint smile.
"I'm glad… that everyone was worried about me."
Not a lie.
But not the whole truth.
And in Alenya's eyes, I couldn't tell—
Whether she believed me, Or simply chose to believe.
Her reply came naturally, an ordinary
response from an ordinary person.
"Of course… everyone was worried."
She spoke as if it were something that didn't even need to be questioned.
Her voice was confident, without hesitation.
"I can't wait to see everyone else's reaction."
Alenya tilted her head slightly, her smile still present.
"For example—Sonia."
She paused briefly, as if choosing her words.
"She probably won't show how happy she is. But deep down… she might be more worried than anyone else."
Sonia…
I repeated the name in my mind, committing it to memory.
If I saw someone who acted indifferent, but whose eyes betrayed concern—I would know immediately.
That was her.
"And Galax…"
Alenya let out a soft laugh.
"He'll probably be openly happy—over-the-top, even."
Galax—
A passionate boy. A leader. Someone who cared about others.
I began assembling their images in my mind.
One by one.
Trait by trait.
"Merian…"
She looked thoughtful again.
"Merian would probably be quietly happy for you. Not very talkative, but sincere."
Merian—
Calm. Reserved. Like Asfinne.
I understood.
She turned back to me, her blue eyes filled with expectation.
"Do you think so too?"
Her voice was as pleasant as ever.
But that question—
Wasn't just casual conversation.
I nodded, then answered carefully.
"I think so too. I believe… everyone was worried about me, in their own way."
Alenya's smile widened visibly. A soft laugh escaped her—one filled with satisfaction.
"That's right!"
She said cheerfully, then quickly added,
"And I really can't wait for Sonia to see you."
…Sonia?
Why emphasize her name again? A thought flashed through my mind. Could it be—
She had some kind of relationship with Asfinne? Someone who acted cold, but cared more than anyone realized?
I understood.
I knew what I should do.
I acted a little shy, avoided her gaze, smiled like an uncertain child.
"I-I don't think so… she doesn't seem to like me very much."
Alenya laughed again—this time louder. Her smile was brighter than before.
She looked very pleased with that answer.
As if—
This was the reaction she had been waiting for all along.
Before she reached out and picked up a frying pan,
I hesitated slightly.
From her movements and the way the ingredients were laid out, it seemed like she was about to… actually cook?
Or was this just another part of the act?
But if she had gone so far as to pick up a pan—
Then that must mean—
The mind game should be over.
I smiled faintly without realizing it.
A smile I wasn't even sure came from relief,
Or from thinking I had "won" something.
But then—
A voice interrupted my thoughts.
Alenya's voice.
"Hey… do you know what I'm about to make?"
Her tone wasn't a question.
It was too confident.
Confident, as if she already knew the answer—and was waiting for me to say what she expected.
I let out a soft sigh.
It seemed this wasn't going to end as easily as I had hoped.
My gaze slowly traced the ingredients on the table.
Bacon—placed on the far left.
Fried eggs—in the center.
Bread—on the right.
The arrangement was too deliberate.
Not coincidence. Not random placement.
This was… breakfast.
Breakfast from my old world.
Maybe this world had similar eating habits.
Or maybe
She was deliberately trying to make me "remember."
But what I didn't understand was—
Why she was so confident I would know the answer.
Or perhaps…
It had something to do with me.
"Yooou—knooow, riiight~? As—fiiin—nee~!"
She dragged out my name playfully,
emphasizing each syllable, like knocking on the door of my thoughts again and again.
And all I could ask myself was—
How was I supposed to know?
It seemed I had no choice—
I had to keep "playing" this riddle game.
I slowly began organizing the information in my head.
First—the way she deliberately emphasized my name: As–fin–ne. Three syllables.
Second—the ingredients: bacon first, eggs second, bread third.
Three items.
Same number. Same rhythm. There was no proof. No solid reasoning. But it was… worth the risk.Even if I was wrong, I could still make excuses.
So I decided to answer—carefully.
"That would be… my name mixed with the three ingredients, right? Which would be—"
But before I could finish—
She cut in immediately, her voice bright, cheerful, and full of satisfaction.
"That's right! It's Falon–Fren–Ess!"
She declared it like it wasn't just the name of a dish,
But a small victory she had been waiting for me to acknowledge.
After she said it—
In that moment—
I began to understand something.
Sometimes.
Survival isn't about telling the whole truth.
But about saying—
"What others want to hear."
Without lying even once.