His senses bled back into him, raw and overloaded. Slowly, he pushed himself up.
Pain—bright and specific—lit up his joints. His lower back screamed. His knees throbbed.
"Ah—fuck!" He staggered, a marionette with cut strings. "My whole body hurts… what the hell is happening?"
His breath hitched as he scanned the surroundings. Heart pounding, a frantic drum against his ribs.
"This… has to be a prank."
But the forest didn't care for pranks.
It stretched in every direction: a labyrinth of immense trees, trunks thicker than cars, canopies so dense they turned the sky into a patchwork of gloom. No roads. No power lines. No broken bottle or footprint to suggest a human had ever been here.
A stupid, desperate thought surfaced.
Wait… no. That only happens in fucking anime.
His pulse hammered in his throat.
"I couldn't have been… isekai'd. Right?"
He looked down.
Same black Solo Leveling hoodie. Same Deadpool belt. He raised a trembling hand.
Orange-red dust clung to his fingertips.
Cheeto powder.
He stared at it. The most mundane evidence in the world.
"…Yeah. Not reincarnated," he muttered, voice flat. "Reincarnated people don't bring snack residue."
The absurdity of it—the sheer, stupid unfairness—detonated in his chest.
"GODDAMN IT! WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT IS THIS!?"
His scream tore through the quiet, raw and furious. It echoed off the monstrous trees, died, and left a deeper silence in its wake. Somewhere high above, a flock of birds burst from the canopy. Their wings were too long, their feathers glinting with unnatural, metallic blues and purples. Alien. Beautiful. Terrifying.
The forest offered no answer. Just the sigh of the wind.
His legs gave out. Knees hit the damp earth, cold seeping through his pants immediately. He gripped a handful of soil, roots, and rotting leaves.
"Haah… hahh… what do I… do?"
The question was a whisper, swallowed by the immense green. His eyes darted, hunting for a path, a sign, a glitch in the rendering. There was none. This wasn't a game map. It was a place.
Ding.
The sound was soft, digital, and utterly, horrifyingly familiar.
His breath froze.
"…No way."
A translucent shimmer warped the air before him. Words formed, clean and sterile against the organic chaos of the forest.
User recognized. Initializing System.
"…You've gotta be fucking kidding me."
A window materialized in the center of his vision. A semi-transparent blue interface, all sharp edges and steady progress bars.
Initialization… 2%… 4%… 7%…
The percentage climbed with methodical indifference.
"…No. No, no, no," he whispered, a mantra of denial. He didn't blink. The bar filled.
12%. 18%. 25%.
This wasn't a hallucination. It was an interface. And it was loading.
Initialization Complete. Commencing user and surroundings scan…
Location: Unknown Forest. No cartographic match.
User Status: Disoriented. High stress markers. Physiometric analysis indicates minimal survival conditioning. Physical readiness: critically low. Psychological adaptation: poor.
Yeah, no shit I know that. Tell me something I don't! Like what the hell is happening? Why am I here? And whoever dumped me here didn't even give me shoes! I'm in goddamn socks!
Warning: Elevated emotional distress detected. Language filters disabled.
Event Classification: Forced Displacement.
Cause: Unknown. No summoning ritual signature, soul contract, or user consent flag detected.
Hypothesis: You were extracted from your point of origin during a non-standard spatial event. Preparation was nil. This suggests either a catastrophic summoning failure, an incomplete transitional spell, or deliberate displacement by an entity with negligible regard for recipient integrity.
Previous Location: Confirmed — private domicile (bedroom).
Current State: Abrupt translocation. Zero adaptation period.
Note on Footwear: Omission is not an error. Translocation captured all matter in direct physical contact with your biological form at the moment of transfer. Fabric of socks: yes. Rubber soles of shoes: no. You were, technically, not wearing them at the exact nanosecond of displacement.
Conclusion: You are an anomaly. Your presence here is either a mistake, an accident, or the opening move in a game you did not agree to play.
Immediate Threats:
Unprotected podiatric extremities in biologically active terrain.
Unclassified fauna (potential predators/scavengers).
Absence of shelter, tools, or viable sustenance.
A guiding system that possesses no data on why you are here, only that you are.
Recommendation: Cease searching for higher purpose. Begin searching for durable foot coverings and potable water. Priority: survive the next 12 hours.
You mother—Tch! Hell! Fine. It's right. Gotta move.
But first.
System. What are you? What can you actually do?
Analyzing query…
System Functions: Skill Integration. Trait Cataloging. Title Assignment. Achievement Logging.
Skills: A skill is a reproducible, complex action pattern that reaches a threshold of conscious competence. You will not gain a skill for every trivial action (e.g., Blinking, Swallowing). Skills emerge from focused repetition, survival necessity, or significant insight.
Example Interface:
[Skill Learned: Sprinting (Level 1, Tier E- | Basic)]
You can attempt to run very fast for a very short time. Form is poor. Energy efficiency is catastrophic. The System will now optimize your technique to reduce the risk of tripping and/or cardiac arrest.
Skill Progression:
Level Up: Proficiency, reliability, and efficiency increase with use. My optimization accelerates this process, refining form and reducing waste.
Tier/Upgrade: Refinement within the skill's current function (e.g., faster, quieter, less stamina drain).
Evolution: A fundamental change in the skill's nature. This may consume and replace the existing skill, branch from it as a variant/sub-skill, or form an entirely new skill tree. Upon evolution, the level resets, starting anew within the new framework.
Maximum Level: Unknown. It varies by skill, tier, and context.
Description Updates: The skill's description will update to reflect any significant change in function, efficiency, or scope.
Skill & Trait Grading:
Not all skills are equal. Sprinting (Basic) and Magically-Enhanced Phasic Sprinting (High) exist on different ontological grades—from Trash and Lesser to Basic, High, Advanced, and beyond. Their effects, leveling speed, and how the world interacts with them differ fundamentally. A High-tier skill is not just a better Basic skill; it is a different kind of thing.
Traits: Follow similar rules. They level, can evolve or corrupt, and their descriptions update with change. A trait like [Lesser Cold Resistance] is fundamentally different from [Permafrost Bloodline].
Core Principles & Limitations:
No stat points. No reward system for kills or tasks.
No skill on demand. You cannot request a skill. I detect and formalize patterns that already exist in your capability. No free gifts.
No instant mastery. I provide optimization, not gifts.
My sensory and analytical range is bound by your own. I see through your eyes, hear through your ears. I possess no inherent knowledge of this world. My knowledge base is your knowledge base, processed and extrapolated.
My analysis is faster and more precise than the average human mind—I can cross-reference memories you've forgotten, calculate trajectories you can't visualize, and detect micro-patterns in behavior or environment. Think of me as your intellect, amplified.
However.
This world is unknown. My capabilities, while significant, are not unique or supreme.
You may encounter beings with innate talents, ancient bloodlines, or artifacts that grant cognitive or physical advantages rivaling my own. A genius strategist, a master of body control, an oracle with centuries of insight—each could challenge or surpass my analytical speed in their domain. Just as your world had its Einsteins and its Michael Jacksons, this world will have its own exceptional individuals. Some may even possess tools or traits that see further, calculate faster, or understand deeper than I currently can.
Data is insufficient for further prediction. You are the probe. I am the instrument. We will learn together.
The blue window lingered, a cold, intelligent presence in his mind. It was not a cheat sheet. It was a mirror—one that showed him what he was capable of, then helped him do it slightly less poorly.
Ali looked from the interface to his sock-clad feet, already damp and chilled. The grand existential questions—the why—shriveled before the immediate, physical ones.
First: survive.
Then, maybe, understand.
He took a shaky breath. The System's clinical tone was somehow worse than panic. Panic was human. This was… procedural.
"Okay," he muttered to himself, to the trees, to the silent blue text. "Okay. Don't freeze. Move."
He pushed himself up again, more carefully this time. His socks were already soaked through at the toes, the dark fabric clinging to his skin. Every step was a negotiation with the uneven, root-strewn ground. A sharp twig jabbed the ball of his foot. He hissed, hopping on one leg.
[Environmental Hazard: Puncture Risk – High.]
Suggestion: Prioritize foot protection. Identify fibrous plant bark or supple wood for primitive foot wraps.
"Yeah, working on it," he grumbled, scanning the underbrush. His eyes, trained by years of scanning game environments for loot glow or hidden paths, now searched for utility. A low shrub with wide, peeling bark. He limped toward it.
As he crouched, hands fumbling with the unfamiliar texture, the System spoke again, not as an answer, but as an observation.
[Behavior Pattern Recognized: Resourceful Scavenging.]
Note: This action, if repeated under similar duress, may contribute to a future skill acquisition. Not guaranteed.
Ali tore a strip of bark with a grunt. It was tougher than it looked. His nails bent. Pain flared in his fingertips.
"Great. Just great."
He worked in silence, the only sounds his ragged breathing and the distant, unknowable calls of the forest. Each clumsy wrap of bark around his foot felt like a confession of failure. This wasn't crafting. This was desperation.
Finally, he stood. His new "footwear" was bulky, awkward, and promised blisters. But it was a barrier.
He took a step. Then another. The forest didn't part. No path appeared. But he was moving.
The blue interface remained, a persistent ghost in his periphery. It didn't cheer him on. It didn't offer a new quest. It just was.
And in its silent, analytical presence, Ali understood the true horror.
He wasn't in a game with rules to break.
He was in a world with consequences.
And the only system he had was one that would meticulously, coldly, record every single one of them.