The birds outside started again, loud and endless.

I cracked one eye open, groaned, and shifted against the pile of leaves that passed for a bed. Sunlight reached through the cave mouth, flashing across the stone in bright gold patches. Beautiful, sure, but brutal when you had just woken up.

I stretched. Joints popped one by one. Too many hours spent curled on hard ground. I sat up slow, drew a breath, blinked through the glare. I was on my feet technically. The part about feeling alive could wait.

The goal stayed simple. Get better. Fast. The slingshot was still my best chance at that.

I stepped outside and scanned the clearing. There was a tree standing across the way, tall and weathered, branches high, bark full of old scars.

That would do.

I picked a spot on the trunk. Small knot near the center. Everything around it faded. The birds. The rustle of leaves. Even the insects dropped to a murmur. It was just me, the slingshot in my hand, and that patch of bark.

I drew the pouch back. My fingers trembled slightly, not from nerves.

“Sōten Ishi,” I murmured, half serious, half trying to shake the nerves loose.

The shot landed solid. The impact echoed, and the stone disappeared into the brush. I exhaled and smiled, just a little.

Not bad.

But I did not let it go to my head.

So I kept going. Over and over. Stone after stone. My arms fell into a beat. Aim, fire, reload. The weight of repetition started to strip the rough edges off my movements.

By the time I stopped, the tree looked like something from a bad dream.

I wiped the sweat off my face and let out a breath.

It was something. A step forward.

Hitting a tree that did not hit back was not real. That was training wheels. The real stuff fought back. The real stuff wanted to break you.

Anyway, I needed food. Rabbits were not cutting it, and that sketchy Online Store was basically a trap.

Seven gold for one Kashipan bread. Because clearly it is kneaded by monks and baked in a volcano.

So, I headed into the forest. This time, I moved with more discipline. I knew where to place my feet. I knew what noises not to make. The trees did not feel as distant anymore. The forest felt alive, but in a way that made space for me now.

Birds called out somewhere above. Leaves brushed against each other in a soft, rambling hush. A rustle now and then urged me to ease my pace, yet nothing came for me. The forest moved in a fixed pace. For a brief stretch, I moved with it.

Then everything changed.

Not the wind. Not a sound. A pressure filled the air, dense and unmoving.

They’re watching.

The slingshot was already in my grip. My body chose before my thoughts caught up.

A flicker.

A hint of movement between two trees, barely more than a breath in the dark.

I pushed forward.

My legs drove me on. Branches reached for my arms. Roots waited to trip me. I stayed upright and kept going. Each step grew finer in timing and stance. My body answered the path with a readiness I had never trained.

I broke into a clearing. My feet skidded across a bed of moss. I came to a stop.

And it stood before me.

A creature shaped from iron discipline and natural instinct. Low to the ground, coiled with tension. Spines rose along its back, each one curved in a way that suggested fire had touched them once. Its eyes held mine. No fear. No panic.

They were watching.

Neither of us moved.

I tightened my grip. My voice came out low.

“Status Sight.”

________________________________________

Brambler (Kiiroi)

LEVEL: 2

TITLE: NONE

Description: A Kiiroi Ikimono creature resembling a porcupine with thorny quills. These vines can extend and entangle threats. Its meat is said to be extremely delicious and a delicacy among the Midoris. But be careful of its quills. Although not poisonous, they can be quite painful if you get hit.

________________________________________

Oh, pristine meat.

I prayed it had lived up to the review. Rich flavor, soft texture, that melt-in-the-mouth feeling that made my whole body relax.

I licked my lips, eyes fixed on the brambler. Shame it looked so harmless you would almost expect it on a child’s pillow instead of a plate.

It tilted its head, big eyes gleaming, whole body trembling with that pitiful stillness prey got when it knew what was coming.

For a second, I felt something. Not guilt. Close, but not quite.

I shook it off.

“Nice try, Pokey,” I said, voice steady. “Cuteness stopped working on me a long time ago.”

I raised the slingshot, drew the pouch, breathed in slow, held it.

“Time to go.”

The marble stone shot forward and struck the brambler’s side. A clean hit. It bounced once, then dropped. Rolled a little, then went still.

“What?”

That shot had a lot of force. Way more than enough. But the brambler just stood there. Did not twitch. No damage. No mark. Nothing.

I fired again. Then again.

At one point I yelled, “Headshot,” just to keep my nerves from folding in on themselves.

None of it affected. The brambler observed every failed motion. Its stillness turned the whole scene into a private disgrace.

“Okay. What are you made of?” I muttered. “Metal? Or pure stubbornness?”

Then it moved.

The body gave a sharp shake. The sound that followed cracked through the air. Quills shuddered.

My spine locked. Every part of me knew what was next.

“What is this little—”

I could not draw a full breath before a quill sliced past my face.

Too close.

It had not just twitched. It had attacked.

“Wait. Can it actually shoot those?”

It could.

I barely slipped to the side. The air where I had just stood was empty and mean.

That was a warning shot. Then it went all in.

More quills burst out, as if something inside it had finally snapped and there was no pulling back. A tight storm of projectiles cut through the space between us.

I dove, rolled, slammed into a root, and kept moving. Did not think. Just moved.

Each one of those things tore past and struck the place in me I had tried to sink for years.

I stumbled behind a tree and pressed in close.

Slingshot? Not worth it.

Aim? Sure, but that thing did not care.

Gear? Might as well have been paper.

This was past a bad matchup. This was something else. This was the world reminding me where I really stood.

This fight was not mine. Not yet.

I turned and ran.

The brambler gave chase. Much faster than it looked. The sound of its quills filled the space between footsteps. I did not look back. Just moved.

Then it nailed me.

A sharp sting tore into my ass.

I screamed.

The pain spread quick. I stumbled, grabbed a tree for balance, and pushed forward.

Then another one hit. Same spot.

I yelled again, higher this time. A full-body jolt sent me reeling.

I nearly went down. Barely kept my footing.

My legs barely listened. My face burned. And I swore the brambler was right behind me, just enjoying the chase.

Eventually—how long had I been running? Ten minutes? Twenty?—I stumbled into the stream near my cave after the brambler gave up the chase.

The water was calm. It did not care what I had just gone through. Did not ask.

I dropped to my knees, gasping, shaking, dripping sweat and failure. Lucky no one was around to see this mess.

I breathed hard and tried to shove the shame down beneath the heat blooming across my backside. My chest tightened. My lungs burned. My hands trembled, still wired for a threat that no longer stood there.

I reached back and felt the regret.

Slowly, I pulled the quills free one at a time.

Each one burned on the way out.

The sting stayed. The game pressed the lesson into my nerves to make sure I remembered who held the higher ground in this place.

But why was it always my butt? I mean, come on. What ancient forest god did I offend?

Another quill came loose. I let out a short yell and tossed it into the stream. It floated off with no guilt.

The whole forest felt smug about this. I swore it did.

Look, I had had a vision. Cool. Competent. Capable. But today I got humbled by a furry landmine.

At least the quill did not carry venom. The relief faded fast. Every puncture throbbed, steady and sure, a reminder pressed into the skin.

The plan had been to celebrate with a self-earned meal. Sit by the fire with something cooked, something hunted, something real. That dream was gone.

My pride scattered right alongside it. My stomach was louder than the birds. Louder than my own thoughts.

I gave in. Muttering under my breath like an old NPC burdened with endless quests, I opened the Online Store. Bought a Shokupan with chicken filling.

It cost ten gold. Ten.

The icon flashed, proud of its own existence. It tasted good, sure. But my wallet might as well have been screaming from the other side of the screen.

When the sting from both the wounds and the price tag finally faded a bit, I remembered the idea I had had last night. The desperate theory.

What if grinding out actual exercise could raise my stats?

A trail lay close to the cave, about two miles. It was peaceful, with trees arching overhead. Everything was calm except for the constant sense that every step I took was under scrutiny.

I started with sit ups.

Got to twenty. Barely.

I collapsed, my spine staging a revolt of its own.

For a moment, I gazed up at the sky, reflecting on all the decisions I had made in my life that had brought me to this point.

Push-ups came next.

Seven. That is it. Seven.

On the seventh, I had stopped. My body hit the dirt and stayed there. Face first. The world threw a punch and dropped me, and I was still working out what day I belonged to.

“Why am I so weak?” I mumbled into the grass.

And then I heard her voice in my head.

Mai.

Clear as day, like she was standing beside me again.

“Squats build leg strength.” That was what she always reminded me.

So I hauled myself up again and started. I counted them out loud. Not for tracking. For survival. For pride. For stubbornness.

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

My legs felt ready to come undone. Half expecting my thighs to have become floppy noodles from the strain.

I dropped to the ground and whispered. “This is going to suck.”

But I’m not done yet.

There was the final test. The one Mai swore by back in junior high.

Running.

She used to say, “A hundred sit ups, a hundred push-ups, a hundred squats, and a six mile run every day turns anyone into the strongest man in the world.”

I used to laugh at that. Pretty sure she got it from some manga where people punched holes through mountains and called it leg day.

But now? Here, in this digital world? That might actually be possible if I could ever raise my STR to 10,000.

Of course, it would probably take a thousand years at this rate.

I pushed off the ground and started running. My legs refused to obey fully. Arms flailed. Breathing ran wild. I felt like I was a house divided, with three versions of myself all doing their own thing.

But I kept going. No system notifications. Just pain, air, and footsteps.

I made it a mile. Barely.

Then I stopped. Hunched over. Hands on knees. Gasping.

At this point, my body was here technically. But my spirit? Flatlined. Somewhere in a metaphorical ditch trying to Google escape plans.

I needed water. Or a nap. Or maybe a busty deri jō cheering me on like I was in a sports anime. Preferably all three.

And right when I thought things could not get worse, I heard it.

Leaves shifted. Something crunched. Just enough sound to punch through the ringing in my ears.

I looked up. Ten yards out, standing with the confidence of a creature that ruled the forest, waited the brambler.

Same size. Same eyes. Same too cute to trust energy.

“Pokey?” I croaked. My voice scraped through my throat. Even the trees seemed to tighten in sympathy.

The brambler quivered. Its spines twitched, each one rising in a neat row, ready for a communal strike.

This isn’t happening again.

I turned and ran. No clever lines. No pride left to protect.

Just sprinting on pure, stupid fear. The kind you only earn by surviving it once already.

“What the hell is wrong with this world?” I shouted as branches whipped past and roots tried to trip me up.

The forest did not answer. It was too busy laughing.

Half an hour later, I crawled back to the stream. Hands and knees. Quills sticking out of places quills had no business being.

I reached back, wincing as I started the now familiar process of pulling them free. Each one felt worse than the last.

My butt? Checked out. Emotionally unavailable. Currently filing complaints with higher powers.

“That’s it,” I sniffled. “I give up.”

I would go find a nice cliff and do a triple swan dive.

Maybe in the live game, the tutorial doesn’t come with butt trauma as a bonus round. Consider yourself lucky.

I slumped over, ready to quit.

And then it happened.

The system pinged. That bright blue screen slid into view.

________________________________________

Well Done! You Have Increased Your STR And DEX By 1 Point Each.

________________________________________

I blinked. Once. Twice.

Then I read it again.

“Wait. What?” I dragged myself upright. Still aching. Still half-dead. But now there was a flicker of something else—

Hope.

I raised my fists in the air in a clumsy victory pose.

“It worked.” A shaky grin crept across my face.

I said it again, stronger. “It actually worked.”

The pain eased its grip. Not gone, but no longer the thing steering me.

I laughed. Short. Loud. A little unhinged.

Sweaty. Sore. Emotionally scuffed. But I did it. Progress. Real progress.

I glanced toward the trees. The grin was still there. “Watch out, Pokey,” I hissed. “Next time? I bring the pain.”