My brows scrunch as I scan the clearing.

Yeah… this is definitely the same patch of forest where I got dumped at the start of the tutorial. Same trees. Same rocks. Same lighting, like someone cranked up the saturation filter for theater kid energy.

But something feels… off.

It’s like walking into your room and just knowing someone’s touched your stuff.

I try to shake off the weird tension crawling up my spine and pull up my PLAYER STATUS.

The familiar blue panel blinks to life in front of me.

 ________________________________________

PLAYER: AKIRA SAKAMOTO (AOI PLAYER)

LEVEL: 7

CLASS: MARKSMAN

SUBCLASS: GUNNER

TITLE: LOVER OF PEACH

MAIN STATS

HEALTH POINTS (HP): 160 — 100%

MANA POINTS (MP): 300 — 100%

STRENGTH (STR): 8

DEXTERITY (DEX): 7+1

WISDOM (WIS): 3

CHARISMA (CHA): 1

INTELLIGENCE (INT): 30

LUCK (LCK): 2

FREE STAT POINTS: 18

OVERALL PRESTIGE (PRE): +120% (MAX 1000%)

________________________________________

Stats look fine.

Too fine, actually. Everything from the goblin brawl earlier? Accounted for.

Gold? Check.

Gear? Still locked and loaded.

I scan the treeline again.

The trees are all in the same spots. The clearing hasn’t turned into a lava pit or anything.

But the energy?

Totally gone.

Back then, everything was buzzing. Tension, alerts, nonstop system spam.

Now?

It feels like the game’s soul dipped out for a smoke break and forgot to clock back in.

Something in my chest itches. A whisper of paranoia that won’t shut up.

To make sure I’m not just spiraling into full tinfoil mode, I pull up the full map. The holographic display flickers above my wrist like a sci-fi wristwatch ad.

According to the tracker, I haven’t moved an inch. Same coordinates as the first time I dropped into this janky digital reality.

Wait.

Hold up.

Is this the staging area?

And if it is… where the heck is everyone else?

I glance up at the sky, half-expecting a giant neon “JUST KIDDING!” to flash across the clouds.

Nothing.

Just that same digital-blue sky and lazy clouds rolling by like this isn’t a full-blown glitch in the matrix.

“Oi, System,” I call out, “is this some kind of recycled content? You rerunning the pilot episode or what?”

Right on cue, the underbrush rustles.

Leaves shuffle. Branches sway. Every hair on my neck stands up like it just received a direct order from Fight or Flight HQ.

I raise my slingshot automatically, sliding a kōkyū into place like it’s second nature.

“Who goes there?” I say, trying to sound badass.

Inside? Absolute panic. My brain’s already playing mental Tetris, desperately trying to make the pieces fit.

Then, like a rerun nobody asked for… he steps out.

Same goblin. Same scar down his left cheek. Same ugly, smug, punchable face.

No way.

No. Freaking. Way.

“Fear not, young warrior,” he says in that same high-pitched, anime-gremlin voice, “I mean you great harm.”

Then he giggles. Like an actual cartoon imp.

I blink. “Wow. Okay. Same line delivery, Gollum… Hope you’re ready for the encore.”

Snap. Fire.

One kōkyū, right between the eyes.

He drops like a puppet with its strings cut. No scream, no flailing, just a dull thud, like a sack of regret hitting the floor.

I inch closer, slingshot still up.

Something’s poking at my brain. Like déjà vu, but with teeth.

If that was the same goblin from Day One…

Why didn’t he recognize me?

Why didn’t anything click for him?

Before I can dig deeper, the blue system screen blinks into view like it’s been waiting for its big grand entrance.

 ________________________________________

You have killed a Common Goblin

Gold: 10

________________________________________

“That’s it?” I mutter. “Where’s the ring drop? Where’s my EXP? Why didn’t I level up? Hello? This is a scam.”

I kneel beside the goblin and tilt his head.

Yep. Same scar. No mistaking it.

But something still doesn’t fit.

Everything is where it should be. Stats, items, progress.

But the world? It feels like a bootleg version of my first time here. Like someone downloaded the memory, trimmed out all the juicy parts, then hit replay.

I stand up and brush the dirt off my knees. My gaze sweeps the area again, heart thudding way too hard for a guy who just aced a goblin in one shot.

What’s different?

The silence.

Not just quiet. The kind of quiet you get in horror games when the music cuts out, right before something lunges out and makes you throw your controller across the room.

I glance up at the sky again and clench my fists.

“All right, System,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “I’m not falling for this Scooby-Doo mystery arc. What’s really going on here?”

Nothing.

Just wind. Leaves. Stillness.

My eyes flick down to the Ring of Mischief on my finger.

And that’s when it clicks.

… Is it because I already snagged the item the first time around?

Yeah. That’s got to be it.

No wonder the level-up bar is basically on life support. At Level 7, I need way more EXP to see that sweet little number tick up. It makes sense. Logical, even.

But still, would it kill the System to toss me a pity bonus or something? I just re-murdered a goblin with Olympic-level style points.

I turn my attention to the loot he dropped. Same chunky stone ax. Same slick obsidian dagger. I toss them into my TOOLS/ITEMS stash without hesitation.

Rule number one of fantasy gaming—

Hoard everything like a loot goblin with separation anxiety.

Besides, weapons looted from corpses have resale value. The System knows when you earned something in combat versus just picking it up off the ground like a scrub. Got to respect that digital capitalism.

Scratching my chin, I replay the whole weird sequence in my head like a glitchy recap episode.

Am I actually back at the beginning? Like… beginning beginning?

Some kind of time loop? A rollback? Did the devs hit Control-Z on my progress?

A sigh escapes before I can stop it.

I need more data before going full conspiracy mode.

For now, I just have to keep my cool and play along. Act casual. Pretend I’m not slowly spiraling into a digital identity crisis.

And then the howl comes.

Sharp. Distant. Familiar. Like an audio jump scare just got patched into the mix.

Ah yes—my horny little nightmares.

Suspicion slams the gas. I really am reliving the opening stage.

I follow the old path. Every step hits like déjà vu on steroids, memories snapping into place like I’m some reincarnated warrior king retracing ancient glory.

Soon enough, I duck into the same thick underbrush where I first laid eyes on those horned rabbits.

I crouch low, slingshot in hand, heart weirdly hyped. Eyes locked on the trail ahead.

And right on cue, the first little freak bounces into view.

“Oh hey, buddy,” I whisper with a smirk. “No humping from you today.”

One smooth motion. Kōkyū locked. Fired.

Boom. Direct hit. The rabbit goes flying like someone drop-kicked a stuffed animal into orbit. Clean kill.

I let out a low whistle and crack my knuckles.

Showtime.

A rustle. Then another. More of them emerge, beady eyes wide with confusion. Like they’ve just walked into the wrong anime.

“You guys want the smoke? ’Cause I got the whole chimney.”

With a villainous little laugh, I go full auto-mode. Rapid-fire shots whistle through the trees, each one finding its mark. The rabbits squeal, leap, and die like overdramatic NPCs in a B-tier RPG.

Minutes later—silence.

Just me. My slingshot. And a fluffy carpet of defeated hornballs.

The system pings me with a notification.

________________________________________

Gold: 6

Stat Point Gained: +1

________________________________________

“Yes!” I fist-pump like I just nailed a clutch combo in a boss fight. Not bad for a one-man bunny apocalypse.

With the horny critters out of the way, I lock onto the next mission burned into my brain since Day One.

The cave.

Without further nonsense, I set off through the forest.

An hour later, I’m back at my old base. Same trees. Same layout. Same weird comfort, like nature’s wrapped me in a nostalgic hoodie I didn’t ask for but kind of needed.

Off to the side, a stream whispers nearby, doing its best impression of a lo-fi chillhop track for introspective wanderers.

But peace in this world is always on a timer.

My brain ambushes me with a surprise replay.

That moment.

The ogre’s beefy arm swinging like a wrecking ball of doom, sending me flying through the air like a screaming, flailing rubber chicken. I can still feel it—

The stomach-twisting spin. The bone-rattling thud.

Honestly? Ten out of ten for cinematic flair. Zero for survivability.

I stare at my camp spot and rub my chin like I’m auditioning for the role of a wise old sage who definitely did not get his butt handed to him an hour ago.

“Maybe I should ditch this place and start over?”

A beat.

Then I snort and shake my head. “Pfft. Nah. That’s not my style.” I’m not the run-and-hide type. Never have been.

I mean, I spent two years mastering Time Crisis II at Komei’s Games with nothing but pocket change, cold fries, and sheer spite. You think some oversized Shrek reject’s going to break me? Please.

This world gave me two weeks. Two. I’m not wasting it having a panic attack under a tree.

Nope. I’ve got a plan to cook.

If I’m gonna tango with that ogre again, I need to study it like it’s a final exam I actually care about.

Watch its patterns. Measure the time between swings. Track how it moves, where it leaves openings, when it drops its guard.

I’ll find its rhythm. Exploit its weaknesses. Or loot something that can punch through its face. Or both.

Preferably both.

Tactics start forming fast in my head.

Hit-and-run. Traps. Decoys.

Backup plans in case things go sideways and I need to nope the heck out of there. Like yesterday.

The moon slides up over the trees, bathing everything in silver. The air’s crisp. My breath mists in the cold. I stand there for a moment, soaking it in.

Just me, the night, and the low hum of forest bugs throwing a rave in the dark.

And somewhere in all that peace, I feel it.

The focus.

That buzz in my chest when a challenge stops being scary and starts feeling like an opportunity.

Whatever’s going on here? Glitch, dev trick, divine prank, I’m gonna face it head-on.

If I die, I’ll respawn.

If I fail, I’ll study the failure and come back stronger.

That’s how I’ve always been. That’s how I roll.

Then an idea slithers into my brain. The chaotic kind. The kind that makes my lips curl into a slow, evil grin.

I clap my hands together with villainous delight.

“Now I really can’t wait to find out what Pokey’s meat actually tastes like.”