After leaving the room, Julian found himself in a modest house.
Not luxurious—but not poor either.
Simple. Clean. Minimalistic.
One floor. A small hallway. A quiet backyard visible through the glass doors.
Everything was unfamiliar. But oddly... calm.
"Do you really not remember anything?" the woman asked gently as she guided his wheelchair down the hallway.
Julian turned to look at her.
She had pale ivory skin, toned limbs that hinted at training, and sharp blue eyes beneath long blond hair tied into a loose braid.
Her presence wasn’t delicate—there was strength in the way she moved.
"Yeah... I don’t remember anything," he said, his voice raspy and dry.
"Not even your name?" she asked again.
Julian didn’t answer.
The silence stretched.
"Okay," she finally said. "My name is Lydia Crest. Call me Crest. I’m your caretaker—the maid your parents hired to watch over you."
Even in this life, there was a caretaker...
Some things never changed.
"Did you forget your parents too?" Crest asked softly, almost hesitantly.
Julian drew in a shallow breath.
"No... I remember their circumstances."
He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.
She nodded with a subtle look of sympathy—and guilt.
"Alright," she said. "Let’s eat first. The doctor will arrive soon."
They rolled into the dining area.
On the table sat a bag and some brightly colored boxes.
One word caught Julian’s attention:
He furrowed his brow.
Was that the name of a bell? Or a tavern?
Crest caught his expression.
"What? That’s your favorite." She smirked a little, then added more gently, "You always asked for it on Fridays."
Julian didn’t answer.
He stared at the box, unsure how to even open it.
Crest sighed, walked over, and opened the packaging.
She unwrapped something—a folded, oddly shaped piece of soft bread filled with... meat? Lettuce? Red sauce?
She held it up and took a bite.
"." She handed one to Julian.
He mimicked her, slowly raising the taco to his lips.
Flavor exploded on his tongue.
Spiced meat, creamy sauce, something cold and fresh—all wrapped in a warm, chewy shell.
A strange delight he’d never tasted before.
But after just a few bites, his stomach began to churn.
He placed the taco down, breathing heavily.
His body couldn’t handle it.
Even pleasure had its limits in this fragile vessel.
Crest watched him with concern.
"Don’t rush it. Small bites. You haven’t eaten solid food in days."
Julian nodded faintly.
But in his heart, one thing was clear:
This world was strange.
But it had things worth exploring.
After the meal, a team of doctors arrived.
Julian sat in silence as they spoke with Crest in the living room.
One of them—a middle-aged man with thin glasses and a sharp suit—held a folder.
"We’ve reviewed the MRI results," he said. "There’s some indication of mild retrograde amnesia. Nothing irreversible."
"So he’ll get his memory back?" Crest asked, hopeful.
"Yes. Most likely. Just keep him surrounded by familiar environments. Gradual reintroduction of routine can help trigger recall."
"Understood. Thank you, Doctor."
The team left shortly after.
Crest turned back to Julian with a faint smile and wheeled him out of the living room.
"Alright, time to take you to the most familiar and your absolute favorite place in this house," she said.
Julian didn’t reply. He just let her push the wheelchair, his eyes scanning everything.
He took mental notes—the layout of the house, the kinds of technology used, the type of people around. Every detail mattered.
That was priority one.
And his second priority... was survival.
Even now, he could feel it. The air here—it was thin. Lifeless.
There was almost no mana.
His body couldn’t absorb what didn’t exist.
If he wanted to recover, he’d need to find a way to gather energy. Even if he had to build his strength from the ground up again.
That meant two goals:
Gain information about this world.Begin repairing this frail body.
They stopped at a door.
Crest pushed it open with a smirk.
"Here we are—your gaming room."
As the door opened, he was struck by a wave of light and color.
The room was filled with strange glowing boxes—some large, some small.
One was connected to a massive flat screen on the wall, flickering with a paused image of armored soldiers wielding glowing swords.
Bright LED lights traced along the edges of the ceiling and shelves, shifting between purple, blue, and red like some kind of spell array.
A row of strange devices sat on a long desk:
Flat keyboards, oddly shaped mice, curved monitors with futuristic designs.
A black and red chair with massive cushions sat in front, looking more like a throne from a sci-fi world than any seat he’d ever known.
The walls were lined with posters—strange artworks of characters in armor, capes, and glowing eyes. Some looked like demons, others like warriors. One showed a boy standing under a giant moon, holding a burning sword.
"What... is this place?" Julian whispered.
"Your sanctuary. You spent hours in here—gaming, watching, escaping."
Julian stared in awe.
So many lights. So many moving images.
To someone who once fought with blades and trained beneath moonlight, this place didn’t just feel unfamiliar—
To a different kind of power.
Screens glowed with vibrant colors. Machines hummed softly.
In his old world, such light and energy would only belong to grand spell formations or divine relics.
He couldn’t understand it yet.
Crest gently patted his shoulder.
"Take your time. I’ll go prepare the rest of your meds. Just call if you need anything, alright?"
Julian gave her a small nod, watching her leave and close the door behind her.
Silence filled the room.
Only the soft hum of electronics remained.
Slowly, Julian wheeled himself forward.
Past the LED-lined desk. Past the shelves of unfamiliar items.
He didn’t know what to touch. Or what any of it even did.
His reflection stared back at him in one of the dark monitors—pale, hollow-eyed, frail.
He clenched his trembling fist.
This can’t be permanent.
He scanned the glowing devices again, eyes narrowing.
"What even is all this...?" he muttered.
Then, without warning—
Not human. Not digital. Not physical.
It echoed in his mind.
The monitor in front of him flickered.
Static. Then text. Simple, white, and slow.
[ Hello, Julian Ashford. ]