“Wake up, wake up, wake up! Come on, it’s time to get up!”
A voice pierced the darkness, accompanied by a gentle shake of his shoulder.
“Ugh…”
The young man who had just been granted a new life slowly opened his eyes, his eyelids heavy as if weighed down by the exhaustion of an entire lifetime.
The soft light of dawn filtered through the gaps between the wooden planks in thin beams. Inside the broad, silent hall, the only sound was the breathing of several children sleeping in rows across the freezing wooden floor.
“So I’ve really been reincarnated.”
He raised his hand and looked at it.
Small, thin, and bony, with prominent veins and rough, callused skin. It was no longer the hand of a working-age man.
“I’m really a kid. And goddamn, I’m skinny.”
This wasn’t ordinary thinness. This was a body with barely any flesh left on it, like a skeleton wrapped in a thin layer of skin.
“Get up. It’s almost time to report in for food.”
The voice belonged to a boy around seven to ten years old. His clothes were old and shabby, and he was just as thin. His eyes looked too large for his face because his cheeks were so sunken that the shape of his bones showed through.
There were several other children around them, all in the same condition.
There were no beds or mattresses, only old, sagging pillows and torn blankets.
“Classic medieval vibes,” he muttered without thinking.
“What are you grumbling about? Hurry up and get up.” The boy continued urging him on.
“Where are we going?” The question slipped out instinctively, and in that very instant, memories that weren’t his came flooding into his mind.
Images of hunger. Images of a stomach twisting in pain. Images of a friend who couldn’t stop coughing. Images of two loaves of bread in his hands. Images of him deciding to hold them out.
“Argh!”
He cried out and clutched his head. A sharp pain shot through his brain, as if someone had driven a red-hot piece of iron into it. So this was the kind of pain novels could never truly describe.
“Hey! What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?!”
The boy in front of him paled and hurried over to support him.
“N-no, I’m fine.”
He gasped for breath.
The body’s original owner had died last night.
He had died of hunger. He had died after eating something strange to keep himself alive. He had died after giving his friend the two loaves of bread that made up his entire day’s food.
He fell silent.
A strange feeling rose in his chest. It wasn’t just sadness, but the crushing weight of a life that had been passed on to him.
The boy’s father had disappeared in the war. His mother had starved herself so her son could eat his fill, until her body grew weak, she fell ill, and died as well. The boy had been left with nothing but a cruel world and friends who were just as painfully thin as he was.
“Reincarnated, and even poorer than before.”
He laughed softly to himself.
This place was called an orphanage, but in reality, it was more like a gathering place for the homeless.
A large wooden building stood outside the village, a fair distance from the city. The town lord had shown them some mercy by providing them with a roof over their heads and two loaves of bread a day.
Just two loaves. Each one was about the size of an adult’s palm, coarse-textured, dry, and hard. They were enough to keep someone alive, but not enough to make anyone full.
“Are you feeling better now?”
He asked the boy who had just woken him as he stood up and followed him out.
“I think I’ve got enough strength to go out and find some work. It’s all because of you, Nash. Thank you so much.”
The word “Nash” made him stop short.
From now on, he was Nash. He wasn’t the same person anymore.
“The god said I’d be given a talent, so where the hell is it?”
He scratched his head.
“How are we supposed to use magic? And how do we identify our talents?” he muttered.
“Are you interested, Nash?” The boy who had woken him heard him and asked.
“You’re not interested, Tiny?” he asked in return, thinking that his friend’s name suited him ridiculously well.
Tiny chuckled softly. “Who wouldn’t be? But people like us have trouble just getting a full stomach. When would we have time to study magic? You need someone to teach you, and you need money.” The boy continued in a voice far too serious for his age. “If you want to know your talent, you have to find a mage to cast ‘Appraisal’ on you. You can contact the Merchants’ Guild, the Adventurers’ Guild, the Magic Tower, or a temple. But it costs a silver coin.”
A silver coin. Simple words, but impossibly far out of reach.
“Children from noble families our age already know what talents they have. Their families can support them in the right direction,” Tiny continued explaining.
Nash fell silent. This world wasn’t some sweet, carefree fantasy. It had social classes, money, and unequal opportunities.
“You sure know a lot,” Nash complimented him.
“Not really.” Tiny smiled.
The two of them reached an old wooden door. When they pushed it open, the outside world appeared before their eyes.
A true medieval village. Wooden houses stood in rows, dirt roads glistened with dew, and torches were planted along the paths. A cool morning breeze drifted through lush green fields. Farther away were orchards and farmland, dense rows of tall trees, and a massive mountain rising in the background. A clear stream reflected the first sunlight of the day.
Beautiful.
Beautiful enough to almost make him forget his hunger.
Even as his stomach gave a quiet growl and his gaunt body reminded him of reality.
“Life’s worth ten cents, but the view’s worth a million bucks,” he thought, giving a soft whistle. His stomach was empty, and his future was bleak, but a tiny spark had begun to glow in his heart.
“Where’d that good mood come from? Or did you have a nice dream?” a girl’s voice called from behind.