Suddenly, there was a soft knock on Arthur’s door.
Knock knock.
Arthur turned his head quickly, one eyebrow raised. "Casca?"
A bit of trauma still lingered in his mind, especially from what happened a few minutes ago... when he innocently pressed that holy object against his face. His cheeks ward slightly just rembering it.
He hesitated for a mont, then slowly stood up and opened the door.
Casca stood there, still in her casual clothes, hands crossed behind her back like she was hiding so sort of sche.
"Ahem," she said casually. "You got a lot of bread earlier, right?"
Arthur stared at her, his deadpan expression instantly returning.
Casca gave a slight smile. "Can I have one? The soft kind. Preferably with sesa seeds."
Arthur stared for a few seconds, then let out a long sigh. "You made clean your house, and now you’re asking for bread too?"
Casca nodded nonchalantly. "Yeah. You got it for free, didn’t you?"
Arthur closed his eyes for a second. "You know... where I’m from, there’s a term for people like you."
Casca raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What is it?"
Arthur looked at her, tired. "Shaless."
Casca chuckled and held out her hand. "The one with sesa, please."
Arthur turned back inside and grabbed the nicest-looking piece of bread—very reluctantly—then handed it to her without a word.
Casca took it and walked off like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Arthur slowly closed the door and leaned against it with a sigh.
"Why is there a side character as annoying as Casca in this novel world?"
Arthur walked back toward the window and stared outside.
"When will the main character of this world arrive in this town, I wonder?" he asked himself.
"Did I land right as the main storyline is about to start... or before anything even begins?"
"Only the God of Fiction knows," he muttered. "He said he’d show up to et Casca after thirty days. Which ans... I have to endure her cursed behavior until then."
Arthur lowered his head, his forehead pressing against the windowpane, now cold from the evening breeze.
"Compared to this vague fantasy world from so half-baked novel, a slice-of-life world as a farr sounds way better. Wake up early, plant carrots, chat with cows. No Casca."
After hours of complaining—internally and out loud—Arthur eventually ran out of things to whine about.
He stared blankly at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head, as silence slowly filled the room.
"...Yeah. None of that’s gonna change anything, huh," he muttered to himself.
All the frustration, the weirdness, the accidental face-to-pad incident—it was just part of his new reality now. Complaining didn’t rewind ti. It didn’t erase Casca. It didn’t summon a better world with cows and carrots.
With a heavy sigh, Arthur rolled over and pulled the thin blanket over himself.
"Whatever. Sleep now. Regret later."
Bounciechomie, now a small blob curled up near the pillow, let out one soft bloop in agreent.
And with that, Arthur closed his eyes and let the strange, chaotic world fade away—at least until morning.
The next morning, Arthur woke up slowly. His eyelids fluttered open, and for the first ti since arriving in this world—or maybe even before that—his body felt light and refreshed.
He sat up on his bed, stretching his arms as he let out a long yawn.
"Hmm... did I actually sleep well?"
He turned toward the window. Soft morning light poured into the room, not too bright, not too harsh. A gentle breeze drifted in through a slightly open window.
Arthur looked down at his hands, then gently rubbed his face.
"...No doomscrolling? No checking social dia? No staring at work notifications until 2 AM?"
He let out a small chuckle.
"This... feels weird. But kind of nice."
At the corner of the bed, Bounciechomie slowly wobbled awake, letting out a soft bloop as if to say good morning.
Arthur stood up and walked over to the window, pulling the curtains open all the way.
"Alright," he said, taking in a deep breath. "Today might actually be... a little better."
He slipped on his shoes and opened the door. Bounciechomie bounced up to his shoulder instantly, settling into its usual spot. Arthur closed the door behind him and took a step forward—
"Casca?" he said, stopping in his tracks.
Right in front of Casca’s door... was Casca herself, sleeping on the floor.
Arthur crouched down beside her and gently nudged her shoulder.
"Hey..."
Arthur looked down at Casca, who was fast asleep on the floor, one eyebrow raised. Her breathing was steady, her hair slightly ssy, and the drowsiness still lingered on her face.
"Why is she sleeping out here..." he muttered.
Carefully, Arthur slid one arm under her back and the other under her legs, then gently lifted her off the ground. He walked slowly toward her bedroom door, nudging it open with his shoulder.
Just as he stepped into the room—
"Put all my chips on the Beast Arena..." Casca mumbled in her sleep, her tone oddly serious.
Arthur glanced down at her. "Huh?"
"Two-headed wolf... the odds are up... it’s gonna win this ti..."
Arthur frowned. "You gamble... on monster fight arenas?"
Casca continued muttering, still half-asleep. "If you lose... pawn the magic ring..."
Arthur gently laid her down on the bed. As her head touched the pillow, she took a deep breath and mumbled again.
"Don’t trust the mustached dwarf... he cheats at dice..."
Arthur stood there in silence for a mont, then let out a long sigh and quietly walked out, closing the door behind him.
"Is she... a gambling addict?"
Arthur walked to the small bathroom at the end of Casca’s hallway. He opened the door slowly, making sure there were no weird plants or rogue slis inside, then stepped in and turned on the faucet.
Cold water splashed against his face—refreshing and sobering at the sa ti.
"New morning, new energy..." he mumbled, still half-asleep.
But as he leaned down to wash his face again, he suddenly beca aware of sothing—morning wood.
Arthur closed his eyes for a mont and let out a long sigh.
"Of course... new body, new world, sa old problems."
He leaned against the edge of the sink, trying to clear his mind. But like an unwelco guest, a vivid image of Casca slipped into his thoughts—her peaceful sleeping face, and that warm, brown skin that was... annoyingly tempting.
Arthur imdiately slapped his own cheek.
"Stop. Don’t go there."
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