"Bang!"
With the sound of a violent collision, Kevin felt himself being launched into the air. Exhausted, dazed, and before he could even register pain, darkness closed in.
"Hmph! Inhale, exhale, inhale... exhale~" Kevin sat up abruptly, gasping for breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
Am I dead? The thought surfaced in his mind.
As his awareness returned, his mind gradually cleared. And just like that, the question vanished. He could clearly feel that he was alive. Not dreaming—fully awake.
Kevin looked around and saw that he was covered with a grey-black blanket. Although he had just regained consciousness, there was no pain in his body—only a faint sense of fatigue.
No, Kevin didn't believe that his previous vivid experience was a dream. He really had been walking down the road and got hit and flung aside by a huge truck.
That couldn't have been a dream. It was far too real. Even if it had been a dream, this shouldn't be where he ended up.
This was a tent. Above him hung something resembling an oil lamp—but it looked like it had an electric bulb inside.
If this isn't a dream, I should be at home. If I really got hit, I should be in a hospital. Not... here. In a tent.
So then—am I dead? Is this... the afterlife? Or have I... traveled through time?
As absurd as it seemed, after all the time he'd spent watching similar novels, he couldn't help but consider it.
Kevin reached out, intending to inspect his body—
Suddenly, a slightly mature voice came from the side. "You're awake."
Kevin turned his head toward the voice. Someone was sitting beside him. Perhaps it was the silence earlier, or maybe he was still groggy—he hadn't noticed them at all.
It was a man in his thirties or forties, with slightly dark skin, a scruffy appearance, and half-shaved stubble. He wore a thin white vest and sat casually beside him, legs crossed.
In front of him sat a rather bulky-looking laptop. He held an electric razor in one hand and studied Kevin with calm brown eyes.
Apparently, he'd only shaved halfway; he casually turned the mirror in front of him to the side and resumed shaving his chin.
"You okay?" he asked.
Kevin, still scanning the scene, finally came back to himself and nodded quickly. His gaze was unintentionally drawn to the mirror nearby. Because of the angle, a reflection caught his attention.
Though the mirror was small, he could clearly make out most of his face in it. His body stiffened. His heartbeat quickened. Almost unconsciously, he reached up to touch his face.
Because the face staring back at him wasn't his. It wasn't familiar at all—it was a complete stranger's.
When someone looks in a mirror and sees a face they don't recognize—like a scene out of a horror film—shock is unavoidable.
His own expression contorted involuntarily.
"What's wrong? Need to lie down again?"
The voice pulled Kevin out of his stunned daze.
He forced himself to focus, pressing down the panic rising in his chest. With a pale, uneasy expression, he muttered, "Sorry... I'm just... confused."
The man nodded. At some point, he had finished shaving, and he now tossed the razor aside.
"It's normal. After all, when I found you under the cliff, you were covered in blood." He jerked his chin in a direction.
Kevin followed his gaze and saw a pile of clothes lying in a corner of the tent. Under the dim light, it was clear—the clothes were soaked in dried blood, grass, and mud.
He instinctively checked himself again. He confirmed—this wasn't his body. And he found no wounds. No pain.
With that much bleeding, he should be seriously injured. Was that not his blood? Or did the time travel somehow heal the injuries on this body? Or had the man in front of him treated them?
Could recovery really happen that fast?
Then again, if time travel were possible, it wouldn't be unreasonable to imagine a medicine that could instantly heal wounds.
But the problem was—the environment of this tent didn't look advanced at all. In fact, it seemed even more old-fashioned than his own era.
Not to mention, the man in front of him clearly had Asian features. Of course, it was also possible that the man was just into retro aesthetics.
A strange place, seemingly from another time, inside someone else's body.
All of it made Kevin extremely cautious. His brain worked overtime, analyzing everything.
The rapid thoughts provided both valuable insight and distracting speculation. Combined with the emotional rollercoaster, his current dazed state and constantly shifting expression made him seem slow and confused to any observer.
Perhaps because of this, the man didn't push him further—just watched him silently, as if seeing through what he was thinking.
Then, almost as if reading his mind, the man spoke again.
"It looked serious, but you didn't have any real injuries. You just passed out."
"Oh, really? That's... good, I guess." Kevin didn't know what else to say.
He had no idea where he was, what his current condition was, or even who he was supposed to be. And the person next to him was a complete stranger—one who had apparently saved him.
He didn't know how to begin.
"By the way, what's your name?" the man asked suddenly.
The question stumped Kevin. He opened his mouth to answer but froze.
The man seemed to notice his discomfort and added, "Here—your ID and wallet. You've been unconscious for two days. You must be starving. Want something to eat?"
Kevin accepted the items, nodding with a bitter smile. "I've got no strength left. My head's spinning from hunger."
"Haha, thought so. But you've been out for two days, so it's just porridge for now—not that I'm being stingy, hahaha." He stood up, chuckling—a laugh that carried a rugged charm and a sense of ease.
Only then did Kevin notice that the man had a well-balanced figure—neither skinny nor overly muscular. His body was lean and toned, defined but not exaggerated.
The overall impression he gave was one of balance and quiet strength.
Now that he looked closely, he realized just how disheveled the man really was. If he hadn't just shaved, that unkempt aura would've been even more obvious.
Dressed in overalls and thick-soled Martin boots, the man opened the tent flap and stepped outside. Only when the man left did Kevin finally breathe a sigh of relief?
He quickly examined the ID bag in his hands. What kind of writing is this?
That was the first problem that floored him. The characters looked like a mix of circles, straight lines, and dots—more like minimalist symbols than actual writing.
Completely unrecognizable.
But then, something strange happened. As he focused on it, the meaning of the text began to seep into his mind. His thoughts slowly cleared.
Fragments of information surfaced in his memory. His name... it turned out he was also called Kevin. Kevin Ravenberg.
As his emotions gradually settled, he began to realize how strange his behavior had been earlier.
"But... under the circumstances, wasn't that kind of reaction normal?" Yet something felt off about the fragmented memories now trickling in.
---
"...His behavior just now was beyond abnormal." The man squatted beside a small stove, staring at the pot simmering above it.
A pale, porridge-like liquid bubbled inside. He lit a cigarette, eyes fixed on the flame.
He was replaying the events from the tent—from the moment Kevin had awakened. Everything had been... very, very strange. So what had really happened to him?
"After all, I killed him with my own hands."