It started with a weed. Just one.
Eren bent down, tugged the little green bastard from the base of his radish bed, and flicked it over his shoulder. It landed with a soft plop on the compost pile—now moved outside the kitchen, thank the gods—and he wiped his hand on his pants like a man who'd just finished surgery.
"You think it's quiet," he muttered, standing back up. "Then they strike. A full mutiny of root-snatchers."
Lira stood nearby with a clipboard in hand—because of course she had one now—and a visor over her eyes. The visor clicked faintly as she scanned rows of soil.
"Hostile flora probability: 0.7% and decreasing," she announced, deadpan. "Your weed extermination protocol is... sufficient."
Eren looked sideways at her. "That sounded almost like a compliment."
"I am improving my sarcasm subroutines."
"Nice."
The sun was already up, painting the land in soft morning gold. His crops were showing off—thick, healthy, eager to be eaten or sold. Lettuce so green it looked fake, tomatoes plump enough to make a harpy blush, and herbs giving off scents that made even Lira's synthetic nose twitch.
He squinted at his rows of produce like a man preparing for war.
"Alright," he said. "We've got twelve days until the competition. Let's talk strategy."
Lira tapped the clipboard. "Soil pH balance is optimized. Moisture levels within ideal thresholds. Growth rate is stable. Pest defense... minimal."
"Minimal?"
She gestured to the scarecrow standing at the edge of the field.
It was six feet tall, wrapped in burlap, and wearing a wide-brimmed hat. One of its arms was… twitching.
"I told you I didn't want it armed," Eren groaned.
"It is not armed. It is lightly equipped. There's a difference."
"Lira, you installed a crossbow on it."
"Defensive agriculture is a valid strategy."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. We'll tone that down if the mayor does a walk-by."
He paused, then looked toward the winding dirt road at the edge of the farm.
"…Speaking of which, he's late."
Lira tilted her head. "He is two hours behind schedule. Perhaps he was kidnapped."
"Don't sound so hopeful."
Just as he turned to go inside, a faint rustling came from the road. Moments later, Rhun appeared
"Mayor?" Eren blinked. "You look like you got mugged by a peacock."
"I was mugged," Rhun wheezed, hands on knees. "By your scarecrow. It shot a warning bolt at my feet!"
Eren turned slowly toward Lira.
She gave him a blank stare. "It issued a warning. Target was unharmed. System successful."
Rhun straightened up, face red. "Well, tell your robot maid to tone it down. I'm still the mayor!"
"Noted," Eren said. "Why'd you come all the way here?"
The mayor's expression shifted. Serious now.
"Word's spreading. About you."
Eren crossed his arms. "What kind of word?"
"The other villages. The competition isn't just for fun anymore. A few of them see this as a political move. If you win, our village gets a boost—new trade routes, better allocation from the royal grain bank, even a seat at the regional council."
Eren blinked. "So I'm not just farming. I'm… geopoliticking?"
"In a sense, yes. And they don't want an outsider upsetting the balance."
Eren let that settle.
"Let me guess," he said, rubbing his face. "Somebody's going to try and sabotage my radishes?"
Rhun didn't answer. But his silence said plenty.
"I hate this world."
The mayor pulled something from inside his coat and handed it over. It was a rolled-up parchment sealed with red wax. Eren cracked it open and scanned the contents.
"...An official notice?" he said slowly. "Someone's lodged a complaint against me?"
"They're claiming you used forbidden technology," Rhun said. "That your farm is enhanced with illegal artifices."
Eren blinked. "You mean Lira?"
Lira tilted her head again. "I am not illegal. I am ambiguously regulated."
Rhun sighed. "You're allowed one assistant under competition rules. But if she's caught using certain restricted tools—especially anything involving magic augmentation or automated growth systems—they'll disqualify you."
Eren felt a very specific kind of headache bloom between his eyes. "So we've got two jobs now: win the competition and not get caught with my morally gray anime android."
Rhun glanced at Lira. "She is intimidating."
"She's not even trying to be."
"Should I enable warm-and-cuddly mode?" Lira asked.
"No. Gods, no."
Rhun ran a hand through his hair. "Just… keep it subtle, Eren. And be careful who you trust. Not all farmers are honest."
The mayor left shortly after, muttering about crossbows and needing a bath. Eren watched him disappear down the path, then looked back at Lira.
"Alright. First order of business: de-weaponize the scarecrow."
Lira's eyes dimmed slightly. "Scarecrow decommissioning... commencing. I will miss him."
"I'll build you a new one later. Something less stabby."
They spent the next several hours prepping the soil for a rare hybrid crop Lira had recommended—"Bluefire Root," a spicy tuber with a powerful scent and a decent market price.
"I still don't understand how something smells like cinnamon and murder," Eren muttered, holding one of the seeds.
"It triggers both appetitive and defensive neural pathways," Lira explained.
"Do I want to eat it or run away from it?"
"Yes."
Planting it took hours, mostly because Eren insisted on doing things the old-fashioned way—spade, sweat, and sunburn.
[Skill Gained: Precision Planting I – Slight increase to crop efficiency]
"Finally," Eren muttered, wiping his brow. "A skill that doesn't involve flirting or failing to flirt."
By dusk, the farm was humming with quiet energy. Rows of green stretched in every direction. Chickens clucked in their pen, the scarecrow had been reprogrammed to wave politely, and Eren was covered in enough dirt to qualify as a sentient crop himself.
He sat down on the porch, legs stretched out, arms heavy.
"You think we've got a chance?" he asked.
Lira stood beside him, visor lifted, face softly lit by the setting sun.
"You are resourceful. And stubborn. These traits often compensate for experience."
"That was almost nice."
"I am improving my people skills."
Eren chuckled.
The competition was coming. Sabotage was likely. Failure was possible. And for the first time since waking up in this weird world, he didn't feel completely alone.
He had soil under his nails, a plan in his head, and a killer robot maid polishing pruning shears at his side.
Let them come.
He was ready.
At Night
Eren was shirtless, again. Not because he wanted to be, but because the heat was unbearable and the sweat had already claimed his dignity an hour ago. His pants were rolled up to his calves, his skin half-covered in dirt, and his hair looked like it had been styled by a tornado with poor decision-making skills.
He'd just finished digging a new trench for the irrigation line, muttering curses at roots that refused to move and rocks that had the audacity to exist, when a voice called out from behind him.
"Um… Eren?"
He froze.
Not the voice.
Not her voice.
He slowly turned his head like a man about to face a divine punishment and saw Mira—standing near the fence, holding a small basket
He sighed internally.
"Mira," he said, trying to sound casual and not like a guy who had just been caught flexing at weeds. "Didn't hear you walk up."
"I knocked on the fence," she said quietly.
"…Right. Of course."
She took a few steps closer, eyes dropping to the ground. "I brought some carrots. The good ones. And I wanted to see if you needed help with… anything."
Eren blinked. "Help? You already did your shift this morning."
Mira shrugged, looking off to the side. "I didn't have anything else going on. Grandma's napping, and the bakery sold out of sweetbread, so…"
So she came here. Again. Voluntarily. To see him.
Gods help her.
"Uh, well, if you're not scared of a little more dirt and manual labor," Eren said, gesturing at the muddy disaster that was his current project, "I'm trying to set up the trench for the new water channel."
Mira perked up immediately, placing her basket down on a flat rock and moving beside him. "Really? That's smart. It'll help the south field, right?"
"Exactly. Less bucket hauling, more sitting back and letting gravity do the work."
"Gravity's your second-best farmhand."
"Right behind you."
That earned a soft laugh from her, and Eren cursed internally for sounding so smooth. He hadn't meant it like that—well, maybe a little. But Mira, being Mira, blushed anyway and started rolling up her sleeves like a soldier heading into battle.
She crouched beside the trench and started helping him dig, her braid bouncing slightly with every movement. She was fast, efficient, and disturbingly better at not stabbing herself than he was.
"So," she said after a moment, "everyone's talking about the plant competition. You're really going to enter?"
"I mean… I don't really have a choice. Mayor dropped off seeds and threats."
She giggled again. "You're going to win, though."
"Statistically unlikely," he grunted, tossing a clump of dirt over his shoulder. "Also, I have one employee, and she keeps catching me shirtless and calling it character development."
Mira's ears went red. "T-that's not true! I just… I keep arriving at the wrong time!"
"And yet, you keep arriving."
She gave him a playful shove on the shoulder, which—given his state of balance—caused him to slip and land right in the trench with a dull thump.
"Oops," she said innocently.
Eren stared up at the blue sky. "Did you just push me into my own ditch?"
"I gently encouraged gravity."
He groaned, letting his head fall back. "This is what betrayal feels like."
Mira leaned over the edge and offered him her hand. He hesitated, looking at her face. She was smiling, but her eyes were soft. Warm.
"You're working really hard," she said. "I know you act like it's all about the money, but… you care about this place. About the people. Even if you pretend not to."
He looked away for a second, then took her hand and let her help him up.
"You give me too much credit," he muttered.
"I think I give you just enough."
They stood there for a moment, hands brushing, the afternoon sun painting everything gold. Eren suddenly became aware of how close they were standing. How her dress fluttered slightly in the breeze. How her eyes lingered just a moment too long before flicking away.
Then she grabbed her basket again. "I'll go wash these carrots and bring some water. Don't fall into any more holes."
"I'll try not to get emotionally bullied by any more teenage farmhands," he called after her.
"You like my emotional bullying," she said without looking back.
He watched her walk off.
He mumbled "I'm so doomed."