"I'm... I'm okay." I managed, my voice hoarse.
Agnes's brow furrowed as she studied my face. "Young master, you were screaming on the floor..." She glanced at the open door, then back at me. "Should I call for the physician?"
"No. It's fine."
My breath began to even out, the ragged gasps slowly returning to normal rhythm.
Agnes slipped her arm around my waist and helped me stand. My legs still felt like water, but she guided me carefully to the wooden chair and eased me down onto the worn seat.
She pressed the back of her hand against my forehead.
"Temperature's normal," she murmured.
Then she turned and moved toward the bed.
She stripped away the stained bedsheet where I'd spilled the poisoned liquid, bundling it up with practiced efficiency. From a chest in the corner, she pulled out fresh linens and began making the bed with quick, precise movements.
I rubbed my temples, working at the dull throb that still lingered like an echo of the earlier agony. The pain was gone, but Jin's memories had settled into my mind like sediment in still water.
The picture they painted wasn't complete, but it was enough.
Right now, I am Jin Raith, second son of the Raith family.
Had an older brother and sister who saw me as an embarrassment. A younger half-brother who blamed me for everything that went wrong in his life.
The woman who'd tried to poison me—my stepmother Vivienne. And a father who saw me as nothing but a reminder of his failures, especially after his first wife—Jin's biological mother—had died.
Ever since then, I'd been sick. Weak. A burden.
"Let me help you with this."
Agnes's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. I looked up to see her standing beside me with a clean shirt in her hands.
She placed it on the table and then, without hesitation, began helping me out of the stained nightshirt. Her movements were professional—she'd clearly done this many times before.
As she lifted the clean shirt over my head and guided my arms through the sleeves, I caught glimpses of Jin's memories involving this woman.
Agnes sneaking him portions of her own meals when the family forgot to feed him.
Sitting by his bedside during the worst of his "illness," cooling his fever with damp cloths. Mending his clothes when the others tore them in frustration.
In a house full of people who either wanted him dead or wished he'd never been born, Agnes was the only one who'd ever shown him kindness. The only one who'd ever cared whether he lived or died.
"There," she said softly, smoothing the fabric across my shoulders. "Much better."
Then she furrowed her brows again, studying my face with obvious concern.
"Are you sure, young master? You're not feeling pain again?"
I shook my head. "No, I'm fine, Agnes."
She looked troubled for a moment, her green eyes searching my face as if trying to read something hidden there. Then she nodded and moved toward the wooden bench by the window where she'd set down a tray earlier.
She placed the tray on the table beside me and picked up the bowl filled with warm, steaming broth and brought it close to my lips.
"I added healing herbs for faster recovery," she said gently.
I leaned forward and inhaled. The broth smelled like chicken and vegetables, but underneath there was something earthy and something like mint, but sharper.
With trembling hands, I took hold of the bowl. The ceramic was warm against my palms, almost hot. I brought it to my lips and took a careful sip.
The liquid was rich and savory, with a slight bitter aftertaste from the herbs—
[+3 HP Recovered]
I blinked at the floating notification that appeared in my peripheral vision.
So she was telling the truth about the herbs helping recovery.
I drank the rest of the broth slowly, feeling warmth spread through my chest with each swallow. When I finished, Agnes took the empty bowl and gently wiped my mouth with a clean handkerchief.
"If you need anything else, young master, please call for me," she said, giving me a small bow.
Then she turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
I just stared at the empty space, then rubbed my eyes and leaned back.
"Status?"
I tried calling out, remembering all those manga and light novels I used to read during my rare breaks from coding.
Surprisingly, it worked. The same cyan panel materialized in front of me, floating at my eye level.
[Status]
Name: Jin Raith
Age: 14
Class: Debugger (??)
Level: 1
Exp: 0/100
Rank: F
MC (Mana Capacity): 1/50
HP: 40/180 —> 49/180)
MP: 4/45 —> 10/45)
STR: 2 (-8 Poison)
VIT: -2 (-12 Poison)
INT: 45
WIS: 38
AGI: 2 (-8 Poison)
LUK: 15
Allocation Points: 0
Active Skill: Debug Vision
Passive Skill: None
My HP had gone up by 9 points, from the broth. And my MP had recovered some too.
My eyes scanned the whole panel again.
"Debugger class," I muttered, staring at the question marks. "What the hell does that even mean?"
Suddenly a new window appeared, overlaying the status screen.
[Debugger Class: Host is bestowed with this class due to their prior knowledge about codes and programming.]
I blinked.
"That's it?" I narrowed my eyes. "What's the point of this class in this era? There are no computers or technology where my programming knowledge would be useful."
[Host is advised to use their skill - Debug Vision.]
"How can I do that?" I asked.
[Just look at the specific target and think about activating the skill.]
I tilted my head and looked at the wooden chest in the corner, focusing on it while thinking about activating the skill.
The text on the panel shifted, displaying new information...
[Object Analysis]
object_id: "chest_storage_01"
type: "furniture"
material: "oak_wood"
condition: 67/100
age: 23_years
contents: {
item_01: "old_letters" (quantity: 7)
item_02: "silver_coins" (quantity: 3)
item_03: "clothes" (quantity: 5)
}
lock_status: false
durability: "fair"
value: 15_copper
I stared at the code-like display, my programmer brain immediately understanding the structure. It was showing me the chest's properties like a database entry.
"Holy shit," I whispered. "I can see the actual data of objects.".