Three months slipped by.
So fast John barely had time to feel the days pass.
But the repetition turned into a rhythm, strangely efficient.
By day, he went to class.
The lecture hall was packed, fluorescent light casting a sickly glow on pale student faces.
The professor stood at the podium, droning on, but every word hitting John's ears felt like a compass needle pointing the way.
Survival knowledge in another world wasn't simple.
He had to memorize every kind of common plant, from leaf shapes, flower colors, to the smell of sap when cut open.
One tiny mistake could mean death.
Some plants looked like edible mushrooms but carried poison that paralyzed muscles.
Some looked harmless, but their sap could eat away flesh at the slightest touch.
Between lines of cramped notes, John still sketched little drawings to burn them deeper into memory.
Beyond plants, alien beasts were the next big subject.
From hide and claws to whether they were active at night or day, everything was crammed into their heads.
The lecturer told them about a spiked-back beast that could spit venom from ten meters away.
The whole class buzzed, but John only kept writing, hand trembling a bit at the thought of facing one for real.
What worried him most, though, were the customs and traditions of civilizations as advanced as humans in other worlds.
One wrong ritual step, and you didn't just lose your life—you could spark a war.
He knew the knowledge from class was an invisible armor.
Every day, John left when the sun was already leaning low.
The last light of sunset stained the brick walls, his shadow stretching long on the sidewalk.
And when he got home, the familiar sounds began again.
Crunching.
Bones cracking.
Little Fire was eating.
It never stopped eating.
John carried in a tray of steaming food, the sharp metallic stench of goblin meat heavy in the air.
The portions stayed the same: two goblin meals, one Ghostwind.
He sat down, chin propped in hand, watching the fiery-red chicken tear into chunks of meat.
Its beak was so strong it ripped apart thick slabs in one strike.
Fat and juices sprayed, dripping to the floor in messy streaks.
John shrugged, muttering under his breath.
"If the neighbors ever call in a monster alert because of you, I won't even be surprised."
Little Fire didn't care.
It ate, then trained.
Every wingbeat sent gusts whipping through the living room, rattling the stack of books on the desk.
Every kick made the tile floor thump like a drum.
John had to buy wooden boards to reinforce under the sofa, since last time it jumped on it, the cushion caved in.
He sighed but didn't stop it.
Strength had to be maintained.
After its rebirth with Phoenix bloodline, Little Fire's body had completely changed.
No more fat, no more heaviness.
Now it was lean, perfectly charged with energy, carrying a weight far beyond any normal chicken.
It was way too big to perch on John's shoulder anymore.
Back then, having a chick on his shoulder was funny and cute.
Now just picturing it made him feel like his shoulder would snap.
One evening, John dragged Little Fire into the bathroom.
Water rushed, echoing against the plastic tub.
He parted the blazing red feathers with his hands, the light above making every strand look like it was burning.
Then his eyes stopped.
Beneath the feathers, the skin wasn't pink-white anymore.
It had turned green.
John frozen.
His breath skipped.
"You mutated again."
Little Fire shuddered, spraying water everywhere.
John rubbed harder, his palm sliding over slick skin.
Green like fish scales, yet definitely chicken skin.
Right away, he understood.
The goblin's regenerative trait was merging into its body.
A rush of joy hit him.
In another world, the ability to heal wounds fast was basically a second life.
His hand clenched, lips curving.
"Not bad, you glutton."
But the joy was mixed with annoyance.
Green skin wasn't pretty at all.
In his mind, chickens had to be majestic, handsome, blazing red like fire.
If it molted again, the image of a "Chicken Zombie" would come true.
He shivered at the thought.
"Fine, as long as your feathers stay thick, I'll turn a blind eye."
The water rushed down, carrying soap bubbles and a sharp, bloody smell.
Little Fire tilted its head, eyes gleaming, as if flaunting its achievement.
John just waved a hand.
"Ugly or not, as long as you're useful."
But Ghostwind was a headache.
All the money poured in, yet not a single trace of wind element showed.
He'd observed carefully.
No wingbeat stirred a vortex.
No unusual airflow moved around its body.
Completely empty.
John frowned, noting it down in his journal.
Maybe the Phoenix bloodline, symbol of fire, was too strong, too pure.
Its body simply rejected any conflicting element.
Fire only accepted fire.
It made sense, but it also meant Ghostwind was a loss.
On the desk, the lamp cast a warm yellow glow, notebook spread wide, every line crammed with words.
Outside, the breeze pushed the green curtain, its shadow swaying on the wall like waves.
John leaned back, exhaling.
"Guess that's tuition money."
That night, he turned off the light, ready to sleep.
The room sank into thick darkness.
Blanket up to his chin, warmth wrapping him in.
Then his heart skipped.
The feeling of being watched.
John opened his eyes, turned his head slightly.
In the dark, two lights appeared.
Golden, cold, like the eyes of a predator.
He shot upright.
"Little Fire?"
The light flicked on.
Those eyes faded, leaving only the fiery-red chicken sitting quietly in the corner.
But John knew he hadn't imagined it.
That gaze through the night—like a cat's.
Little Fire tilted its head, letting out a raspy cry.
Like it was saying, "See? I'm not useless."
John rubbed his forehead, chuckling softly.
"Alright, fine. At least you're saving me from turning on the light at night."
The fluorescent bulb buzzed overhead.
On the wall, the chicken's shadow overlapped with John's, stretching into two odd shapes.
He flopped back into bed, pulled the blanket up.
Those golden eyes burned in his mind, like two flames hanging in the night.
Strange, yet reassuring.
"Chicken Zombie or not, as long as you're useful."
Little Fire's breathing rose and fell steadily.
Far off in the street, a siren wailed.
John closed his eyes, thinking to himself: This investment wasn't a loss after all.