I trudged down the familiar path from memory, my ragged shoes scraping against the cracked earth until I reached the edge of the slum. There loomed a massive dumpster, its foul stench assaulting my nostrils—a rancid cocktail of rotting garbage, sewage, and decay that hung heavy in the air like a toxic fog. It was a notorious breeding ground for diseases, whispers of plague and fever spreading among the desperate souls who scavenged there, but I pushed the thought aside; shelter was my priority now, not the lurking shadows of illness.
Circling around the dumpster's bulging sides, slick with grime and buzzing with flies, I spotted it: a ruined small house, its structure half-collapsed as if a giant's fist had smashed through the roof years ago, leaving jagged timbers exposed to the elements like broken bones. The remaining walls sagged under the weight of neglect, vines creeping through the cracks like insidious veins, but it would do. I slipped through a gap in the debris and descended into a small room that resembled a cellar—dank, dimly lit by slivers of moonlight filtering through fissures above, with earthen floors damp from recent rains and the faint echo of dripping water somewhere in the shadows.
This had been the place where "he"—the boy whose body I now inhabited—and his grandfather had scraped out their final days together. Heart pounding from the chill night air, I hauled shut the heavy wooden entrance, a makeshift trapdoor reinforced with scraps of metal and rope, sealing out the wind's howl and the distant cries of feral dogs. Finally inside, I slumped into a corner, pulling a tattered cloth over myself—large enough to serve as a blanket, though threadbare and moth-eaten. It smelled of mildew and old sweat, but for the first time since my transmigration, a fragile sense of security washed over me, mingled with the faint warmth trapped against my skin. Though my new body felt weak, frail from years of malnutrition, exhaustion tugged at my limbs like an insistent tide.
With the immediate dangers barred outside, I let my mind wander, delving into the fragmented memories that played out like a vivid, unrelenting movie across the canvas of my thoughts. They flooded in: orphaned at seven when my last remaining family—my grandfather—succumbed to a merciless cold that ravaged his frail lungs one brutal winter night. He had wheezed his final breaths in this very cellar, clutching my small hand as the fever claimed him, leaving me utterly alone in a world that devoured the weak. From then on, survival became my grim routine—begging on street corners during the day, my voice hoarse from pleading with indifferent passersby, and stealing scraps of food at night, dodging fists and curses from merchants whose wares I pilfered.
Today had been no different, yet fatally so. Desperation had driven me to snatch two steaming buns from a vendor's cart, their warmth a fleeting promise against the gnawing hunger in my belly. But the chase that followed was relentless—shouts echoing through the crowded alleys, guards' boots thundering behind me as I darted through the labyrinth of slums. Exhaustion, biting cold, and unyielding hunger finally betrayed me; at just thirteen years old, the boy's body had given out, collapsing into the muddied streets, life flickering out like a snuffed candle. And that was when I arrived—my soul from another world thrust into this husk, transmigrated into a realm I didn't recognize, a place of unfamiliar skies, strange tongues, and hidden perils.
Now that the memories had crystallized, solidifying my grasp on this new reality, a spark of excitement ignited within me. Every standard time traveler in the stories I'd devoured back home got a cheat—a system, a golden finger, some overpowered edge to defy the odds. Optimism surged; I couldn't be the unlucky one dropped into this harsh world without a lifeline. Testing the waters, I whispered into the dimness, "System? Grandpa? Avada Kedavra?" Nothing stirred—no ethereal voice, no glowing interface, just the drip of water and my echoing words. Undeterred, I tried again, channeling every trope I'd memorized: "Attribute panel.
"A soft hum filled the air, and a translucent blue panel materialized before my eyes, hovering ethereally like a holographic display from a sci-fi dream. My heart leaped; joy and excitement bubbled up uncontrollably, a sigh of profound relief escaping my lips. I wasn't forsaken after all—I had my cheat! Eagerly, I scanned the glowing text etched in crisp, luminous script:
Attribute Panel
Name: Kai
Age: 13
Strength: 2
Agility: 3
Stamina: 2
Physique: 2
Skills:
Highschool Math: Proficient
Highschool Science: Proficient
Mobile Scrolling: Master
Cooking: Proficient
Japanese: Basic
Skill Points: ∞ (Infinite Symbol)
Ecstasy overwhelmed me; I could scarcely contain the grin splitting my face. In my previous life, existence had been a monotonous grind—endless studying for exams that promised a stable future, only to trap me in a soul-crushing 9-to-5 job laden with unpaid overtime, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry hornets, and dreams deferred indefinitely. No grand adventures, no luxuries, just the slow erosion of ambition. But here? With infinite skill points? I envisioned it all: building a sprawling business empire from the slums' shadows, amassing wealth to purchase a grand castle with towering spires and lush gardens. Beautiful maids attending my every whim, their graceful movements a symphony of elegance; playful kittens tumbling at my feet in sun-dappled courtyards, purring contentedly as I lounged in well-earned repose, savoring a warm, leisurely life of quiet opulence.
Yet, as the rush crested, calm reason reasserted itself, tempering my fantasies. I recalled those foolish protagonists from novels who'd bellowed their cheats to the winds immediately after awakening—arrogant displays that drew opportunistic killers like moths to flame, ending their tales prematurely. No, I wouldn't repeat their blunders. Shouting brought death; patient development bred power. Why squander energy juggling a harem of thousands when a select few—three devoted, beautiful wives, perhaps, complemented by a handful of loyal maids—would suffice for a harmonious, intimate existence? I'd grow slowly, orchestrate from the shadows as the unseen big boss, weaving my empire thread by thread until it spanned the world, all while cherishing a serene family hearth.
Decision crystallized, my first impulse was clear: maximize my skills. Mentally willing the infinite points to flow, I upgraded them one by one, watching the panel shimmer and refresh in real-time:
Attribute Panel
Name: Kai
Age: 13
Strength: 2
Agility: 3
Stamina: 2
Physique: 2
Skills:
Highschool Math and Science: Perfect
Mobile Scrolling: Perfect
Cooking: Perfect
Japanese: Perfect
Skill Points: ∞ (Infinite Symbol)
Abruptly, a throbbing headache gripped my skull, as if a torrent of knowledge had breached some mental dam, flooding my synapses with crystalline clarity. Highschool math and science, once passable at best—problems that had knotted my brow and stolen sleepless nights—now unfolded like a breeze, elegant proofs and formulas dancing effortlessly through my mind, solvable with intuitive grace. Mobile scrolling, my former vice of endless feeds that left me bleary-eyed and drained with dark circles under my eyes? Now perfected, I could binge for 24 hours straight and emerge invigorated, as refreshed as after a bracing cold shower chased by steaming coffee.
Cooking, where I'd fumbled knives and overseasoned pots in clumsy attempts? Mastery infused every technique—precise stir-fries sizzling in perfect harmony, deep-fries yielding golden crispness without a drop of oil wasted, knife work slicing vegetables into paper-thin ribbons with surgical artistry. It all came home like second nature, instinctive and flawless. And Japanese, half-baked from anime marathons back home? Elevated to perfection, I comprehended nuances with scholarly depth—every idiom, honorific, and poetic flourish as if I'd earned a PhD in the language, conversing fluently in my thoughts.
The influx nearly shattered my composure again, visions of my future flashing brighter, but a deep breath anchored me. Stability first. Tomorrow morning, I'd venture out at dawn, seeking a job to embed myself in this world's rhythms—gleaning knowledge, information, and connections while honing my edge. I'd labor diligently for at least the next five years, stacking strength, skills, money, and intel until I stood self-sufficient, unassailable. Only then would I unleash my modern knowledge—disrupting markets, inventing conveniences, ascending to tycoon status. For tonight, with the headache's dull ache lingering like a fading echo, rest called. I curled tighter under the blanket, the cellar's chill seeping away as sleep claimed me, heralding the dawn of my new journey in this enigmatic world.