The city unfolded before him in layers of light and motion. Wide roads stretched endlessly, embedded with glowing lanes where sleek cars glided forward without drivers, guided by silent systems far beyond primitive mechanics. Above them, drones moved in orderly patterns—some small and swift, others large enough to carry cargo—casting fleeting shadows as they monitored traffic, people, and airspace alike. Towers of steel and glass rose high into the sky, their surfaces alive with flowing holograms, data streams, and shifting sigils that blended magic circuits with advanced technology.
Far overhead, planes cut through the clouds in smooth, precise arcs, while in the distance, bullet trains roared past on elevated rails, leaving behind streaks of light as they crossed the city in seconds. Mana-reactors hummed beneath the streets, feeding both spell arrays and machines, making the air itself feel charged. This was not a city of the past—it was a testament to a world where science and magic had fused seamlessly, creating a civilization sharp, fast, and unforgiving to those too weak to keep up.
Chronis looked at the scene while wearing a black T-shirt, baggy pants, and flat-soled shoes—the same outfit he had worn before using the time machine. Now, however, it hung loosely on him. The clothes were clearly oversized, longer and broader than they should have been, a silent reminder of the transformation he carried. Standing in the shadow of the alley, he took in the city ahead, then walked out onto the street, expressionless.
Chronis looked ahead, his gaze calm and unreadable.
"Fate truly plays games," he muttered softly. "Who would have thought that in my second life, I'd be playing it as a female… haha."
His eyes shifted toward a nearby coffee shop. Money was not something he worried about—at least, he shouldn't have. With that thought, he activated his inventory magic, fully expecting his stored resources to appear.
Nothing happened.
Chronis froze for a fraction of a second.
"…Amazing," he said flatly. "Here I thought I'd at least have enough resources to sustain my life while achieving things again."
His expression darkened slightly.
"To think only my memories and experiences returned… while everything else was left behind. Well i guess i will just wait now until evening to enter the orphanage."
Chronis did not rush. Orphanages did not run on emotion—they ran on routine.
By evening, she stood once again before the orphanage gates. The lights inside were on, silhouettes of caretakers moving about, their voices low and tired. When she stepped through the entrance, the air inside seemed to still.
Conversations died mid-sentence.
Heads turned.
Chronis stood quietly, black hair falling loosely down her back, her features unnaturally refined—too perfect, too balanced. Her skin was pale, untouched, almost luminous beneath the lights. And her eyes… dark, deep, like bottomless abysses that reflected nothing. For a moment, she did not look like a child at all, but something closer to an angel that had wandered into the wrong place.
Several caretakers froze, staring openly.
A middle-aged woman finally snapped out of it and stepped forward, her voice uncertain.
"C-can I help you?"
Chronis lowered her gaze slightly, her expression calm.
"I was told to come here," she said. "I was transferred."
Silence followed.
The woman looked her over again—no luggage, no parents, no one waiting outside. Just a girl who did not seem entirely human standing in the middle of their orphanage.
"…Another transfer," the caretaker muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
After a brief hesitation, she gestured inside.
"Come in. We'll sort everything out tomorrow."
Chronis stepped forward without another word, her presence lingering long after she passed, leaving behind an unease no one could quite explain.
The caretaker led her down a narrow corridor and stopped in front of an old, shabby-looking room. She pushed the door open and gestured inside.
"This room is a bit dirty," she said apologetically. "But it's just for today. We'll arrange a proper room for you tomorrow."
She hesitated for a moment, then asked,
"Oh, right. What school do you go to?"
Chronis looked at her, her expression plain—almost cold.
"I don't go to school," she replied. "I would like to apply to one."
The caretaker blinked, slightly surprised, then nodded slowly. Given the circumstances, there was only one realistic option. The closest and most convenient school—one of the government-run institutions that charged no fees.
Coincidentally, it was the same school Serik attended.
Chronis entered the room and adjusted it to her liking, making only small, practical changes. Once finished, she left and headed toward the orphanage garden.
Several teenagers were gathered there, their ages ranging from twelve to seventeen. This orphanage took in children within that range. Once someone turned eighteen, they were considered an adult and no longer received government protection. At that point, they were required to leave the orphanage and survive on their own, working for whatever they could earn.
The orphanage itself was massive, containing nearly a hundred rooms. It was large enough to feel like a small community rather than a shelter. At its center lay a spacious garden—a place meant for rest, relaxation, or simply existing without purpose for a while.
Chronis entered the garden and took a seat on an empty bench.
Almost immediately, the atmosphere shifted.
Games slowed. Conversations faltered. A few teenagers stopped mid-motion, glancing her way. Then more heads turned. Within moments, the garden had gone noticeably quieter.
Whispers followed.
"Oh, it's someone new."
"Look at her… she's gorgeous."
"I've never seen anyone this beautiful."
"Holy shit, where is she from?"
"Who is she?"
Chronis sat still, unmoved, her expression unchanged as the attention settled around her like an uninvited presence.
There were murmurs among the crowd.
"Dude… should I approach her? Ask for her number?"
Low laughter followed, mixed with nervous excitement. A few took hesitant steps forward—then stopped.
Serik walked into the garden.
The whispers died almost instantly.
He moved without hurry and sat down beside Chronis on the bench. His presence alone was enough to draw a clear line. No one spoke. No one dared approach. The garden slowly returned to motion, though many eyes still lingered on the two sitting side by side.
Whispers erupted again, lower this time, edged with resentment.
"WHAAAAT? This bastard—tsk. That damn woman-attractor didn't waste a second."
"Seriously… appearance really is the greatest gift."
Another voice clicked its tongue.
"And he's strong too. Good at magic. Smart. It's obvious why the girls like him."
A pause followed, heavy with frustration.
"…Still," someone muttered bitterly, "it's just not fair."
Chronis quietly observed her surroundings. A faint smile appeared on her face. It did not take her long to understand what was going through the minds of the teenagers around her. If she wished, she could walk up to them and become friends with everyone present—but it simply was not worth it.
Why? Because these people were at the very bottom of the food chain. They had nothing to offer her. Nothing she could gain by befriending them or turning them into accomplices. Just a group of ordinary teenagers—what possible use could they serve her here?
Chronis was quietly explaining to Serik how she had joined the orphanage, keeping it brief and surface-level.
Footsteps stopped in front of them.
The girl who had knocked on Serik's door earlier stood there, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. She was smiling—but it was stiff, the kind that came a second too late.
"Hi, Serik," she said. "Did you… become friends with this new girl?"
Her eyes flicked to Chronis, lingering a moment longer than necessary.
"Who is she?" she asked, her tone light but strained. "Where is she from?"
Serik was about to speak when Chronis interrupted him.
"Hey, my name's Rhea," she said. "What's yours?"