.
I didn't sleep much.
Every time I drifted off, the pain in my leg pulled me back. It wasn't sharp anymore. It was dull, deep, like something heavy pressing from the inside. The kind of pain that doesn't scream, but doesn't let you forget it's there either.
I stared at the ceiling until the room slowly got brighter.
Morning again.
"…Still alive."
I said it quietly, like if I spoke louder, something might change its mind.
I pushed myself up a little, careful not to move my leg too fast. Even that small motion made my thigh tighten. I stopped and waited. My breathing was slow, controlled. Panicking wouldn't help.
When the pain settled enough, I sat up fully.
The cloth around my leg was stiff. Dried blood. Sweat. Dirt. It smelled bad. I peeled it off slowly, teeth clenched, and checked the wound again.
It looked worse than yesterday.
Red. Puffy. Angry.
"…Shit."
In my old life, I would've gone to a hospital. Doctors. Antibiotics. Easy.
Here?
If it got infected, I was done.
I cleaned it again using the herbal paste I bought last night. It burned like fire. My hands shook, but I didn't pull away. I pressed the paste in, wrapped it with clean cloth, and tied it tight.
When I finished, my shirt was damp with sweat.
I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes.
"I can't rush."
That was the truth.
If I tried to act like some manhwa hero, I'd die fast. This world wasn't waiting for me to catch up. It wouldn't slow down just because I was weak.
I stayed in the room until my breathing returned to normal.
Then my stomach growled.
"…Right."
Food.
I checked my money again. A few coins. Enough for simple meals. Not enough to waste.
I left the sword behind and grabbed a stick to help me walk. Every step outside felt like I was learning how to move all over again. My leg didn't want to take weight. My body leaned to the side without me meaning to.
People noticed.
Some stared openly. Some whispered. Others just didn't care.
That hurt more than the looks.
Not being hated.
Being ignored.
I bought cheap bread and ate it slowly near the edge of the street. It tasted dry, but it filled my stomach. That was all that mattered.
While I ate, I watched people.
A group of guards passed by, laughing. Their armor looked worn but solid. Swords at their sides. They walked like the world belonged to them.
A merchant argued with a customer. Two kids ran past, chasing each other.
Life moved.
Whether I was ready or not.
After eating, I limped toward the training grounds.
Not to train.
Just to watch.
The grounds were open, just dirt and wooden posts. A few young men were practicing. Their swings were clean. Strong. Confident.
Each sound of wood hitting wood echoed in my head.
I clenched my fist.
"Not yet," I muttered.
Watching too long would just make me angry.
I turned away.
Instead, I went to the back of town where old buildings leaned against each other like tired men. That's where I found small work.
Cleaning.
Carrying light boxes.
Running messages.
Nothing heroic.
Nothing proud.
But it paid a little.
By noon, my leg was screaming again. I sat down in the shade, back against a wall, and closed my eyes.
My whole body felt tired in a way that went past muscles. It felt like my bones were tired.
"…This is slow."
That thought came, quiet but heavy.
Slow growth.
No limit.
The words from the system came back to me.
I didn't feel strong. I didn't feel special.
I felt like trash dragging itself forward inch by inch.
And yet…
I was still here.
I stood up again.
The afternoon passed like that. Small jobs. Small breaks. Small pain stacking on top of each other.
By the time the sun started going down, my leg was shaking on its own.
I went back to my room and collapsed onto the bed.
For a while, I didn't move.
I just stared at the ceiling.
"…I hate this."
I said it out loud.
Not the pain.
The weakness.
The fact that everything took effort. That nothing came easy. That even surviving felt like work.
In stories, pain makes people stronger fast.
Here, pain just hurt.
I forced myself to sit up again.
Slowly, I reached for the sword.
Just holding it made my arm ache.
"I won't swing."
I said it like a promise.
I just stood there, sword in hand.
Feeling the weight.
Letting my grip tighten and loosen.
Five minutes felt like forever.
My arm started shaking.
Ten minutes in, my shoulder burned.
I dropped the sword.
It hit the floor with a dull sound.
I fell back onto the bed, breathing hard.
"…Pathetic."
But when the blue screen appeared, I froze.
Strength: 1 → 1
Stamina: 2 → 2
Agility: 1 → 1
No change.
I laughed weakly.
"Of course."
Still, something felt different.
Not in the numbers.
In me.
That night, the pain didn't disappear, but it felt familiar. Like an unwanted roommate instead of an enemy.
I slept in short bursts.
Dreams came and went.
None of them were good.
The next day, I woke up sore again.
But I woke up.
That alone mattered.
I cleaned the wound. Ate. Went out.
More small jobs.
More walking.
More pain.
A man dropped a box and yelled at me for not moving fast enough. I bowed my head and apologized.
Another man tossed me a coin like I was a beggar.
I picked it up anyway.
Pride didn't keep you alive.
In the afternoon, rain started again. Cold this time.
My clothes stuck to my skin. My leg hated every step.
I slipped once and fell hard.
The world spun.
People walked past me.
One glanced over.
No one stopped.
I pushed myself up slowly, hands shaking, mud on my clothes.
"…Get up."
I said it quietly.
No anger.
Just fact.
When I finally got back to my room, my body felt empty. Like something had drained me.
I sat on the bed and checked my status again.
Stamina: 2 → 3
"…Huh."
It wasn't much.
But it was real.
I lay back and stared at the ceiling again.
This time, I smiled a little.
Not because things were better.
But because they moved.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Forward.
And for now…
That was enough.