Chapter 1: How Unfortunate.
Garfield sat motionless on the edge of the creaky bed within his dimly lit bedroom, his gaze fixed intensely upon his own palms as if he were trying to decipher a map written in the creases of his skin.
The silence of the room was heavy, thick with the metallic tang of iron that clung to the air, yet he remained in a trance-like state, barely noticing the flickering light from the hallway filtering through the gap under the door.
To any outside observer, his current environment was quite a horrific scene, but for the man currently occupying the body, it was a moment of profound, surreal realization regarding his new reality.
This cramped, unfamiliar space wasn't actually his by right of birth or years of residence, but rather a prize or perhaps a prison he had inherited the very moment his soul transmigrated into this physical vessel.
Although the previous inhabitant of this form had also answered to the name Garfield, the similarities between the two individuals ended at that.
His hands were still slick with fresh blood at the moment, the wetness reflecting the dull light of the room, and a bloodied kitchen knife lay abandoned on the floorboards at his side like a discarded thought.
Despite the visceral nature of the scene and the undeniable evidence of a violent act, Garfield felt a strange, hollow lack of sensation where there should have been a searing agony.
There was no pulsing throb in his chest or stinging bite on his skin, a fact that felt entirely disconnected from the carnage surrounding him.
Driven by a curiosity that overrode his initial shock, he reached down and pulled his stained top upward to inspect his abdomen, expecting to find a jagged rent in the flesh that matched the gore on his fingers.
However, as he wiped away a layer of the cooling liquid, he found nothing but smooth, unblemished skin staring back at him, devoid of even the slightest scratch or bruise to account for the amount of blood present.
"So that's how it went," he murmured, his voice sounding raspy and foreign to his own ears as a flood of fragmented memories began to coalesce within his mind. It was like a dam breaking, allowing the life story of the original Garfield to pour into his consciousness, filling in the blanks of the tragedy that had occurred only moments before his arrival.
The narrative of the previous owner was one defined by a crushing, relentless weight of expectation and the bitter taste of perceived inadequacy.
In a world that moved forward on the backs of those with power, the original Garfield had failed to awaken a combat class, a failure that effectively stripped him of his dreams and his ability to support those who relied on him.
Overwhelmed by a spiraling depression and the suffocating pressure of providing for an ill mother and two younger siblings, the young man had chosen to commit suicide rather than risking a cruel death by joining the military.
Garfield shook his head slowly, a weary sigh escaping his lips as he looked down at the knife, feeling a mixture of pity and a strange sort of disdain for the one who had occupied this body before him.
"While we both bear the same name, you really were nothing but a coward, weren't you?" he whispered to the empty room, acknowledging the grim circumstances that had allowed him to take root in this world.
There was no malice in his words, only the cold observation of someone who had seen enough of life to know that walking away was often the easiest, yet most damaging, path to take.
Despite his judgment, a sense of responsibility began to take root in his chest, tethering him to the family he had never met but now technically belonged to. "But please rest assured, since I was able to attain this good fortune thanks to your exit, I'll do my best to take care of your family in your stead," he promised, although there was no firmness in his voice as he pushed himself up from the bed.
The moment he stood, the air in front of him seemed to ripple and distort, shimmering with an ethereal light that caught him off guard.
" Oh?" He muttered as a glowing holographic panel manifested before him..
Drawing from the cache of memories he had just absorbed, Garfield realized that this phenomenon was exactly what the people of this era referred to as a 'system,' a concept confined to the realms of digital comics and fantasy novels.
[Unnatural existence has been detected]
The text scrolled across the blue-tinted screen.
Garfield watched with a mixture of wariness and fascination as the interface flickered, not once had he seen such a thing, whether in this life or the other.
[Conditions have been met]
[Initiating System Bonding]
A progress bar appeared beneath the text, ticking upward with a soft, rhythmic chiming sound that echoed inside his skull.
He stood perfectly still, watching the percentages climb steadily.
[0%]
[5%]
[20%]
[30%]
[50%]
[100%]
and finally reaching the hundred percent mark with a triumphant flash of blue light that momentarily blinded him.
[System Bonding Successful]
[Displaying Player's Stats]
The display shifted rapidly, reorganizing itself into a structured window that detailed the current state of his being.
Garfield leaned in slightly, squinting at the numbers and labels that now defined his worth in this new, gamified reality.
[Status Window]
* Name: Garfield Greyfield
* Class: Fisherman, Ninja
* Level: 0 EXP[0/10]
* Mana: 10/10
* STR: 1
* AGT: 2
* INT: 1
* DEX: 1
* VIT: 1
* Skills: (Not Available)
The stats were abysmally low, reflecting the frail and untrained state of the body he had inherited, yet the dual-class designation of 'Fisherman' and 'Ninja' struck him as an incredibly odd combination.
It seemed while the original owner was no more, he still bore his class.
He didn't have much time to ponder the strange pairing, however, as the system chimed once more, bringing a new notification to the forefront of the screen.
[Notice: Administering Starter Pack]
[Would Player like to Open Starter Pack?]
[Y/N]
"Of course, why not," Garfield said with a slight nod, his curiosity piqued by the prospect of receiving another advantage in this new world.
The moment his verbal confirmation was registered, the panel transformed again, showing a charmingly pixelated gift box that vibrated for a second before exploding into a shower of digital fragments.
Those fragments swirled through the air, coalescing into two distinct, intricate icons that settled into the center of the holographic display.
[Acquired item: Ninja Arts (Shadow Clone)]
[Acquired item: Ninja Arts (Silent Steps)]
As the icons solidified, Garfield felt a sudden, sharp sensation in his mind, as if a thick book of knowledge were being unrolled and pressed directly into his brain.
It wasn't a slow process of learning or practice; rather, it was an instantaneous imprinting of muscle memory and spiritual understanding.
In the span of a single heartbeat, he felt as though he had practiced these techniques for a lifetime, the intricate movements and the flow of energy required to activate them becoming as natural as breathing.
He stood up fully now, his movements feeling slightly more fluid than they had moments before, and he felt an irrepressible urge to test the limits of these new gifts.
Focusing his mind on the first skill and tapping into the small reserve of mana he felt within him, he thought of one of the skills.
"Ninja Arts: Shadow Clone."
The air directly in front of him churned violently the next moment, a dark, shadow-like mist erupting from the floorboards and swirling into a humanoid shape.
Within seconds, the mist solidified into a perfect, physical replica of himself, right down to the bloodstains on the clothes and the dazed expression on the face. The clone stood perfectly still, like a silent sentinel that mirrored his height and build with unsettling accuracy.
After several minutes of experimentation, Garfield found himself seated back on the bed, his chin resting in his hand as he pondered the mechanics of his new ability.
He had spent the time walking around the clone, poking at its solid form, and even having it move across the room to see how it reacted to his mental commands.
"It looks like maintaining one costs about 1 mana every minute," he noted to himself, watching the blue bar on his status window slowly recede.
The test had been eye-opening; the clone wasn't just an illusion meant to distract, as it possessed roughly fifty percent of his actual physical strength and was capable of physical interaction.
When he had tested its reflexes with a light strike, the clone had moved to block with a speed that matched his own, proving it could serve as a viable partner in a confrontation.
Although it remained entirely mute, devoid of any personality or the ability to speak, it reassured him he at least had a trick up his sleeve if a troubling situation were to arise.