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Carl stared at the floating screen in front of him.
It hovered there, glowing faintly against the dim forest light, unbothered by the fact that reality had just gone completely off the rails. The words on the screen weren't flickering like some cheap sci-fi hologram. No, they were crisp, clear, and—worst of all—directly addressing him.
[Welcome, Lost One.]
Carl squinted.
"…Lost One? Really? That's what we're going with? Not 'Chosen Hero'? Not 'Interdimensional Badass'?"
The screen remained unimpressed.
[Would you like to check your status?]
Carl sighed. "Oh, what the hell. Sure. Show me my 'status.' Whatever that means."
The text shifted instantly.
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Name: Carl Reyes
Level: 1
Class: None
Title: Lost One
Height: 178 cm
Weight: 72 kg
Skills: [Basic Adaptability - F]
Carl blinked.
Then blinked again.
Then squinted at a very particular part of the screen.
"…178 cm?"
That wasn't right. Last time he checked—before getting isekai'd by a rogue lightning bolt—he had been 165 cm. A proud 5'5. Painfully average. Now?
A reluctant glance down at his body confirmed the discrepancy. His clothes fit differently. Not tight, but… adjusted. He flexed his fingers. No weird sensations, but something was definitely off.
"Did I… grow?"
A soft chime rang in his ears.
[Basic Adaptability - F: Grants minor adjustments to fit new environments. Enhances survival instincts and bodily adaptability within reason.]
Carl narrowed his eyes. "So you're saying I got a free height boost just for existing here?"
[Correct.]
He scoffed. "Could've given me super strength instead, but fine, I'll take it."
[You wouldn't know what to do with super strength.]
Carl's eye twitched. "Excuse me?"
[You struggle to open pickle jars.]
"One time! That was one time!" Carl huffed. "And those jars are designed to be impossible."
The screen flickered, clearly not buying it.
Then—
He noticed something at the bottom of the screen.
[Return Option Available]
Carl's heart nearly jumped out of his chest. "Oh, hell yes!"
Without hesitation, he jabbed his finger at the option. The screen flickered for a brief second before another message popped up.
[Return Function Activated. Cooldown: 24 Hours Remaining.]
Carl's face fell. "…You're kidding me."
[Nope.]
He inhaled deeply, fingers twitching. "You're telling me I can go home, but I have to wait an entire day?!"
[Correct! Wow, you're catching on quick!]
Carl gritted his teeth. "And there's no way to speed it up?"
[Unless you have an S-Rank time-manipulation skill, nope! Oh, wait, you don't. Too bad!]
Carl clenched his fists. "You—"
[Also, seriously? You noticed your height change before the return option? Priorities, my dude.]
Carl twitched violently.
The screen flickered again, as if laughing at him.
He took a deep breath. Then another.
"…Fine. I'll wait." He exhaled sharply. "But I'm gonna complain about it the whole damn time."
Deciding to ignore his digital bully, Carl turned toward more pressing concerns. Like, say, not dying in the next 24 hours.
First up: shelter.
He walked for what felt like hours, navigating the dense forest as the sun dipped lower. Just when he was ready to give up and accept his fate as a future monster's dinner, he spotted something—a structure, half-hidden behind overgrown vines.
An old house.
Not a medieval shack, either. This thing had concrete walls and actual windows.
Carl approached cautiously, pushing aside the vines creeping along the entrance. Inside, dust coated every surface. The furniture was overturned. The appliances—yes, appliances—were either broken or covered in grime.
Faucet test. Carl twisted the knob in the kitchen sink.
Water ran.
His stomach twisted. "…Okay, what the hell is this place?"
Fantasy worlds didn't have running water. Or abandoned suburban homes.
This wasn't some backwater medieval setting. This world had civilization. Had people.
And now? It was empty.
Carl exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. More questions, no answers.
[Would you like a survival tutorial?
He snorted. "Let me guess. 'Step One: Don't die?'"
[Step One: AVOID STANDING IN OPENINGS LIKE A MORON.]
Carl blinked. "Wait, what?"
CRASH.
The window behind him shattered as a shadow burst inside.
Instinct screamed. Carl dove over the couch, hitting the floor hard. A feral snarl tore through the room. Claws scraped against wood.
His heart pounded as he scrambled back, eyes locking onto the intruder.
It was not a goblin this time.
A creature crouched in the moonlight. Lanky, all jagged limbs and razor-sharp teeth. Its milky white eyes locked onto him, hunger dripping from its maw.
[Congratulations! You have encountered your first predator.]
Carl scowled. "Yeah, thanks for the warning, after it busted in!"
[Survival rate: 32%.]
"Wow, cool. Love those odds. Got any useful tips?"
[Run.]
The creature lunged.
Carl booked it.
He vaulted over broken furniture, dodging a swipe that shredded through the couch. His breath came ragged as he sprinted down the hallway, feet skidding across the dust-coated floor.
[Basic Adaptability - F: Activated.]
Carl ducked just as claws raked through the air where his head had been.
"Yeah, yeah, keep it coming!" he snapped, narrowly avoiding becoming a snack.
He whipped around a corner—
Dead end.
Carl skidded to a halt. "Oh, come on!"
The creature snarled, prowling closer.
[Survival rate: 14%.]
"STOP GIVING ME BAD NEWS!"
[Then stop making bad decisions :> ]
Carl grabbed the nearest object—a rusted frying pan—and brandished it like a sword.
The creature lunged.
Carl swung.
CLANG.
The impact sent a shockwave up his arms. The creature reeled, dazed.
[Critical hit!]
Carl didn't waste the opportunity. He swung again. And again. And again.
By the fourth hit, the creature collapsed, twitching.
Carl stood there, panting, frying pan still raised like a medieval knight.
The system chimed.
[Enemy defeated. Congratulations, you're slightly less useless.]
Carl groaned, flopping onto his back. His arms felt like jelly.
[Skill proficiency increased. Basic Adaptability - F → E.]
He cracked an eye open. "Wait. Did I just level up… from pan combat?"
[You take victories where you can get them.]
Carl stared at the ceiling, exhaling. "Okay… new goal. Find a weapon. Before I have to reenact a cooking show battle to the death again."
Tomorrow, he'd go home.
…Hopefully.
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To be Continued…