Content Warning:
If you're still eating, don't read this chapter yet.
Thanks for reading, have a nice day!
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Time became a strange, squishy blur.
The sun would rise. Lyra would drool. I'd dangle. Sometimes she'd chew. Sometimes she'd nap. Always in that order. Always looping.
The sun kept rising. The baby kept wailing. And I remained… chewed.
I wasn't sure if I had lost track of time, or if time itself had taken one look at my situation and gone, "Yeah, nah—he's not important."
All I knew for certain was this:
I, a perfectly average dude with above-average gacha luck and below-average life choices, had been reincarnated—as a six-sided choking hazard dangling off a necklace. Even with all the isekai light novels I'd read—or skimmed just to laugh at the title's twelve-paragraph synopsis about vending machines falling in love—none were ever this absurd.
#internalbleeding
Congratulations. You've unlocked: Existential Jewelry Mode.
…
I congratulated myself.
Because clearly, no one else was going to.
Still clinging to the hope that maybe—just maybe—this was all part of some elaborate RPG tutorial.
That I'd get a system ping. An UI pop-up.
Welcome, Adventurer! You've unlocked: Level 1 — Chew Toy of Shame!
An achievement, at least.
But no.
Just drool. And despair.
No system menu. No tutorial. No divine guidance. Just me, dangling from a baby's neck, trying not to develop motion sickness every time she sneezed.
Welcome to Eden, the world I had somehow landed in. There was magic in the air, monsters under the bed, and forgotten bloodlines everywhere.
From what little I'd overheard, this was a world of kings and farmers, guilds and ruins, where magic was common but technology hadn't caught up to it yet. A medieval fantasy mess with a few modern quirks and now I was stuck right in the middle of it.
Ancient ruins glowed like discount rave parties, and adventurers risked life and limb for "epic loot" that usually turned out to be someone's cursed grandma jewelry.
Most dungeons were clearly marked on the map as "Certain Death: Do Not Enter," which, of course, made them peak five-star TripAdvisor hotspots.
Eden had its full package—buy one get one—like those 'marry the daughter, inherit the mother-in-law' plotlines you only see on those bookmarked video sites I swear I was gonna delete... eventually.
Elves with ears long enough to slice bread and attitudes sharp enough to match. They're elegant, near-immortal, and naturally gifted in magic—especially nature and spirit spells. I once saw a toddler elf grow a full hedge maze to avoid chores. Respect.
Humans? Jack-of-all-trades.
They don't live as long or glow as much, but they're scrappy and stubborn as hell.
Give a human a stick, and he'll invent five sword styles, two schools of combat philosophy, and charge tuition before lunchtime.
Then there's dwarves. Short, hairy, and absolutely built like magical refrigerators.
Masters of blacksmithing, rune tech, and headbutting their problems into submission.
Legend says one of them headbutted a mana crystal so hard it gained sentience and now refers to him as "Papa."
And the beastkin?
Fast, charming, and cursed with superior smell and seductive haggling skills.
You went to the market for tomatoes, you came home with three fur scarves and emotional baggage.
Eden was bursting with powerful clans, dangerous monsters, ancient secrets, and literal glowing caves full of treasure...
And me? I got reincarnated in a farmhouse.
The Swift family—Lyra's family—are ordinary folks. Farmers through and through.
No secret nobility, no ancient bloodlines, no world-ending curses (as far as I can tell).
Just chickens, goats, a barking mutt named Turnip, and a baby girl who thinks I'm edible.
Most of what I know about this world came from eavesdropping during lazy afternoons and chaotic diaper changes. Adults love to talk.
Apparently, the neighbor's kid recently awakened as a fire mage.
And by awakened, I mean he sneezed and turned their outhouse into a smoldering crater.
The villagers called it a "miracle."
His dad called it "a nightmare that smells like barbecue."
Then, a few days later, some adventurer guilds made headlines by unearthing a hidden ruin filled with ancient relics and cursed loot. The whole town buzzed with excitement, which naturally led to wild speculation about who had hidden treasure buried under their backyard.
While hanging laundry and chatting with the neighbor across the fence, Lyra's mom joined the conversation like it was just another village rumor.
"You hear about that guild up north? Dug up a whole vault of magical junk under some poor farmer's cabbage field. My husband's already talking about digging behind the barn."
The neighbor laughed.
"Well, I heard your husband's great-grandfather had that weird locked shed no one uses. Some folks say he buried gold or something under it."
"If there's treasure under this house," Lyra's mom replied dryly, "it's probably just chicken bones and goat poop, which they composted for fertilizer. I married into floor creaks, a howling mutt, and a man who thinks goat cheese twice a year counts as romance."
The neighbor burst into giggles, and the two women laughed like old friends who had earned every right to roast their husbands and still love them afterward.
Meanwhile, I just dangled there, swinging softly from Lyra's neck—trying not to absorb too much secondhand sass.
That treasure rumor though?
It stuck with me.
Apparently, treasure-hunting was a real thing in Eden. Some even whisper that beneath cabbage fields lie relics so rare they breathe—Living Artifacts. Like me, probably. Maybe. Who knows.
So guilds getting rich overnight? Not exactly a common thing around here. Entire legends passed down through generations about "whispers beneath the roots" and "sealed truths under old bloodlines." All that dramatic stuff.
Honestly, it was the kind of world I always dreamed about growing up.
In my old life, I imagined waking up in a place like this.
Wielding a flaming sword, farting dragons, maybe smirking my way through a flirt battle with a cat-eared assassin girl.
You know—the usual.
Childhood dream about joining a guild, exploring ancient ruins, finding some mythical artifact, and shouting something cool like:
"Don't touch that—unless you want to awaken the sleeping chicken of calamity!"
And now?
Here I was.
Awakened.
As a dice.
Strapped to the neck of a tiny human who thought I was a snack.
Romantic, right?
Speaking of which...
Let me tell you about the time I hit rock bottom.
And by rock bottom, I mean gummed within an inch of my spiritual life.
It started like any other day. Lyra was rolling around on a straw mat, giggling at air like it told her a good joke. I, her loyal dice necklace, hung loosely from her neck, minding my own business, soaking up sunlight and self-pity.
And then she looked at me.
With that spark in her eye.
The one that said:
"Today... Lyra eats the cube..!!."
She grabbed me with both hands, locked her eyes on my polished dice surface, and opened her mouth like a void of destiny.
No hesitation. No mercy.
"No. No. NO. Don't you dare—!"
I screamed—loud, desperate, and entirely internal.
My eyes were poking out.
Literally.
Even though I wasn't sure I had eyes.
Or even one.
Let alone two.
CHOMP.
I was in.
Warmth engulfed me. Pressure from all sides.
Something slid across my face—gummy, wet, unstoppable.
My world became soft, warm, and horrifying.
A flood of drool and spiritual trauma swallowed me whole.
Something gummy kept wriggling against me—again and again—smearing me like I was some sacred, cube-shaped candy summoned by a teething ritual.
It was a very… bizarre feeling.
Then—suddenly—
I felt it.
Each gummy squish sent magical static zipping through me—like my soul was glitching.
A wave of silent regret washed over me.
Heavy.
Ancient.
Personal.
I wanted to die.
Again.
Properly this time.
This was the story of a man's fall.
A tale of dignity lost in a sea of baby drool and unanswered prayers.
And worst of all?
I thought she liked it.
But the nightmare didn't stop there.
Because the next day…
She tried to sit on me.
Like, not accidentally.
Full eye contact.
A slow-motion descent.
No words. No warning.
Just chaos in a diaper, treating me like a throne forged by destiny.
"NOPE. NOPE. NOT AGAIN. I'M NOT BUILT FOR THIS—"
THUD.
And then… it happened.
From the heavens above—or rather, from the abyss below—came forth a terrible omen.
A warmth.
A pressure.
A shift in atmosphere.
THE BROWNY OMITTED METEOR
FELL.
Impact imminent. Sanity not found. Hope permanently deleted.
I was baptized in despair.
Anointed by forces too dark to name.
My life didn't flash before my eyes—just a long, silent error screen.
#DiceRights
And in the distance, I swear I heard the wind whisper:
"You rolled a natural six."
As the air settled and the last ripple of magic fizzled out, Lyra reached downward with a sleepy wiggle, hands glowing faintly.
The diaper, which had clearly given up moments earlier, magically pulled itself back into place with a soft snap.
She giggled.
I... did not.