The scent of warm vanilla and toasted sugar drifted through the wooden walls like a whispered promise. My stomach growled in response—loudly, embarrassingly. Apparently, this new body still needed food.
I stepped down the narrow staircase, half-expecting to wake up at any second. But the creak of the wood beneath my feet, the sunlight spilling through ivy-wrapped windows, and the subtle warmth of the air were all too vivid, too real. If this was a dream, it was the most detailed one I'd ever had.
"Felix! Hurry up or your toast's gonna turn to ash!" came the cheerful bellow from downstairs.
I reached the landing and stopped. The kitchen-café hybrid opened before me like something out of a cozy anime. Dark polished counters. Tables set with hand-sewn linens. A giant stone oven hissed in the back, and hanging herbs framed the walls. A chalkboard menu listed items in beautiful cursive—everything from spiced apple bread to honey cream cake.
And in the center of it all stood a tall young man with rolled-up sleeves, hair the color of firelight, and a grin that could charm the dead.
"Ah, he emerges!" he said with mock reverence, raising a spatula like a sword. "Good morning, sleepy prince."
"Uh... morning," I muttered, unsure how to respond to this real-life NPC big brother.
"Sit, sit!" he gestured, turning back to the oven. "Heather, bring the butter. 'His highness' has finally descended."
Heather appeared, her apron dusted with flour and her eyes already narrowed in concern. She was maybe a year or two younger than me, but she carried herself like a mother of three. Without a word, she set down a plate—two golden slices of brioche with whipped cream, berry compote, and something that smelled vaguely like cinnamon magic.
"You forgot to wash your face," she chided, dabbing at my cheek with a warm towel like I was five years old.
"Right… thanks," I said, blinking.
This is real. This is really happening.
I took a bite and immediately paused.
…Holy hell. I could taste everything. The sweetness, the crisp edges, the buttery warmth. Was this how food always tasted here?
"You good?" Matteo asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah," I said between bites. "This is amazing."
He grinned and placed a folded envelope on the table beside me.
"That came for you this morning. Official-looking seal and everything. Thought you might want to read it before your shift."
I stared at it.
A dark green wax seal stamped with a strange sigil: a tower piercing the clouds, encircled by a ring of stars.
I opened it with slightly trembling fingers.
[To Felix Anderson,
You are formally invited to attend the Entrance Examination of Lorithal Academy of Mystics and Arcana.
The exam shall commence in seven days' time at the Capitol Annex.
Attendance is mandatory. Failure to attend will forfeit all rights to candidacy.
Regards,
The Admissions Committee of Lorithal Academy]
And just beneath that, like clockwork—
[System Notice: Event Confirmed – Academy Entrance Exam]
[Time Remaining: 6 Days, 12 Hours, 27 Minutes]
I sucked in a breath as glowing text scrolled across my vision.
[Optional Bonus Skill Available: Do you wish to accept?]
Skill: Instinctual Flow (Passive)
You are in a constant state of alertness. Increases perception, awareness, and cognitive speed. Grants minor boosts to reaction time and movement speed during moments of focus or danger.
Another message followed.
[Reason for Grant: Uninitiated Transmigrant — Survival Probability: Low]
This skill has been auto-generated to increase survival until baseline competency is achieved. Accept or Decline?
I blinked.
There was no button, no menu, but... something in me understood. All I had to do was think it.
'Accept?'
[Skill Acquired: Instinctual Flow (Lv. 1)]
I looked around.
Everything had shifted.
The sunlight hitting the table glowed more vividly. The steam curling off my tea seemed to move in slow waves. I could hear the creak of Matteo's boots as he moved behind the counter, the rustle of paper as Heather scribbled a checklist by the register.
And yet—everything was the same. I had just become aware of it all.
"…Whoa."
"Everything alright?" Heather asked, her brow furrowed.
"Yeah. Just... spaced out."
"Well, space back in," Matteo said, flipping a tray of pastries onto the cooling rack. "After breakfast, go wash up and put on your uniform. The shop opens in twenty."
"Uniform?" I asked blankly.
He chuckled. "Apron, Felix. It's literally just an apron. Same as every morning. And don't you try sneaking out again—last time you left me with twelve guests and a cup of tea."
Right. The old Felix must've had... habits.
"Got it," I said, pushing the plate away with a deep breath. "I'll be ready."
Heather smiled warmly, eyes softening. "Welcome back, dummy."
She left to check the displays, humming under her breath.
As I carried the dishes to the sink, a flicker of emotion hit me. Not confusion or fear, like before.
But something warmer. Stranger.
Was this what it felt like to not be alone all the time?
---
Upstairs, I washed up in the polished bathroom and slipped on the apron hanging on a peg. My reflection greeted me again—those same golden-brown eyes now sharper, more alive.
I stared into them, feeling the weight of the envelope still in my chest pocket.
Six days.
And then the story really begins.
For now, I was just a baker's helper.
A cute, short young man with flour on his sleeves and a secret countdown ticking in the corner of his vision.
But I wasn't scared.
For the first time in my life, I had something to prepare for.
Something to live for.
And just maybe... something akin to fate.