It was market day—the last day of the week, Yupochalsp. As a result, stalls and tables lined every corner of the town’s market square.


    My "father," Caren, stretched his back with a grunt. "It’s getting dark."


    "Right... let’s start packing up."


    "Yup," he muttered, still stretching, his groans deep and pained.


    "You might want Marvin to check your back. It seems to be getting worse," I said while helping him gather the remaining produce into two massive bags so we could fold the plastic table.


    Last year, he got into a fight with the neighbor over a crude comment about Natasha—Caren’s wife and this body’s biological mother. That scuffle had left him with a lingering back injury.


    I was so disappointed. I had expected him to beat the guy up, to use that fat-man strength for something, not run out of breath in just twenty seconds.


    "When he gets a better reputation, I’ll think about it," he replied.


    Hmm.


    He had a point. Marvin’s reputation was in the gutter. A frail, toothless physician with a gambling addiction, constantly burning through his wife’s money. Worse, he had been abusive—until her brother stabbed him.


    Before that, almost every weekend, shouts and crashes came from their house.


    Once we finished packing up, Caren hefted the two heavy bags of unsold produce, while I carried the folded table.


    We left the small town of four hundred and fifty houses, making our way home.


    I had barely even started walking, yet the thought of trekking for nearly an hour already weighed on me.


    We rarely encountered adventurers/vlandos on the road, but every time we did, Caren stared at them. And when they noticed, his hateful glare vanished, replaced by something else—anxiousness, like a child caught stealing money.


    “Lil Verni,” a green-skinned man with floating hair locks called as he passed by.


    Oh, him.


    "Yo! Thanks for the gift again!" I called out.


    He merely waved a hand above his head, dismissing my gratitude without a word.


    Rude.


    Caren raised an eyebrow, suspicious. "Gift? What gift?"


    "A wristband. Don’t worry, I lost it." A lie.


    "Vernisha. Why do you interact with those people?" His voice was tight, like he was holding back anger.


    "I don’t see why I shouldn’t. I’ve met nice vlandos, and the ones I talk to aren’t bad."


    "This bullshit again," he muttered, coming to a stop as he adjusted the bags on his shoulders. "Are you human or not?"


    "What kind of stupid-ass question is that?"


    "Language. Answer the question."


    "Human, obviously."


    "Exactly. We’re humans. We don’t interact with vlandos. We have nothing to do with them."


    "But—"


    He grunted, reaching for his back, no doubt feeling the pain flare up again. "Forget all that propaganda your mother tells you about vlandos," he said.


    "Those notebooks I have—a vlandos gave them to me."


    His face stiffened. "What...?"


    "Miss Apala. She says I’m smart and should go to school and whatever. So, she gave me those books."


    "And you kept that a secret from me..."


    "I didn’t want you to burn them." I folded my arms. "Anyway, the point is, they’re not all bad. And... if you keep saying things like that, then if one of your children became a vlandos, it would just drive them away from you."


    "I don’t want to think about that."


    "But what if... Ulah did awaken the system?"


    He turned to me with an unsettling glare. "I’d hope it’s a bluff. That’s my only son. I wouldn’t want him to become a damn vlandos."


    "B-but you could just raise him to be good."


    "A good vlandos... is one that stays the hell away from society. Or better yet, dead."


    "You’re being absurd."


    He sighed. "Vernisha, this is a world filled with people who look like you, think like you, talk like you—but secretly wish for your extinction. In the blink of an eye, they could punch a hole through your head. You could be chatting with someone, falling in love with them, and maybe you hurt their feelings a little. The next day, against your own will, you could ‘willingly’ pick up a knife and slit your own throat."


    I had heard stories of that happening. Too many stories.


    His expression darkened, exhaustion heavy in his eyes. Perhaps he was thinking, What if my child did become a vlandos?


    "I had a brother who was a vlandos. Bet you didn’t know that," he said.


    "Did your parents kill him?" I asked, my voice void of emotion.


    "No. They couldn’t stomach killing their own child, so the village did it for them. It was a hard choice, but necessary to protect us."A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ...


    "Don’t you think that’s insane?"


    "It is. But sometimes you have to make ''insane'' decisions."


    I chose not to respond. What was there to say? Nothing.


    If he found out about me...


    I glanced at my bandaged palm, thoughts swirling in my head.


    He must have noticed my cold expression because he attempted to shift the mood. "What do you want for dinner?"


    I frowned. "We can afford to have dinner? Damn, we must be rich."


    "Well... your mother caught a lot of fish last night..."


    "Didn’t she sell all of them? She and Palia were talking about selling them to Portrum."


    Portrum lay east of where we lived, far from any water bodies, making fish highly valuable there.


    "She must have saved a couple."


    I thought about it for a moment before shaking my head. "I doubt it."


    "Maybe we can go out and catch some."


    "I’m tired."


    "That’s... fair."


    And so, we walked on.


    No matter how hard I tried to brush off his words, they lingered. What made it worse was that his friends had said even worse.


    Night fell, but we were accustomed to traveling in the dark. Still, we had to stop multiple times due to Caren’s back pains.


    He sat down, taking deep breaths, while I wandered around.


    "Don’t go too far," he muttered.


    "Yup, yup," I replied, proceeding to do exactly that.


    Above a small hill stood a Balash temple. Natasha always told me never to enter one, but I had always been curious.


    Besides, I’d heard they gave food to kids and those who looked poor.


    I want food.


    The leftover produce in the bags amounted to mere fruits. In other words, they did nothing to fend off my hunger.


    Reaching for my sheath, I took out my knife and gripped the handle between my teeth.


    [+4% Strength]


    Heh. I got this from an adventurer by begging really hard. The same punchio (green-skinned guy) adventurer I met on the way here.


    Although, I think he gave it to me because he was annoyed and wanted me to stop crying. After all, what adult gives a ‘kid’ a knife?


    I glanced around to see if anyone was watching, and once I was sure the coast was clear, I made a meter-long bound and grabbed onto the stones poking out from the hill.


    I climbed quickly, hopping from stone to stone like an amateur rock climber.


    After a minute, I finally reached the top.


    Damn, that was tiring...


    I wiped the sweat off my face and spotted people dressed in long white habits entering the massive golden temple.


    Lowering myself to the ground, I crawled to the side of the temple and leaned my back against the wall. Voices drifted through the air, and I perked up, listening.


    "Little boy, do you know why Balash is important to us?"


    "Um... so that monsters wouldn’t... win?"


    "Yes, that’s one of the important reasons. And another important reason is..."


    I didn’t care about this. When was someone going to knock and ask for food so I could slip in and join them?


    If Caren wasn’t so anti-vlandos, we’d be stuffing our stomachs right now. And Natasha didn’t like the temple or Balash, so she had never brought me here.


    I kept listening, hoping food would be handed out, but that never happened. Instead, I heard Caren shouting my name.


    He didn’t sound too worried. I used to run away a lot—ignored his frantic calls when I was drowning in frustration, forced to live as a peasant in another world.


    No shade to my fellow peasants, but I only tolerated mediocrity because I had no choice in this bullshit.


    Digging holes just to take a shit? One meal a day?! That had been hell to adapt to. And I was just glad my menstruation cycle hadn’t started yet. If the cramps were anything like what I had back on Earth...


    Ugh! Just thinking about it makes me want to scream.


    Actually, now that I thought about it, it was a damn good thing only the very wealthy could afford guns. Because if I’d had one at age three? My brains would’ve been decorating a wall.


    Movement caught my eye—a temple worker placing a basket of hot bread rolls on a table.


    Natasha told me not to enter the temple, but she never said I couldn’t take food from them. Besides, wasn’t I a vlandos too? If these people saw vlandos as a blessing from Balash, they should treat me—


    Scratch that idea.


    Sorry, Natasha, forgive me, but I’m starving, and there’s barely any food at home.


    I stood and tiptoed toward the entrance, pressing myself against the wall like a thief in the dead of night.


    The warm scent of freshly baked bread filled the air...


    Saliva pooled in my mouth as I envisioned sinking my teeth into the soft crust. I just wanted... three. One for today, one for tomorrow, and—


    Damn. I’d need to give Ulah and Natasha one. Maybe Caren too? But he’s been pissing me off, so I’m not sure.


    Okay, decision made—I was stealing a ton of them.


    But what about the other hungry people?


    Damn it!


    I shoved the thought away and bolted for the table. The second I reached it, I grabbed as many rolls as I could, stuffing them into my shirt. Five. That was my max. Then I turned and ran at full speed.


    Sweet—I wasn’t spotted!


    I was halfway back when my foot caught on something, and I slammed my head against a rock. Pain exploded through my skull, but I scrambled up, frantically checking my shirt.


    The bread was still there. Thank Balash or whatever.


    Reaching the edge of the cliff where I had climbed up, I hesitated. Climbing down with only three limbs was going to be a nightmare. I glanced around for onlookers, and when I saw none, I activated my healing power.


    A red glow flared over my skin—an obvious giveaway—but after a few seconds, my forehead was good as new. Then I started my descent, nearly slipping six times.


    Caren complained when I returned, but I shoved the bread in his face and told him I sold my knife to a merchant to buy it. That shut him up.


    As we entered the village, we exchanged good nights with a few villagers before reaching home—our small, weak, shaky excuse for a house. One strong sneeze, and it’d be in pieces.


    I was still praying for a good harvest so we could stop being so disgustingly poor.


    Or for all the other farmers in our territory to DIE! Since they basically forced us to lower our prices to compete in the market.


    Not gonna lie, I had tried to sabotage a couple of farmers'' carriages to cut down the competition. Don’t worry—I only targeted the rich ones.


    Why would rich farmers even live in a dirt-poor village?


    Uh…


    Stop being classist. Anyway!


    I stopped after learning that one of their fathers used to traffic little kids to the Holvious Queendom.


    After that, I spent weeks having anxiety attacks, wondering if I was going to be next.


    It never happened.


    If I had access to real alcohol—red cap, vodka, anything like what I had back on Earth—I would have celebrated my luck by getting drunk as hell. Yes, I used to enjoy torturing my taste buds with dog shit-tasting liquor and setting my chest on fire.


    Caren opened the door, greeted by the dim glow of a candle and the sound of Ulah scratching my pencil against one of my notebooks.


    I forced myself to stay calm. It’s just a notebook, just lined white paper—oh wait, those cost a fortune in this world!


    I exhaled through my nose and asked, "Where’s Mom?"


    Caren rubbed his chin. "She left you here by yourself...?"


    "Nah, Mom fell asleep over there." He pointed to Natasha, sprawled out on the floor. She must have been exhausted; she hadn’t even changed out of her stained blue shirt, its sleeves torn up from the tails of razor fish.


    Ulah’s eyes locked onto the bread rolls tucked into my shirt. I tossed one to him, and he caught it with his oil-burned hand.


    "Thanks," he muttered.


    I walked over and peeked at what he had been scribbling. Another song.


    "Planning to get rich with that one?" I asked.


    "Yeah, and buy us a huge house."


    "Wow!" I faked enthusiasm. "How big?"


    He stood up, stretching his arms as wide as they would go. "Bigger than… the sea!"


    "Damn. That’s pretty big."


    "Yeah!"


    Smirking, I moved past him and placed a bread roll into Natasha’s sleeping hand. That left me with only two.


    Biting into one, I headed toward my so-called room—a tiny, cramped space with no bed, just blankets on the ground. I flopped onto mine and stretched my limbs out.


    As I chewed, I thought about the temple.


    I did what Natasha asked—I never stepped inside. Hopefully, standing near the entrance didn’t count. It shouldn’t have.


    I took another bite. The bread was warm and chewy, but the texture was… odd. Almost like meat. It didn’t taste like meat, though. Or bread.


    It was just… bland.


    After a while, my eyelids grew heavy.


    I fought to stay awake, but it was no use.


    **


    Vernisha’s grip on the bread roll loosened. It tumbled onto the blanket, rolled to a stop, then—slowly—rolled back toward her hand.


    The shape squirmed, shifting, writhing like a mass of maggots moving in unison…