[TENT CITY]

  By the end of the second week, most of the restoration work was done. The city's authorities had pulled off a miracle and somehow finished their construction job on time.

  I was pleasantly surprised. In all my life, I'd never seen anything in construction ever be finished on time.

  "Well, they did use magic to do it, but still." I drummed my fingers on a wooden table as I stared at the final touches being made to the city's roads.

  A squad of magicians and magical constructs were carefully laying out a uniform film of gravel, sand and tar. My jaw had nearly dropped when I'd first seen them telekinetically reconstruct the roads.

  It just wasn't easy to accept that magic was a thing now.

  I stood back up and walked to the edge of the camp track with my hands on my hips, breath fogging in front of my face.

  My boots hit the pallet-lined ground in a steady rhythm. Past the soup line. Past the med tents I ran, and the camp blurred into familiar landmarks.

  Familiarity was comfort, and comfort was how you got complacent. Complacency was not something I wanted.

  So I kept pushing and ran till I could no longer. When I stopped, my chest heaved. My legs burned.

  [Skill Updated]

  ENDURANCE: Rank F ---> RANK E

  'Two Weeks'

  It had taken me two weeks to raise my [ENDURANCE] from F to E. That didn't seem like a lot of time, but I knew something most didn't.

  Skills and stats in Advent didn't rise linearly. In other words, the higher the rank, the harder it was to reach. Going from E to D would likely take me more than a month, maybe even two. It all depended on how fast I could train effectively.

  I walked until my breathing settled, then did push-ups on the cold ground until my arms shook.

  When I stood up again, my vision swam for a second.

  I blinked hard and forced it to clear.

  "Not passing out," I told myself. "Not today."

  [CONDITION]

  OVERALL: 76%

  MUSCLE FATIGUE: MAX

  Seeing my fatigue hit the top, I finally stopped and turned to head towards the water coolers.

  By the time the camp properly woke, I'd already done my work, eaten soup, and carried two crates of bandages for the medics.

  It was hard to believe that in a week, this place wouldn't exist. Tent city was temporary by design, but now? It felt a little like home to me. However, the moment the city finished reconstructing, everyone here would go back to their lives.

  'Well. Everyone, except me.'

  I still had no idea where I'd go. But for now, I wasn't that concerned. I had bigger loaves to bake.

  Quite literally.

  -

  The bell above the door chimed weakly. Warm air hit my face, and the smell of yeast and heat and flour settled my brain in a way nothing else did.

  Marin looked up from the counter and immediately frowned.

  "You are late. Again."

  "I came as soon as I could." I immediately sighed.

  He squinted at me. "It is bad enough you put your filthy hands on my dough. Come earlier next time."

  I shook my head and walked over to the sink to wash my hands.

  When I turned back, Marin had already shoved a piece of bread into my hand. Not half a loaf this time. Something denser, darker, with seeds.

  "Eat," he said.

  I hesitated. "I'll work for it."

  "You already do." He grunted. "Eat before you pass out and make me carry you. I am old."

  I ate.

  The bread was warm. It tasted like something real. My stomach unclenched.

  For a moment, the tent city and the sirens and the pylons felt far away.

  Then I remembered why I'd come.

  "I'll need a place to stay," I said, "They're gonna pick up the tents in a week."

  Marin didn't stop working. He didn't look up. He just kept shaping dough with steady hands.

  "A place?" he said.

  "Yes."

  "Mm." He grunted, akin to just an acknowledgement.

  A moment later, Marin's eyes narrowed slightly.

  "Stay here," he said. His tone changed just enough to matter. "I've got a room in the basement. It's small."

  "Good enough for me."

  He studied me for a long second. "I'm expecting you to start work earlier, too," he said. "Learn to make some better bread too."

  "Thought I baked a good one last time?" I shrugged.

  "Just so-so," Marin mumbled.

  I quickly grabbed a crate of tomatoes and got to work.

  Insight rose like a pressure behind my eyes.

  [SKILLS]

  ENDURANCE: RANK E

  KNIFE WORK: RANK E

  Marin stared at my hands moving and hummed.

  "You're better with the knife now?"

  "Just so-so."

  Marin grunted and went back to kneading, as if that answered everything.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  "What about your band?" Marin sorted out the dough onto the counter.

  "They said the city will issue me a new one." I passed him a plate of diced tomatoes that he promptly dumped into a large pot.

  "Good. Don't slack on getting one." Marin turned on the stove under the pot and began stewing the tomatoes.

  As I finished my work, I shifted towards the dough and began shaping new loaves. At this point, I'd picked up on a trick or two for shaping the dough, though I had yet to master the baking process.

  The two of us laboured for an hour, maybe more. By the end, the bakery's shelves were full of freshly baked loaves, and even a pot of hot tomato soup to pair them with. With the job done, I undid the apron and hung it behind the counter.

  I dusted the flour off my hands and gave them a quick rinse.

  "Is there a library nearby?"

  Marin shot me a glance. I was half prepared for the old man to quip another joke, but this time he just hummed.

  "Library? This is a backwater city; there hasn't been one here for eighty years." Marin rubbed his chin. "What are you looking for?"

  "Figured I need to study up. There's a lot I don't know, or maybe just don't remember." A sigh escaped my lips as I began thinking of a new way to gather some info.

  I could ask people, but there was a limit to what they might remember. I didn't have any money to hire a tutor of some kind either. Besides, the real problem was that I didn't even know what I didn't know.

  I was thrown into this world, and before I could find some sense of balance, I was caught up in a demon attack, chucked into an aid camp. Not knowing what to do next, I had immediately turned to raising my skillsets and slowly working on my stats.

  But now that I'd secured a place to live and had the academy as a goal in mind, I needed to plan. There was a lot I knew about Advent's story, but I didn't know a thing about this world. A library of some kind would definitely help bridge that gap.

  "Aaah...." I sighed again and rubbed my eyes in defeat.

  "Hmph. I don't know much myself. But my grandson collected a few books during his time here. They're all probably still rotting in his room."

  Marin fiddled with a small drawer underneath the counter and fished out a rusted copper key. "Check them yourself."

  I raised my head and quickly pocketed the key, "Thanks." I paused.

  "If you don't mind, could I move in sooner?"

  "Suit yourself." Marin crossed his arms and shrugged.

  I excitedly waltzed towards the door and put out the "OPEN" sign outside as I left. Then I ran back towards the camp. There wasn't much I'd gathered over the last few weeks, but it was still worth not leaving behind.

  "Hmmm..." My eyes narrowed as I contemplated.

  "This... or..this?" I picked up two identical pairs of socks and eyed them with great focus. "Better play it safe."

  I quickly put both in a duffel bag and continued sorting. Next were a couple of pairs of gloves, a jacket, and two sets of shoes. I quickly decided not to bother and just put all the clothes in the bag.

  For the shoes, one of the pairs was thoroughly worn out. The other was still fine. But I decided to keep both anyway. I didn't really have others, and even though they were worn out, I couldn't claim that they were entirely useless.

  The last things left in my tent were a couple of utensils, a cup, and a small, dented bowl. I couldn't really drag those around with me, so the next best thing was to pass them on to the volunteers in the camp's kitchen; they'd probably know what to do with them better than I.

  Once I'd sorted my things out, I put the duffel bag around my shoulders and lightly jogged to the centre of the camp. Many people immediately bombarded me with questions. I was surprised they cared, but I didn't want to drag them into my problems.

  At best, I told them I was moving in with a relative nearby. That they'd probably find me in the bakery. We all shared a laugh, and I even offered to treat them to some of my bread.

  To which they promptly and politely refused.

  "Guess I need to really work on that, huh?" I clicked my tongue.

  With my farewells over with, I jogged back to the bakery, deftly slid through the door. Marin was dealing with customers, so I took that chance to rush down to the basement.

  As I jetted down the stairs, a small wooden door with a bronze padlock was in front of me.

  I took out the key and swiftly turned it. With a quick pull, I took the padlock off and gently pushed the door open.

  -

  A cloud of dust exhaled straight into my face, almost like the room had been holding its breath for years and finally got permission to let go.

  I coughed, blinking hard. The dust tasted like stale flour and old wood. As the dust cleared, I saw the room ahead. Not small. Not huge. A student's living space. A place that had once been used, then abandoned so completely that its floor was covered in layers of dust.

  "Right," I muttered. "My new home."

  I forced the door open further and took a half step inside. As my eyes settled into the darkness of the room, I saw a bed sat aligned with the wall, a thin mattress still in place. An old table was placed in the centre, piled with random stationery that had never been packed away. At the very edge of the room were two bookshelves, each of their rows intertwined with cobwebs woven akin to ribbons.

  Dust lined the floor in soft grey streaks that showed where air had moved and where it hadn't. A few dead spiders lay like tiny husks in the corners.

  Marin's grandson's room.

  'If even the spiders ended up dead, guess he really never opened this place up.'

  I couldn't blame him. If my only family ran away to fight a war, I might've reacted the same way.

  I let out a slow breath through my nose.

  "Alright," I said, voice quiet in the stale air. "Can't really live in a dump. Let's start."

  The first sweep of my boot across the floor kicked up another haze of dust that made me swear under my breath. Then I got to work.

  The cleaning wasn't elegant or even sensible. At best, I could describe it as war.

  I stripped the bed first, shaking the blanket and sheets until dust snowed down like I'd brought winter indoors. My eyes watered. My throat scratched. I kept going. I grabbed an old broom from the corner and started carving lines into the grime.

  The table was next. The stationery was scattered in chaos. Half-used pencils. A couple of notebooks with curled edges. A stack of paper that had yellowed at the corners. I moved it all into a neat pile, wiped the table down with a damp rag, then wiped it again when the rag came away black.

  The bookshelf took longer.

  It was the kind of shelf that held someone's habits. Empty spots where books had been pulled out and never returned. A couple of dog-eared manuals were still wedged in the back. A cracked mug with a faint stain ring on the wood beside it.

  I paused, fingertips resting on the spine of one of the books.

  For a moment, it felt like I was reliving a memory. A teenager with flour on his hands, dropping onto the bed after a tough shift upstairs. Half asleep, still smelling of bread, reading by weak light and pretending the war was far away.

  Then my thoughts spiralled. What was my life like at his age?

  Surely by his standards, I had lived a life of luxury.

  "Nevertheless, now I'm also stuck with the same circumstances as him."

  Then the image slipped away and left behind only dust and the quiet weight of a room that had been waiting for its owner to return.

  I exhaled and scrubbed harder.

  By the time my arms started shaking from effort, the room looked different. The floor was swept clean. The table was clear except for a single notebook and a pencil placed neatly at the centre. The bed was remade with the least dusty linens I could salvage. I had even made an effort to wipe down the bookshelves and at least try to make them look presentable. Looking at it now, at least the books weren't glued together with spider silk. I stood in the middle of it and let myself breathe.

  The stairs creaked above me.

  I turned as a familiar grumble drifted down.

  "What the hell are you doing down here?" Marin's voice called out. "So much noise."

  A moment later, his silhouette filled the doorway at the top of the stairs. He held a loaf of bread in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other.

  He shuffled towards me muttering the whole way, and then stopped halfway when he got a proper look at the room.

  His eyes moved. Marin paused.

  For a second, he didn't say anything.

  Then his mouth twitched.

  Not a full smile. But I could tell something softened in the lines around his eyes, as if for an instant, he'd relived years of memory in a matter of seconds.

  I caught him staring, and my first instinct was to pretend I hadn't noticed. My eyes naturally drifted to the bowl and the bread.

  "Hey," I said instead. "You brought food."

  My stomach answered for me with a loud, humiliating noise.

  Marin snapped out of his trance. He continued down the last few steps and shoved the bread and the bowl onto the clean table with a sharp thump.

  "Thank you," I said, already reaching.

  His hand snapped out and smacked the top of my head with two fingers.

  "Ow!"

  "Wash," he said.

  "What?"

  "Your hands," Marin repeated, voice dry. "You have been rolling in dust for hours. You think bread is immune to filth because it smells nice? Go. Wash."

  "Fine," I muttered. "Fine."

  Before he could nag me any further, I rushed up the stairs. I knew I had to act fast, because I couldn't afford the bread getting cold. There was no way in hell Marin was gonna bake me another fresh loaf.

  -

  Marin stood by the bookshelf with his hands behind his back, his eyes drifted across the books neatly lined along its ribs. He hummed and heaved in a sigh.

  Marin turned.

  His eyes travelled over the room again.

  His grandson's room.

  What it had been. What it was now.

  A small smile finally curled at the corner of his mouth. He grunted, the sound halfway between approval and irritation at himself for feeling it. Then a second later, whatever emotion he was feeling had vanished. His face scrunched up, and his eyes dropped low, wandering till they strayed towards the various nooks and crannies of the room.

  He sighed, haunted by his memories.

  The next second, the sound of the bell upstairs snapped him out of his thoughts. Marin took one last glance at the room and walked back up without another word.