BEEP! BEEP!
“Hum?” I murmured, waking up tired.
BEEP! BEEP!
"Damn alarm clock." I growl, slamming a hand down to silence the infernal thing.
Despite the heavy exhaustion weighing on my limbs, I force myself out of bed. There’s no time to linger.
As I brush my teeth, fragments of last night’s dream drift back into my head. A knight in shining armor, his face hidden behind a polished, gleaming helmet, sweeping in to save me from an assault. It was pulse-pounding, exhilarating, and absolutely fucking embarrassing.
"Good grief, Edith," I mutter to my reflection, spray spitting onto the mirror. "You’re a grown-up Anthro, for Goddess’s sake, not some little human boy dreaming of fairy tales."
I give my head a sharp shake, trying to rattle the ridiculous fantasy out of my brain.
"I’m a mechanical engineer. I work for the government," I say, puffing out my chest as a surge of pride overrides the lingering sleepiness. "Other Anthros would kill to be in my shoes. I don’t need some damn knight to save me."
Satisfied with the reality check, I snap my overalls into place, snag my backpack, and head out the door.
[Image]
"Silly dream," I mutter, shaking my head. "Like a man could actually fight off three hyenas and then come back to some lone Anthro’s house to drink all night."
"HAAAAARRRR!"
"Iiiipe!" I shriek, my heart leaping into my throat as I dive behind the sofa. "Wh-what the hell is that?"
The sound is horrific, like a wild boar being drowned in a puddle of thick mud.
"Die… Demon…" a male voice stammers, sounding vaguely familiar.
Trembling, I peek over the back of the sofa to find the source of the racket. My jaw hits the floor.
"Impossible!" I exclaim. "It wasn't a dream."
My knight in shining armor is sprawled across my couch, snoring like a chainsaw. He’s buried under a mountain of empty beer cans and greasy fast-food bags.
"Jeez," I whisper. "I thought he’d be some elegant nobleman, but he looks like a total drunken hobo."
He’s still wearing his armor. As I creep closer, I realize it’s a wreck, covered in deep claw marks, punctures, and an alarming amount of dried blood.
What kind of life does this guy live? The poor bastard must have been starving and exhausted yesterday.
I decide to let him sleep.
"I’ll leave a note before I head out," I murmur, grabbing a pen and paper. I scribble a quick message and set it on the coffee table. Before I leave, I take one last look at the unconscious warrior. Despite the mess, there’s something undeniably attractive about him. I can still see the fierce man who saved me from those hyenas. My face heats up, and I quickly push the thought away.
Since I’m still saving up for a car, I’m stuck taking the bus again. Which is always... fun. Being an Anthro rabbit in crowded places is a nightmare, nobody respects the little ones on public transport.
After a long, cramped, and stinky commute, I finally arrive. The Anthrostate Research and Development building towers over me, an imposing fortress of steel and glass. I wave to the security guards as I pass. They’re both massive Anthros, a rhino and a bear, their uniforms straining against muscle.
'Must be nice being that big and strong,' I think with a twinge of envy.
I take the elevator down in silence to the laboratory floor. Calling it a 'lab' is a bit of a stretch, it’s more of a high-tech garage. Despite the state-of-the-art tech, the air is thick with the smell of oil and metal, a scent that instantly relaxes me.
I flick on the lights, and a groan immediately cuts through the silence.
"Fuck me," a gravelly female voice rasps, sounding like she’s smoked a thousand cigarettes. "Just five more minutes."
"Did you sleep here?" I ask, walking over to the figure lying between two armored vehicles. "What’s wrong with you?"
"A virgin dwarf rabbit screaming at me, that's what," grumbles Gorete.
I give her a disapproving look as she hauls herself up. Gorete is a raccoon Anthro, her fur a patchwork of messy gray and black with that distinctive mask around her eyes. Her grease-stained uniform is hanging open, showing off a large belly and heavy breasts held up by a bright red sports bra. She stretches, letting out a wide yawn that puts her sharp teeth on full display.
[Image]
"Gorete, you can’t keep sleeping here," I say, my voice dripping with exasperation. "This is a government research facility, not some cheap motel."
Gorete just shrugs, giving her belly a disinterested scratch.
"Eh, what’s the big deal?" she asks, turning her back to me. "I get the work done, don’t I?"
I let out a heavy sigh, knowing she’s right. Gorete is lazy, foul-mouthed, and arguably the most irritating person I’ve ever met, but she’s also the most talented mechanic I’ve ever seen. She has a natural knack for machines, an intuitive spark that you just can't teach. She can listen to the rhythm of an engine and pinpoint exactly where it's failing.
"You’re lucky you’re actually good at your job," I mutter, weaving through the equipment to my workstation. "Otherwise, you would have been fired a long time ago."
Gorete lets out a rough laugh, trailing behind me.
"Yeah, yeah," she repeats, her voice thick with exhaustion. "I know you love me, bitch."
[Point of view: Marcus Carvalho]
An icy wind whispers through the wooden planks, carrying the stagnant, rotten stench of the swamp. Honestly, the smell isn't much worse than whatever the hell is bubbling in the massive black cauldron at the center of this cursed hut.
"So, you are the legendary Marcus Carvalho," a voice cackles.
Sitting across the table is a hunched figure, old, skeletal thin, and wrinkled. The classic "evil witch" aesthetic.
"What brings you to my humble abode, great hero?" she murmurs, her eyes boring into my soul.
"I know your reputation, Cuca the Fate Weaver." I pause as the witch cackles at her own title. "I need your help."
"Rumors aren't always reality, young hero," she says, leaning back in her chair. "Perhaps my powers aren't up to your request."
Facing the ancient creature, I swallow hard, bracing myself for the inevitable price. "I want the power to locate anyone."
The witch’s eyes widen. She actually looks surprised. "You know you’re asking for a lot, hero? To grant you this, I’d have to give up my greatest treasure."
I lower my gaze to the table, a familiar melancholy washing over me. "I’ll keep my promise to Eira," I say, my voice hardening as I look her in the eye. "Name your price."
The old woman lets out a loud, villainous laugh, showing off a mouthful of rotten, broken teeth.
"Your emotions touched me," she says, finally calming down. "So, for payment, I want you to really touch me."
...Wait.
"Say what?" I ask, blinking.
"I want you to touch me..." she says slowly, rising from the table. "HERE!"
The witch flings open her tunic, revealing a total horror show.
"NOOOOO!" I scream, jolting awake from the nightmare.
I fly off the couch, sending empty beer cans clattering across the floor. My heart is pounding like a war drum. The remnants of the dream still haunt me, that damn old woman’s laugh is echoing in my skull.
"Get your hand off my dick, velha tarada!" I shout at the empty room.
The sharp scent of stale beer and fast food hits my nostrils, grounding me. I'm back in reality.
"Fiuuuu..." I let out a long, shaky sigh of relief. "That was the worst mission ever." I stretch my stiff limbs, grumbling to myself. "I deserved a damn harem just for putting up with that one."
Looking around, I remember where I am. I crashed at the house of that white bunny girl I saved from the Lion King’s hyenas yesterday.
"And her name is... oh shit, I forgot. Is it racist if I just call her Lola or Judy Hopps?"
While I'm busy debating matters of extreme cultural importance, I notice a note sitting on the coffee table.
"Hmm." I pick it up.
Esteemed Lord Knight,
I address Your Lordship to express my most sincere gratitude for the noble act of saving my life. I also ask that you accept my most humble apologies for the discourtesy of leaving you alone in a stranger's home. However, my presence at work is essential, which forced me to leave urgently.
I ask that you feel completely free to enjoy the comforts of my residence and help yourself to everything you find available in my refrigerator and pantry. My return is only scheduled for nightfall.
With high esteem for your person, Edith Nivea
"Aaaaaah!" I exclaim as her name finally clicks. "But why the hell did she write such an elaborate letter? All this just to say she went to work, I can eat her food, and she’ll be back tonight?"
The girl filled the entire page. I even flip it over to see if there's more, but the back is blank.
"Why write like this?" I ask the room, bewildered. "It’s like she thinks she’s talking to a king or something..."
Then I look down and realize I'm still wearing my Empyreanite armor.
The metal glows in the morning light, a radiant, soft white, like moonlight hitting water. It gives off a constant, gentle luminescence. The color itself is a pure silvery white with hints of pale gold, as if sunlight and starlight were forged into the grain.
"Heh." I let out an awkward laugh. "At least I wasn't wearing my Hellsteel set. She probably would've sacrificed a goat to me."
I set the letter down and face the disaster I’ve left in the poor bunny’s living room. Twenty-four empty beer cans and a graveyard of fast-food bags. This place is going to be crawling with cockroaches if I don't move.
"Wow, this girl is an angel," I mutter, feeling a prick of shame. "She took me in, spent a fortune on beer and DoorDash, and gave me the run of her kitchen."
I scan the trash again.
"And I reward her by trashing her place like a drunk frat boy."
The mature, responsible thing to do would be to clean this up by hand to show some respect.
...Yeah, fuck that. I’m using magic.
I close my eyes, taking deep breaths to tap into my mana. My internal reserves are a chaotic mess after the fight with Demon Lord Lilium, but a basic cleaning spell shouldn't be an issue.
"Mana that inhabits my being, hear my call, Shape the trash into a sphere, compact it small. Gather the waste, compress it tight, By magic's will, let clutter take flight."
The room hums with energy. Beer cans and wrappers lift off the floor, dancing in a chaotic swirl before slamming together and compressing into a tiny, dense sphere.
"Perfect." I toss the trash-ball, now smaller than a tennis ball, into the air. "Armazenar."
The sphere vanishes, tucked away into my spatial inventory.
"Morwen would be bitching my ear off about the 'negligent use of magic,' but it’s way faster," I murmur, thinking of my old teacher.
With the house spotless, I finally start to process my situation.
"After being reincarnated from Earth to Galbraza, I got dumped here."
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
A wave of melancholy hits me. I’m alone again. No new parents to guide me this time. No safety net.
"Why is everything so complicated?" I grumble, dropping onto the clean couch.
The house is silent, save for the ticking of a wall clock. Each tick feels like it’s amplifying my loneliness. I lived in Galbraza for so long that I can barely remember my college friends from my first life. Thank God I still remember my parents and brother.
"At least I have a roof for now," I think, trying to stay positive.
But the truth is, I’m lost. In Galbraza, I had a mission. Here, I’m just a stranger in a world that doesn't belong to me.
"So, what's the move?" I stare into space. "If this world is like my original Earth, I’m gonna need IDs, a phone, and obviously, cash."
I stand up and walk to the window. Outside, cars zoom by and people walk the sidewalks, human men and furry women.
"Do they call themselves Furries?" I wonder. "The bunny used a different term."
I try to remember her "species" name, but I was too exhausted and beat up yesterday to pay attention. I don't even remember what I did to those thugs.
"I hope I didn’t kill them," I say darkly. "This isn't a fantasy world. I can’t exactly beat a murder rap by claiming it was a duel or that they 'drew first.'"
I watch the street until a spark of inspiration hits.
"First, I get money. Then, I figure out what the hell I’m doing here," I say, puffing out my chest. Action beats depression every time. "I’ve done this before. Just grind for coin, make some contacts, and pick up some hot girls along the way."
Renewed, I turn toward the door with purpose. Then, I stop dead as a major flaw in the plan occurs to me.
"Wait... if there are no monsters or demons to hunt for bounties... how the fuck am I supposed to make money?"
[Point of View: Edith Nivia]
I lean over the touchscreen, blueprints for a silent electric tank spread out before me.
Usually, these intricate drawings and complex calculations are enough to command my full attention, but today, my mind is drifting. The image of that knight, roaring like a V8 engine while passed out on my couch,keeps invading my thoughts. The man who saved me from those hyenas only to vanish into a sea of empty cans and greasy wrappers.
I tap the screen, adjusting a minor detail on the blueprint, but my heart isn’t in it. My fingers trace the lines absentmindedly as I try to piece together the puzzle of the armored man currently sleeping in my home.
I knew he was exhausted, the second the food arrived, he devoured it without even taking off his helmet, then simply collapsed. The bloodstains on his gear were dry, but they still looked fresh. Had he just come from a massive battle?
"Edith, you okay?" Gorete asks, sneaking up on me.
"Yeah, just... a lot on my mind," I reply, forcing a smile.
"It’s normal for you to be a little disconnected, but usually it’s because you’re buried in a project," she says, crossing her arms and eyeing me with suspicion. "But that pen hasn’t even touched the screen. What’s distracting you?"
"N-nothing much," I stammer. "Just rent and... other personal stuff, you know."
Gorete raises an eyebrow, her expression turning mischievous. "Personal stuff, huh? Like a guy?"
I feel my cheeks flush and quickly look away.
"No, it’s not like that," I try to deny it, but it’s already too late.
Gorete lets out a triumphant laugh, closing the distance between us. "No point trying to hide it from me, girl. I know that look. You’ve got that 'virgin in love' vibe. Hurry up and spill it to your gal here."
I sigh, realizing there’s no winning this. "Maybe there’s someone, but it’s... complicated."
Gorete’s eyes widen with pure excitement. "Complicated?" she asks, grinning. "Even better! Tell me everything."
I feel the weight of last night’s events settling on my shoulders. Gorete is practically vibrating with anticipation, her tail twitching. I know she won’t let this go until I give her the full story.
"Okay, okay," I concede, rubbing my temples. "I’ll tell you what happened."
[Point of view: Marcus Carvalho]
If killing monsters for bounties isn't a valid option, I have to fall back on the second-best way for an RPG hero to make bank.
Selling loot.
"I already told you, kid," the old boar in front of me says, her voice a grating rasp. "I’m not buying shit from an unmarked man."
"Fuck who I am. These pearls are legit," I snap, my brow furrowing.
I thought getting cash would be a breeze. I have an absurd amount of gold and jewelry in my inventory, not to mention weapons, armor, potions, scrolls, and even summoning crystals. I have everything... except normal clothes. Which is exactly why I’m still standing here like a canned nerd in full plate.
"Listen here, you walking tin can," the boar says mockingly. "I don’t want the State breathing down my neck for buying merch from a lone male. And to make it worse, you don't have a certificate or even a receipt for that necklace. I'm not risking my neck for some crazy slut like you."
I growl, snatching the necklace back. "Fine. How about gold?"
"Hmmm," she grunts, her interest finally piqued. "Much better. I can melt that down so it’s harder to trace. I can check the purity right here, but if it’s fake or just some gold-plated scrap, you’re paying me for the wasted materials. Got it?"
Facing this disgusting, bloated woman, I reach toward my waist, pretending to pull ten gold coins from a pocket.
"Take it," I declare, slamming the coins onto the counter.
The boar’s eyes nearly pop out of her head as she stares at the coins, each one the size of a damn coaster.
"I'll be back in a second," she mutters, snatching them up and scurrying to a room in the back to run her tests.
I’m left alone in the store. The place is a disaster, a hoard of junk crammed onto sagging shelves and piled on the floor. Dusty laptops, old TVs, and a hodgepodge of antiques fill every corner. The air is thick with the scent of dust and ancient electronics, a far cry from the fresh, blood-stained air of the battlefields I’m used to.
My eyes drift to a stack of newspapers near the register. A headline screams about some political scandal, but it’s not the news that stops my heart. It’s the date and the currency symbol.
"Caralho, porra!"
The year is 2024, and the prices are all in dollars. I flip through the pages, my pulse racing, but everything confirms it.
"Does this mean I’m in the United States?" I whisper to myself, stunned. "Or at least some furry version of it?"
I put the paper back, my mind spinning. Why the hell did I end up here?
The boar emerges from the back, her eyes gleaming with greed. "They’re real," she says, holding one up. "100-gram, 24k gold. I can give you a thousand dollars for each."
I nod. I’m positive they’re worth more, but when you’re desperate, half a loaf is better than none. "Deal."
She reaches for the cash drawer, but I hold up a hand. "Before you pay out, I need to buy some things."
She grins, clearly thrilled to offload some junk instead of parting with all that cash. "What do you need, boy?"
I lean over the counter, matching her smile. "What everyone needs. Money, a phone, and of course... documents."
"Documents?" she repeats, her expression shifting to confusion.
"Yeah," I say with a nod. "Do you know anyone who can forge them?"
She freezes, looking around to make sure the store is empty. Once she’s certain we’re alone, she leans in. "You have no idea what you're asking for, boy."
"Bitch, please. I’ve played poker with demons... and a fairy."
She just stares at me, mouth agape, looking genuinely shocked.
"Did you forget to take your meds today?" she asks with actual concern. "Or did you take way too many?"
...
"Fuck you, you rotten piece of bacon."
The boar’s nostrils flare, her eyes narrowing as she slides a small box across the counter. "Here’s your damn phone. There’s a box of clothes in the corner, knock yourself out."
I spend a few minutes digging through a bin of questionable fashion, eventually settling on four T-shirts and two pairs of jeans.
"Don't you have any sneakers?"
"I don't carry shoes that fit a male's foot," she says, burying her face back in the newspaper.
Realizing she’s officially done with me, I grab my cash, the clothes, the phone, and a wallet.
"Is there a place I can change?"
"This isn't a mall," she snaps dryly.
Breathe, Marcus, I tell myself. Remember, you can’t just blow up the store and claim it had a volcanic slime infestation.
"If you're done, fuck off!"
...
I wonder if a gas leak would be a good excuse?
[Point of view: Edith Nivia]
I push open the front door, my shoulders slumped under the sheer weight of the day. My brain is a static mess, buzzing with the remnants of Gorete’s incessant chatter; her rough laughter still rings in my ears like a migraine. That damn fat raccoon took a difficult day and made it officialy unbearable, her constant interruptions nuking any hope I had of concentrating.
Still grumbling internally, I step into the living room, bracing myself for the inevitable chaos of beer cans and greasy fast-food wrappers.
"My goodness!" I exclaim, frozen in the doorway.
The place is impeccable. Not a single can or crumpled bag in sight. The coffee table actually sparkles, and the sofa cushions are neatly arranged as if they've never been sat on.
Did the knight clean all this up? The thought feels absurd. The guy should be suffering through a legendary hangover after everything he put away last night.
As I take another step, something else catches my eye. There’s something written in bright orange chalk right on my wall. I walk closer, squinting to read the scrawl out loud.
"ShadowM4rcus69," I mutter, my confusion deepening. "It looks like an MMORPG username."
Suddenly, without a hint of warning, the letters begin to glow.
I stumble back, my heart hammering against my ribs as the orange text pulses with a violent, neon radiance. The light intensifies, throwing jagged, frightening shadows across the room.
A sudden flash blinds me, turning the entire world white for a split second. When my vision finally clears, I gasp. Standing right there, as if he had materialized out of thin air, is the knight. His armor, despite the heavy damage, shines with a terrifying pride.
[Image / No Sword]
"Sir Knight?" I whisper, my voice barely audible. "What is happening?"
He looks down, emerald green eyes shining through the narrow slits of his helmet.
"Hey, Lola!" he says with a grin.
...
"Lola?"
"I’m sorry... Edith," he says, letting out a sarcastic laugh. "But I needed to make that joke at least once."
As he speaks, he bends down and scoops up a cardboard box filled with clothes and a few plastic bags.
"Do you mind if I use your kitchen?" he asks, already turning his back and heading that way.
"Of course not, Sir Knight."
He stops halfway and looks back at me. "So..." He sounds a bit awkward now. "Don’t call me that. My name is Marcus. Marcus Carvalho."
My eyes widen, heat rushing to my face. I'm only just now learning his name. "Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Knight, I mean, Mr. Carvalho."
"Come on, Coelhinha," he says, disappearing into the kitchen. "You saved my life yesterday. You can call me Marcus."
"I saved your life?" I repeat, following him, totally lost.
Marcus starts unpacking the groceries, lining up ingredients on the counter with a precision that catches me off guard. He moves with the easy familiarity of someone who’s spent a lot of time over a stove. I lean against the doorframe, watching him as I try to process how weird my day has become.
"If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it through yesterday," he says, his focus never leaving the vegetables he’s chopping.
"What do you mean?" My voice is thick with uncertainty.
He pauses and turns toward me. His green eyes carry a gravity that makes my breath hitch. "I didn't look it, but I was in bad shape," he says, his tone turning serious. "Punctured lungs, broken ribs, shattered leg and arm. My stomach and a few other organs were basically mush."
"But you looked so strong," I protest, remembering how he fought off those hyenas.
Marcus smiles, a hint of sadness touching his eyes. "Appearances can be deceiving. I could only move because of the magical enchantments on my armor and a few buffs from potions I’d taken beforehand."
"Magical enchantments?" I murmur, my eyes going wide. "What are you talking about?"
I watch him season the meat, his movements fluid and confident. The aroma of garlic and fresh herbs begins to fill the air, making my stomach let out a treacherous growl. The kitchen, usually so quiet, feels electric with him in it.
"The kind you find on magical items," he says, like he’s talking about the weather.
"But... magic doesn't exist," I say, shaking my head in disbelief.
"It doesn't?" Marcus looks genuinely curious. "My items work fine, and..." He pauses, raising his thumb. Suddenly, it’s engulfed in a pale, white light. "My spells work too. Though I noticed there's no mana in the air here. Doing rituals in this world must be a total pain in the ass."
Whatever else he says after that is lost on me. My jaw literally drops.
"MAGIC?!" I shriek.
"Heh." He gives me an awkward laugh. "I guess it’s better if I give you a formal introduction. I'll stick to the short version."
Marcus steps away from the counter and approaches me. He clenches his right fist, thumps it against his chest, and begins a litany:
"I am Marcus Aurélio Rubro Carvalho, chosen by the Goddess Hemiliara, champion of the White Steel Vanguard, defender of Galbraza, liberator of the dwarves of Grakofin, master of the Luminous Vorpal Sword, chief of the Black Fang tribe, conqueror of the Bloody Plateau, Duke of the Iron Alps, the anathema of hell, chosen of the Elder Dragons, emissary of the ethereal Fae, and my personal favorite, the executioner of the Demon Lord Lilium."
My jaw hits the floor again. I have a thousand questions, but they're all jammed in my throat.
"Would it be easier if I just said I was an Isekai Hero?"
My face is actually starting to hurt from all the shock. "Are you like... one of those heroes who gets reborn in a fantasy world?"
He just smiles and nods. Unable to contain my excitement, I rush forward and grab his arm. "You mean you actually learned magic? You fought dragons? Saved princes? Met elves and dwarves?"
"Yes to all of it," he says, laughing loudly as he reaches out to pat my head.
The affectionate gesture makes me realize how close I am, and that I'm practically clinging to him. I jump back immediately.
"I’m sorry, Mr. Carvalho!" I stammer.
He just laughs it off, telling me it's fine. He finishes the cooking with practiced ease and sets the table.
"For dinner: potatoes au gratin, picanha steak, a lettuce and tomato salad, and steamed carrots."
GRRRRR!
My stomach demands tribute.
"Sorry," I mutter, dying of embarrassment.
But again, he just smiles. I cut into the steak, juices pooling on the plate. The first bite is an explosion of rich flavor, perfectly seasoned, and better than anything I've ever eaten.
"This is incredible," I murmur. Marcus beams with pride.
"Glad you like it," he says, digging into his own portion.
I take another bite, the flavors dancing on my tongue. It’s a meal fit for a king, served on my humble little table. As the warmth of the food spreads through me, a thought strikes me.
"Why did you do all this?" I ask softly.
Marcus looks up, fork frozen halfway to his mouth. "Do what?"
"This meal. You cleaned the whole house too. Why?"
He sets his fork down, his expression softening. "I made the mess, so it’s only fair I clean it. The meal is my way of saying thanks. But..." He pauses, his voice dropping into a heavier, huskier register. "I'll admit, I have ulterior motives."
I swallow hard, the delicious food suddenly feeling like dust. Ulterior motives. My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic mix of fear and a strange, electric excitement. No man has ever looked at me like this. I was always the shy one, the rabbit girl hidden in the shadow of stronger, taller colleagues.
"Ulterior motives?" I manage to whisper.
Marcus leans back, his green eyes locked onto mine. The intensity makes me want to squirm, but I can't look away.
"Yes," he says, his voice steady. "You have to understand, Edith... men have certain... needs."
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! I scream internally.
"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he says, his voice almost a purr.
By the Goddess, that voice is sexy. I'm going to slide right off this chair if he keeps talking like that.
" To eat a well-seasoned meal."
...
Wait.
"Eat a well-seasoned dish?" I repeat, my voice barely a breath.
Marcus leans back, a small, nostalgic smile on his lips. "You have no idea how rare spices are where I come from. In the other world, magic was everywhere, but trade sucked. Spices were a luxury, even in royal castles."
I blink, trying to recalibrate. "But you had magic. Couldn't you just... conjure them?"
He laughs, shaking his head. "Magic can do a lot, but it can’t replace the flavor of fresh herbs or the kick of a real pepper. Believe me, I tried."
"Really?"
"Yeah," he says between bites. "I once conquered an entire orc tribe just because they had access to a garlic supply."
I look down at my plate. The thought of a world without the simple joy of good food is almost unimaginable.
"So, have you known how to cook for a long time?" I ask, trying to shift to a lighter topic.
Marcus nods. "Before I was Isekai'd, my father taught me. Back in my original world, the one without Anthros."
I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth. "Didn't have Anthros?" I echo. It sounds impossible. "How... how does that even work?"
Marcus shrugs. "In my first world, everyone is human. Men, women... all human."
I put my fork down, my appetite vanishing. "But that’s... that’s impossible. How does a society function without Anthros? We’re the backbone of everything, the leaders, the workers-."
"I noticed that today," Marcus interrupts gently. "My world is just different. We have our own strengths. But Anthros? They just don't exist there."
I shake my head, trying to wrap my brain around it. "But how do you... I mean, how do men and women... interact?" I ask, my cheeks flushing at the implication.
Marcus lets out a hearty laugh. "I think the biggest difference is that in my world, women are the 'fairer sex.' Here, it seems to be the other way around."
I sit back, my mind racing. A world without Anthros is fascinating and terrifying all at once. How did they survive without our strength or our perspectives?
"It must be so different," I mutter. "Almost unimaginable."
I want to grill him for hours, but I decide to just eat and enjoy the quiet. I don't want to ruin this moment with a million questions. We can talk tomorrow.
"By the way, are you single?"
"Iiiipe!"
The question catches me completely off guard, and I nearly choke. My face is burning. Fortunately, the shrill ring of a phone breaks the tension.
BEEP! BEEP!
"Saved by the bell," I murmur, immensely relieved.
To my surprise, the phone is ringing on Marcus’s side of the table.
"Just a second," he says, standing up.
I strain my ears, but even with my rabbit hearing, the person on the other end is too quiet to make out. Marcus's expression shifts, his eyes narrow as he listens intently.
When did he buy a phone? I wonder. Did he go out alone today? It’s incredibly dangerous for a male to walk the streets alone, especially one without a scent or a bite mark.
"I understand," he says firmly. "I’ll be there soon."
He ends the call and turns to me, his face unreadable. I feel a pang of worry. "Is everything okay?"
Marcus nods, though he looks a little concerned. "I have good news and bad news," he says with an embarrassed smile. "The good news is, I found someone to forge documents good enough to open a bank account."
"My goodness! That's amazing," I say, genuinely happy for him. "But... what’s the bad news?"
Marcus lets out a forced, awkward laugh. "I'm pretty sure they’re the Chinese Mafia."