"How's he doing?"
"Maybe he just needs more time?"
"Does he seriously think he's from another world??? And Ron is actually playing along with him?"
"Watching them talk is pure comedy. How does Ron even keep a straight face? Doesn't he feel any secondhand embarrassment?"
"Humph, didn't you know he was born emotionally stunted?"
"Hahaha! If he could feel embarrassed over a trivial thing like this, I wouldn't be sitting here—I'd have gone and wrung his neck already."
"Aren't you afraid he'll show up at your doorstep? Does this idiot not realize Ron knows exactly where every single one of you lives??"
"Haha, if it's that obvious, then bring it on. Come at me! I bet he hasn't even bothered to read these lines. And so what if he does? He's just a Level 1 with a Level 3 core—basically a regular human. Take away his hacked brain and he's got absolutely nothing left."
"...Watch your mouth. I believe keeping your lips sealed is better than provoking a guy who can pinpoint exactly where you hid your stash of cooking magazines."
"Why cooking? Why not that pile of underwear you begged off your mistresses?"
It seemed everyone here was having a lively discussion, chatting together on a blank white card that displayed holographic text.
Strangely, those characters had an eerie, bizarre stroke to them, as if they didn't belong to Earth.
...
Ron led Quân to a mansion—or rather, a desolate, empty plot of land. The "mansion" probably only existed in Ron's descriptions.
"..."
Quân scratched his head. He desperately wanted to grab Ron by the collar and beat him to a pulp, but he could only swallow his anger in silence. After all, he was only surviving here thanks to Ron's kindness.
"Don't be impatient. This is the place for you."
Noticing Quân was pinching his own hand as if trying to restrain himself, Ron stepped forward, placed his hand on the ground, and pulled up an invisible curtain.
"!"
Quân's jaw dropped. He was utterly caught off guard. On that empty plot of land at the edge of the village, a bizarre structure suddenly materialized.
It was tall, incredibly tall, characterized by a pristine white color. The intricate patterns on the pillars gleamed brilliantly under the golden light, and right before his eyes was a majestic gate crafted from expensive wood.
Instantly, excitement flashed across Quân's face. He lunged forward and threw his arms around Ron from behind—a deeply affectionate, passionate hug, just like two best friends.
"Why..."
Quân flashed a smile that carried a hint of satisfaction and immense joy. The smile grew wider and wider as he lifted Ron right off the ground.
"...WHY THE FUCK IS IT A PUBLIC RESTROOM?!"
CRASH!!!
...
"You can take a bath now."
"GET OUT!"
Click
Quân slammed the door shut. Submerging himself in the bathtub to clear his head, he slowly closed his eyes and began to think. Of course, to survive in a public restroom, he had to wear a makeshift cloth mask.
Death is cyclical.
Or at least, that was what Eastern religious and Taoist systems claimed.
If it were the West, religions would interpret death as a reunion with loved ones somewhere—like the Underworld, Heaven, or Valhalla, provided you were a warrior and invoked Odin's name before charging into battle.
Splash, splash
Quân soaked in the tub. In front of him, the showerhead ran continuously, causing the bathtub to overflow non-stop.
He was in what could be considered a normal bathroom—not too big, but functional. And it looked very clean, which was the most important part.
But Quân didn't care about that.
Instead, he was brooding over today's events.
Right now, Quân was losing faith in every single theory. Because every theory he came up with turned out to be wrong.
Well, he had isekai'd—transmigrated into a world where he possessed absolutely no cheat code or "golden finger."
It should be noted that he knew next to nothing about isekai tropes before this. He used to dismiss pondering over such things as something for trashy, pathetic weebs and idiots fantasizing about a future that would obviously never come.
Quân re-evaluated his current logic. Just because he found out Ron was a fellow countryman, his emotions had gone a bit haywire, to the point where he was subconsciously relying on him emotionally.
He had been stressed out for weeks now—specifically, a solid 13 days since arriving in this new world.
And it was all because of a death... his own death.
'Calm down. Remembering that day isn't going to do you any fucking good!'
Yet, Quân still couldn't help but claw at his own neck. His skin was visibly flushed red and scratched in several places.
His body was quite scrawny, though there were faint traces of past workouts; despite being neglected, some muscle definition still showed. However, he was terribly emaciated—his ribs protruded, and his back looked like a shriveled, dried leaf.
"Think, think!"
Quân cross-examined the facts. Ever since he arrived in this world, he had realized one thing.
'Hypothesis 1: I am definitely not a regular transmigrator!'
The premise of this hypothesis consisted of two parts: first, language; second, neurological rationalization.
He could understand what everyone was saying.
What did that mean? He was Vietnamese; he was most familiar with Vietnamese, and his English was absolute trash—he didn't know a single phrase. Yet here he was, perfectly comprehending a completely alien language.
He suspected he might have sustained a brain injury that somehow caused an auditory-verbal agnosia or receptive language disorder.
He recalled a specific condition—Alexia without Agraphia—a syndrome where brain trauma allows a person to understand spoken language normally but strips away their ability to read, write, or properly process text.
On his first day, to test this, he had written his name on a piece of paper and asked people around, basically trying to see if they could understand him. He concluded that when he said "xin chào" (in Vietnamese), people understood, but "hello" (in English) got him nowhere. Furthermore, the language he was writing down wasn't a real language at all, but rather a delusion manufactured by his own mind from an existing system.
"Then, the second argument might be true and directly impacts the language aspect."
The mechanism of Rationalization or Confabulation.
When the brain is damaged, its ability to control logic and retrieve memories goes haywire. At that point, the brain cannot tolerate "information gaps." It automatically "patches" them up using whatever is available in the subconscious—including movies, xianxia novels, or pure imagination.
There was a distinct possibility that his entire past life was actually a delusion...
"AHHHHHHHHH!"
Suddenly, he bolted upright, not forgetting to cover his privates.
The reason was that he had just encountered a monster. A demon.
"DAMN IT! I KNEW I COULDN'T TRUST THIS PLACE! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The cockroach, which had been slowly crawling out from a crack in the wall, suddenly locked eyes with Quân and activated its flight mode.
...
"Why did you already ruin the clothes I gave you?"
Ron brought Quân a fresh change of clothes after the latter had used his new outfit as a whip to wage a grand war against a cockroach.
The result? The bug had landed on his leg, leaving a red welt from the stray whiplash of his own "weapon."
Ron glanced at the mark, shrugged helplessly, let out a soft chuckle, and closed the door to give Quân his privacy.