Have you ever been woken up in the middle of the night by hunger?

  Let me tell you—it’s the worst.

  And what's even worse than waking up hungry?

  Finding out there's absolutely nothing to eat!

  I dragged myself out of bed from the second-floor bedroom, groggy and half-asleep.

  I vaguely remembered there might still be half a loaf of bread somewhere? Maybe?

  I wasn’t sure where I had put it.

  Stumbling downstairs, I rummaged around for a good while but found nothing edible.

  That’s when I noticed the old metal box sitting on the table.

  Logically, I knew there couldn’t possibly be food inside.

  Still, I couldn’t resist opening it up for a look.

  The box creaked open—and a few cards slipped out.

  Probably just playing cards, I thought.

  I flipped the lights on and bent down to pick up the first one.

  “Sherlock Holmes?”

  There was a man drawn on the card, dressed in a black trench coat with a pipe in his mouth.

  His name, "Sherlock Holmes," was written along the side.

  Just as I was about to take a closer look, the card vanished right from my hand.

  I snapped fully awake.

  "Am I dreaming?" I muttered to myself.

  There were still two more cards on the floor.

  I picked them up at the same time—one showed a Japanese samurai, the other a young man in medieval European attire.

  Before I could read the names, both cards disappeared in a flash.

  "Forget it," I told myself. "Must be seeing things... probably just starving hallucinations."

  I chugged down some water and decided to crash back into bed.

  Tomorrow morning, I promised myself, I’d walk to the nearest supermarket and stock up.

  The moment I hit the bed, I passed out again.

  The smell of food woke me up.

  Bright sunlight was streaming through the window.

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  Still half-asleep, I staggered out of bed, rubbing my eyes.

  There was no way I was really smelling food—my house had been empty for days.

  But as I stumbled into the second-floor lounge, I froze.

  There, sitting around the table, were three people.

  Casually eating what looked like... breakfast.

  Laughing. Talking. Like they owned the place.

  One of them was a gentleman in a black trench coat, a pipe hanging from his mouth.

  Another was a middle-aged man dressed in traditional Japanese robes.

  And the third looked like he had just stepped out of medieval Europe.

  I stood there, completely dumbfounded, staring at them—then at my broken, long-unused fridge and stove.

  Who the hell were these people?

  And where did they find food?!

  The man in the trench coat put down his fork, stood up, and gave me a slight bow.

  "Good morning, young man," he said in a deep, magnetic voice.

  "My name is Sherlock Holmes."

  I nearly bit my own tongue.

  Holmes continued, calm as ever:

  "Apologies for the intrusion. We were quite hungry after arriving. But seeing how soundly you were sleeping, we didn’t have the heart to wake you."

  He gestured casually.

  "Your wallet was in the pocket of your coat. There were twenty-five Canadian dollars inside."

  I stared at him, completely stone-faced.

  Holmes pointed at the table next to him.

  "And the Seasum Town map clearly marked the nearest supermarket—fifteen minutes' walk, not far."

  "So," he added casually, "this morning, I took the liberty of leading my two companions to the market. We purchased some groceries, and luckily, your stove still works."

  Still. Stone-faced.

  "And by the way," Holmes smiled, "it’s noon now. So technically, this is lunch."

  Oh, right.

  They had spent all my money.

  MY MONEY.

  It finally hit me.

  Furious, I grabbed the nearest chair, ready to fight them to the death.

  To hell with Sherlock Holmes!!!

  The next second, before I could even lift the chair properly, the Japanese man casually stepped forward—

  In one smooth move, he pressed the chair down with one hand, and with the other, firmly shoved me back into it.

  I had no chance to react.

  Yeah.

  Safe to say, I wasn’t getting those 25 dollars back.

  "I know this all sounds crazy," said the European-dressed young man, his voice calm and elegant, "but please, hear us out first."

  He straightened his posture and smiled politely.

  "Allow me to introduce myself properly. My name is Leonardo da Vinci."

  He gestured toward the samurai.

  "This gentleman here is Miyamoto Musashi."

  "I’m George Washington—" I blurted out without thinking. "Jesus Christ."

  Da Vinci chuckled softly.

  "I'll be sure to pass your regards along next time I see him."

  At that moment, I knew—I was way, way out of my depth.

  They started telling me some utterly crazy story, but I couldn't hold it in any longer.

  "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU PEOPLE?!"