...

  "C'mon, Jin, think." He paced the apartment, hands running through his light blue hair. "Where's the good stuff stashed?”

  His room and his uncle’s room.

  His hands moved before conscious thought caught up.

  Closet first.

  Jin yanked open the door, his fingers guided by memories that weren't quite his but weren't quite foreign either. Like muscle memory from a body he'd inherited along with all its trauma and preparation.

  The original Jin had been paranoid. Smart. Grieving teenagers with dead parents and a Mantle they were too embarrassed to show anyone tended to prepare for the worst-case scenario.

  Thank you, original Jin. Your trauma is literally my survival kit right now.

  Behind hanging clothes—pushed all the way to the back like someone didn't want them found accidentally—wrapped in an old blanket like some kind of apocalypse prepper's treasure hoard, Jin found the armor.

  Leather reinforced with metal plates at vital points. Not military grade—not the kind of serious combat gear, but infinitely better than street clothes when facing terrifying cultists and their summons or whatever fresh hell they were about to unleash on Vienna.

  "Oh. Oh, this is good."

  Jin pulled the armor free, holding it up to examine the craftsmanship. After spending his entire previous life in a world where armor was something you saw in museums or fantasy games, seeing actual functional protection designed to keep someone alive felt surreal.

  The stitching was professional-grade. Clean, even, reinforced at stress points. The leather had been treated properly—soft enough to move but tough enough to turn a blade. The metal plates were positioned exactly where they needed to be for maximum protection without sacrificing mobility.

  You actually saved up for this. Spent months working to afford proper gear.

  The memories surfaced unbidden as his fingers traced the reinforced shoulder guards. Three months of allowance, every credit carefully saved. Working part-time at Uncle Marcus's friend's equipment shop—stocking shelves, cleaning display cases, learning which enchantments were worth the investment and which were just marketing bullshit designed to separate idiots from their money.

  All so the original Jin could buy proper protection before hitting a dungeon solo.

  Death wish wrapped in teenage rebellion and grief. I get it, man. I really do.

  Jin strapped on the armor piece by piece, his inherited memories guiding him through the process. Chest piece first, securing the buckles with practiced ease. Shoulder guards next, adjusted for a full range of motion. Bracers. Leg guards. Each piece clicks into place with satisfying precision.

  He flexed his shoulders experimentally. Rolled his neck. Threw a few practice punches at the empty air, watching his reflection in the bedroom mirror.

  The armor moved with him instead of against him. No pinching at the joints. No restricted movement when he twisted or bent. Just solid protection that settled against his body like a second skin.

  "This is actually awesome..." A grin tugged at his mouth despite the circumstances. "Way better than that hospital gown aesthetic I had going on."

  The fit was perfect. Because of course it was—this body belonged to him now, even if the mind piloting it came loaded with two years of cancer survival protocols and enough meta-knowledge about this doomed world to make him dangerous.

  Or get him killed even faster. That was still up for debate.

  A loose floorboard creaked under his foot.

  Jin froze mid-step, his weight shifting off the board immediately.

  Wait.

  That hadn't been a random creak. That had been the specific sound of a board that wasn't properly secured—the kind of engineered flaw someone would create on purpose if they wanted to remember where they'd hidden something important.

  He dropped to his knees, fingers finding the edges of the board with inherited muscle memory. It came free with a soft crack of wood releasing from old nails, revealing a waterproof container tucked into the space underneath between support beams.

  "Of course you did." Jin shook his head, half amused and half impressed.

  He pulled out the container and popped the seal.

  Cash, a few bills from his last savings—banded into neat stacks. A combat knife with a wicked edge. Common medicines—painkillers, antibiotics, anti-inflammatories. Camping gear that looked barely used but well-maintained. Water purification tablets. First aid supplies. Emergency rations that probably tasted like cardboard but would keep someone alive.

  The original Jin had been serious about his solo dungeon run. Serious about having backup plans for his backup plans.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "Survival." The word came out as a mutter as Jin pocketed the cash and knife, methodically adding the supplies to his growing collection.

  I'm gonna use every single thing you stashed away, original Jin.

  He moved through the apartment like a ghost, hitting every hiding spot the inherited memories whispered about. Behind the bookshelf—three more protein bars and another knife. Under the bathroom sink—water bottles and more first aid supplies. Taped to the underside of his desk drawer—another roll of emergency cash.

  More supplies. More preparation.

  Jin's gaze tracked across the apartment to the closed door of his uncle and aunt's bedroom.

  Uncle Marcus. Retired military. The kind of soldier who never really stopped being a soldier—just traded his combat uniform for civilian clothes and pretended he didn't still think in terms of threat assessment and tactical positioning every single time he walked into a room.

  If anyone in this apartment has seriously useful gear stashed away, it's him.

  The bedroom was exactly what Jin expected when he pushed open the door—sparse furniture arranged with obsessive neatness, everything in its designated place serving a clear purpose. No clutter. No wasted space. No decorations that weren't also functional. Just efficiency and purpose distilled into interior design that screamed "career military."

  The safe stood in the corner like a metal monolith, practically screaming "valuable shit inside" to anyone who knew how to look.

  Jin's fingers moved to the keypad before he consciously decided to open it, the combination surfacing from inherited memories like muscle memory he didn't have to think about: 0-4-1-7.

  Mom's birthday. Uncle Marcus always used Mom's birthday for the important things. Locks, passwords, security codes.

  It's a good thing he loved his family... otherwise, I can't even imagine who would have taken me in after they died.

  The electronic lock beeped softly. Red light shifted to green with a mechanical click that sounded way too loud in the quiet apartment—loud enough to make Jin wince and glance toward the hallway like someone might come investigating.

  Nobody did. The apartment remained silent except for the distant tolling of warning bells.

  Click.

  "Come on, Uncle Marcus." Jin pulled the door open slowly, anticipation coiling in his chest like a living thing. "Show me what you've been hiding here."

  The safe opened.

  Jin stared at the contents, and his pulse sang.

  An enchanted firearm gleamed under the bedroom's lighting, its barrel inscribed with runes. The weapon radiated menace—not the cheap mass-produced enchantments you could buy at corner shops for basic self-defense, but serious military-grade hardware that probably cost more than most people's cars.

  Holy fucking shit.

  "Uncle Marcus..." Jin lifted the pistol with reverent hands, feeling the weight of real power for the first time since waking up in this world. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

  The grip settled into his palm like it belonged there, perfectly balanced and humming with contained destruction that made his skin tingle where it touched the enchanted metal.

  "I do have firearm mastery listed in my skills..." Jin turned the weapon carefully, checking the safety and magazine with inherited knowledge from the original Jin's training. "Still, probably should practice whenever I get the chance. Knowing how and actually hitting what I'm aiming at are two different things."

  Ten rounds of matching enchanted ammunition sat in a foam-lined case beside the pistol—each bullet nestled in its own protective slot, gleaming with the same dangerous energy as the weapon itself.

  I'm armed and dangerous now. Actually dangerous, not just pretending to be brave.

  Behind the gun, another sword waited in a custom scabbard—and the moment Jin's fingers touched the leather-wrapped hilt, he knew this wasn't some practice blade like the one he'd found in his closet.

  He drew it slowly, and the blade sang.

  The weapon actually produced a low harmonic note that resonated through his bones like the sword was tuning itself to his essence signature.

  "Oh, damn. This is a really nice sword."

  The blade gleamed with high-grade enchantment, patterns of light dancing across its surface like captured lightning frozen in steel. Way better than the practice blade he'd found earlier. League's better.

  This was the kind of weapon you brought to serious monster hunts and dungeon raids.

  "Uncle Marcus, I'm really sorry for the emergency looting," Jin said to the empty room, hefting the singing sword and feeling its perfect weight and balance. "But in my defense, these beauties would be reduced to rubble in a few hours anyway when the calamity hits. Better I use them to actually survive than let them go to waste gathering dust in a crater, right?"

  Plus, I'll actually survive long enough to return them. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully, not die horribly in the first hour.

  Who am I kidding? Uncle Marcus would probably approve of me stealing his weapons if it meant staying alive. That's just practical military thinking.

  A roll of cash thick enough to choke a horse occupied the safe's bottom shelf, rubber-banded and organized by denomination like Uncle Marcus had been preparing for economic collapse or a sudden need to flee the country with nothing but what he could carry.

  Jin pocketed it without counting, his fingers recognizing the feel of serious money even if he couldn't see the exact amount.

  "Emergency fund or Uncle Marcus's secret vice money?" He grinned despite himself, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting him. "Doesn't really matter at this point. I need this more than the crater Vienna's about to become does."

  Though I'm really curious what a retired military guy was preparing for with this much cash, military-grade weapons, and—

  He moved to the bathroom, checking the medicine cabinet more out of thoroughness than actual hope of finding anything useful. Old habits from his cancer days—always check the medicine, always know what's available, always have a plan for managing pain and complications before they become emergencies.

  And stopped dead, his hand frozen on the cabinet door.

  "Is that..."

  Nestled between bottles of aspirin and antacid tablets—between the completely mundane medicine cabinet contents that anyone would have—sat a small vial of liquid that screamed expensive magical bullshit. The contents swirled with their own inner light, shifting colors like an oil slick made of starlight and concentrated healing energy.

  Jin lifted the vial carefully with both hands, holding it up to the bathroom light with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts or newborn babies or things that could literally save your life if everything went to hell.

  "Is this..." His voice cracked. "Is this a healing potion?"

  This is rare. This is really fucking rare.

  Healing potions weren't the kind of thing normal people just had lying around in their medicine cabinets next to the Tylenol. They cost serious money.

  Jin tucked the vial into his pack's most secure pocket, treating it like the liquid gold it probably was.

  As his fingers brushed the glass, something pulsed in his chest.

  His Mantle.

  Jin froze, his breath catching in his throat as warmth spread outward from his core like honey through his veins. The Harvest Boon recognized the healing potion. Wanted something from it. The sensation felt like hunger, but wrong—not physical hunger for food, but something deeper.

  Like his Mantle wanted to consume the potion's essence and learn from it.

  The feeling faded as quickly as it came, leaving Jin standing in the bathroom with a healing potion in one hand and questions he didn't have time to answer.

  His Mantle pulsed again, softer this time. Almost... curious?

  What the hell was that?

  ~~~

  So, what do you guys think about his motivations? Would he be able to taste the beauties?

  ? ? ?