Ken wandered the street, eyes wide, breath shaky.
The last thing he remembered was falling asleep in that cold prison cell — after ten months of silence, isolation, and death. He'd accepted it. Let himself give up.
Then he woke up here.
On a quiet street in the capital. The sun was rising, the buildings were glowing orange, and he could smell bread baking nearby.
He looked around, disoriented.
"Why… am I back here?"
He looked down at his hands. They were clean. His clothes weren't torn. His stomach didn't ache.
I reset. Again.
"Soul Reset activated," he whispered, voice cracking. "But… I was just asleep."
He stood there in the street for a long moment, unsure if it was real.
Then, from down the road, he saw a man.
Vando.
Carrying a sack of groceries, walking like nothing happened.
Ken's chest tightened.
Again…?
He ran after him.
"Vando!"
Vando turned, confused.
"Do I know you?"
"I… need a place to stay. Just for a few days. I can help around the house. I won't ask for anything else."
Vando looked him over, just like last time. Then nodded.
"Alright. You can come in."
Ken sat at the table again. Same house. Same warmth. Same smell of stew.
"Name?" Vando asked casually.
"Ken Arai."
"How old?"
"Seventeen."
"You from the city?"
"Yeah," Ken lied, just like before.
Vando served him a plate of food. Stew, bread, something grilled.
Ken ate slowly this time, more aware.
It's just like last time. Too much like last time.
He cleaned the dishes after dinner, like before. The soap still stung his fingers. His arms still ached. But he didn't complain.
For two days, the cycle repeated.
He ate. Cleaned. Slept.
Vando didn't act strange. Didn't threaten him. Didn't seem cruel.
But Ken couldn't relax. Something deep in his gut was whispering:
This isn't right.
Then came the third night.
Ken lay on the same bed, staring at the same ceiling.
He felt it again — that heaviness.
That pressure in his chest.
He closed his eyes.
And then...
Soul Reset activated.
Ken gasped awake.
His body was cold. He was lying on stone. People were walking around him.
He pushed himself up.
The streets were crowded now — not quiet like before. He was in the main street of the capital, where merchants shouted about fresh fruit, enchanted weapons, potions and armor.
The noise was overwhelming. His head spun.
"I died again," he whispered.
He clenched his fists.
"But… I was sleeping. And I— I felt pain."
"I felt it."
He staggered through the crowd, chest pounding. Something wasn't right. He wasn't imagining it.
Why do I keep resetting every time I sleep in that house?
He turned a corner.
And stopped.
A wall was covered in wanted posters.
Some were torn. Others faded. But one was fresh. Recently printed.
Ken's eyes locked onto it.
His heart dropped.
The face was unmistakable.
"Vando...?"
The name was printed under the sketch. A reward listed in bold.
WANTED
Name: Vando Cerres
Crime: Multiple counts of murder, illegal experiments, poisoning, body disposal, and disappearances.
Reward: 5,000 gold
Ken took a step back, eyes wide.
"Wait…"
"That explains it."
"That's why I kept resetting when I was in his house. That's why I felt pain even in my sleep."
His breathing quickened.
"He killed me."
The realization hit him like a blade.
He killed me every time.
The food. The kindness. The quiet safety — it was all a setup.
Ken's hands curled into fists, shaking with rage.
"You bastard…"
"You acted like you were helping me."
"You murdered me."
He stared at the poster one more time. At the cold, drawn face. At the reward.
Then he said it out loud, not caring if anyone heard:
"I swear… I'll kill you myself."