Crest arrived like a storm.
Her heels hit the pavement hard. Her coat swung with purpose. Her dark eyes locked onto Julian’s leg—and her voice snapped like a whip.
"What happened?! We’re going to the hospital. Now."
Julian opened his mouth to protest.
To say it wasn’t that bad.
But then he saw her face.
Worry. Real, sharp, unfiltered worry.
It had been so long since someone looked at him like that.
Not with disappointment.
Not with expectations.
But with genuine concern.
So he said nothing. Just nodded.
The doors of the black sedan opened with a soft click.
Same car. Same interior. But somehow tonight it felt... safer. Like armor on wheels.
Julian climbed in, wincing as his sore muscles protested.
Crest slipped into the driver’s seat. Slammed the door. Gripped the wheel like she wanted to break it.
The engine roared to life.
But even then—her voice came soft. Clipped. Contained.
"You need to take better care of yourself."
Julian leaned back into the leather seat, eyes half-closed.
"You just recovered. Pushing your body like that—what are you thinking? Do you want to relapse? Do you think being strong now means risking everything?"
She went on, and on. About health. About rehab. About priorities. About bone density and scar tissue and God-knows-what.
But something hit him.
She wasn’t mad about football.
Not once did she tell him to quit. Not once did she tell him to stop playing.
Only to protect himself.
For someone like Julian, whose last life was defined by betrayal and bloodshed—this kind of care was foreign. Disorienting.
The hospital was quick.
Crest drove like a woman possessed. And when they arrived, it felt like she already knew everyone.
Doctors greeted her by name.
Julian was seen immediately.
The examination was thorough but familiar—echoing what Tess and Sean had already diagnosed.
Overstrain. Minor ligament stress. Fluid build-up.
Nothing torn. Nothing permanent.
Some anti-inflammatories. A recommended rest window. Ice therapy.
The doctor gave him that same look Tess had.
The unspoken warning.
"Push harder... and it’ll snap."
They were halfway home when Crest spoke—eyes still on the road.
"Want some fast food?"
Julian blinked. Turned his head slowly toward her.
Her voice was casual, but he caught the subtle softness in it. A small peace offering.
"...Not bad," Julian muttered, leaning his cheek against the cool window. "Surprise me. Best stuff you’ve got."
Crest nodded and flicked the turn signal.
They veered off the main road.
The car hummed beneath them, smooth and quiet. The night city stretched out around them—streetlamps casting gold shadows over asphalt, neon signs flickering like digital constellations.
Julian stared out the window.
People. Noise. Color. Life.
Skyscrapers pierced the sky, glass and steel glinting like blades. One of them caught the moonlight just right, and for a second—it looked like a magic tower from his past life.
Not carved from stone, but grown from invention.
How the hell did mortals build all this...?
They pulled into the parking lot of a fast food joint called Queen Burger.
The sign glowed a bold red. The logo was... strange. A cartoonish jester wearing a crown, his tongue sticking out in mockery.
Julian stared at it, brow twitching.
But the mascot is a jester?
"...A mocking symbol?" he muttered. "Royalty wearing a fool’s mask..."
His thoughts were interrupted as Crest steered into the drive-thru lane.
Julian raised an eyebrow.
This whole setup still baffled him. A moving cart, gliding silently... into a tavern?
Except here, you didn’t dismount. You didn’t enter the building.
The tavern came to you.
What kind of sorcery is this...?
A voice crackled from a tiny box outside the window—cheerful, chipper, oddly robotic.
"Welcome to the Queen! May I take your order?"
Crest didn’t blink. "One double-patty burger. Large fries. Cola."
Then she glanced at Julian. "You?"
"Same," he said with a shrug.
"Alrighty! Please proceed forward to the first window," the voice replied, still way too enthusiastic for someone inside a box.
The car rolled forward with a smooth purr, like a creature entirely at peace with itself.
Julian watched in awe.
No walking. No dismounting. No queue.
You just sat, and the tavern—this mechanical fortress of meat and grease—delivered.
This world truly is wild, he thought. You get food without ever leaving your seat... and it sells like crazy?
After a few minutes, they reached the window. A cashier leaned out, handed over a warm paper bag and two drinks stacked with ice. The aroma of seared meat, salt, and toasted bread punched Julian in the nose like a fist of flavor.
His stomach growled—loud, shameless.
Julian reached for the bag like it held sacred treasure. He peeled it open, heat blooming across his face. Inside, nestled in wax paper like a holy relic, was the burger.
Two thick patties. Melted cheese dripping down the sides. Crisp lettuce. Soft, golden bun. Grease glistening like battle sweat.
Juice. Grease. Salt. Crunch. Tender. Hot. Perfect.
His eyes widened, just a little.
"...This is absurdly good," he muttered, voice low, reverent.
Crest glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Don’t get addicted. Fast food isn’t healthy."
Julian chewed, swallowed, and gave her a flat look.
"You’re the one who offered."
She smirked and took a sip of her cola. "No regrets."
The black sedan eased back into the night traffic. Twin headlights carved glowing trails down the road. The city around them buzzed—cars passing, signs blinking, buildings glittering under the sky like stars that fell to earth.
Julian leaned back in his seat. One hand on the burger, the other resting in his lap. He looked out the window.
The motion. The light. The strange, chaotic beauty of it all.
In a world without spirit power, without ancient sects or sky-piercing mountains...
Messy. Noisy. Equal parts miracle and madness.
And somehow, that was enough.
Maybe—just maybe—this strange new world wasn’t so bad after all.