White Cookie

Chapter 4 - Graveyard of Lies

The woman’s grip on the shovel was tight, her stance rigid and defensive. Mark could feel her suspicion pressing down on him, as palpable as the tension in the air. 

His mind scrambled for a believable story, something—anything—that wouldn’t make things worse. “There’s a cemetery next to this house,” Mark began, keeping his voice as steady as he could. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he forced himself to appear calm. 

“I came here to visit my grandparents’ graves. I just got into town.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but right now, it was the only option he had to keep the shovel from swinging his way.

Her sharp, grey eyes narrowed slightly, but the shovel remained raised, her knuckles white around its handle. The wind tugged at the brim of her wide hat, rustling the leaves of a nearby tree. 

The air was thick with tension, and the weight of the guitar case strap digging into Mark’s shoulder only grounded him further in the uneasy moment.

“I’m not from around here—I grew up in another state,” he added, layering a bit of truth to keep the lie from unraveling too quickly.

“Look, I know this sounds weird, but I have documents in the front pocket of my guitar case to prove it. Just, uh, promise you won’t take a swing at me while I grab them?”

Her grip on the shovel loosened slightly, though not enough to make Mark feel safe. “Alright,” she said cautiously, her curiosity starting to creep in. “Drop the guitar case. I’ll check the documents.”

Mark exhaled, his pulse slowing just a fraction. He carefully lowered the case to the ground, keeping his hands raised to show he was no threat. 

With slow, deliberate movements, he unzipped the envelope from the front pocket, feeling like he was in some kind of high-stakes negotiation. He tossed the envelope gently towards her, his hands raised in surrender. 

The woman picked it up, eyes still locked on him as she tucked the shovel under her arm and began flipping through the documents.

Minutes dragged by. The wind rustled through the nearby tree, filling the silence. Finally, she looked back at him, adjusting her hat as she spoke. 

“So, your name’s Mark Castle, and you’re visiting your grandparents’ graves,” she said, her voice as sharp as before. “But if that’s true, what are you doing in my backyard? I could call the cops for trespassing.”

Mark swallowed hard. He wasn’t out of the woods yet. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” he said quickly, the weight of the situation bearing down on him. “I was... well, I was following a black cat.”

Her brow furrowed, and Mark could feel his lie beginning to slip. He pressed on. “I saw it by a statue in the cemetery. It looked like it wanted to get my attention, then got stuck in some plastic. I helped it, and then this nun came by and fed it. She offered to help me find my grandparents’ graves, but she was busy, so I kept looking on my own. The cat led me through a broken part of the wall, and, uh... well, now I’m here.”

He didn’t dare mention the strange events that led him to this world in the first place. That truth would make him sound completely unhinged. Talking about a cookie person pulling him into this world? Yeah, that wouldn’t go over well.

The woman crossed her arms, skepticism etched deep into her features. “So you followed a cat through a hole in the wall, and now you’re in my backyard?” Her voice dripped with doubt.

Mark nodded, trying to appear calm even as his thoughts raced. "That’s pretty much the whole story."

Her sharp gaze remained locked on him, unwavering. “And why were you covering your face earlier? And where’s this cat now?” she asked, her tone challenging him to explain further.

Mark swallowed, realizing he was backed into a corner. “I... I was covering my face because I didn’t want to get caught trespassing. Turns out, it didn’t help much.”

For the first time, a flicker of amusement crossed her face. “No, it didn’t.” Mark let out a nervous chuckle, sensing the slightest shift in her demeanor.

He hoped to build on that. “As for the cat... it was by that big tree earlier.” He pointed to a towering oak next to the house. “But it’s probably hiding now.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “If you’re telling the truth, where’s the cat now?” Mark felt a pang of desperation. If that cat didn’t show up, he was screwed. 

He turned and called out, “Hey, little buddy! Come on, I know you’re hiding somewhere.” There was a long pause, the air thick with anticipation. Mark felt the pit in his stomach grow, but then—miraculously—a soft meow broke through the tension. 

He spun around to see the black cat casually strolling out from behind the tree, licking its paws as if the whole situation was beneath it.

“There you are, bud!” Mark said, nearly sagging in relief. The cat trotted over, rubbing itself against his legs, purring softly. The woman blinked in surprise, her rigid posture easing for the first time. 

“Mittens... actually likes you?” she muttered, her disbelief evident. “That’s... strange. Mittens usually hates strangers.” Mark chuckled, sensing a shift in the air. “I guess I’m just lucky today, huh?”

The woman’s gaze lingered on the cat for a moment, her suspicion softening into something more curious. 

“Alright,” she said finally. “You’re off the hook this time. But don’t trespass again.” Mark let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with relief. “Can I have my envelope back? I’ll need those documents to settle in town.”

The woman handed him the envelope but didn’t move away. Her curiosity wasn’t quite satisfied yet. “Sure,” she said, her voice still firm. “But I need to see what’s in that guitar case. Just for safety.”

Mark hesitated but knew he couldn’t refuse. Kneeling down, he slowly opened the case, revealing its contents. “Is this really a guitar case?” she asked, inspecting the buttons on the side. “It looks new. Did you just buy it?”

He flashed a half-smile. “It’s a gift from a friend. The buttons are for amplifying the sound.” The woman nodded, examining it carefully before finally stepping back. “Alright, you’re clear.”

Mark slung the guitar case over his shoulder, the weight of the day starting to settle on him. He glanced at the cat, which had nestled itself comfortably by the large tree. The woman, now standing near the front steps, seemed to have relaxed, but there was still something unreadable in her expression as she watched him.

“Well, this is my cue to take my leave, farm lady,” Mark said, giving a apologetic bow before turning to go.

As he walked away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t quite done with this place. Something about the woman, the cat, and this strange corner of the world clung to him like a shadow.

Disclaimer:

Chapter 3 - Shovel of Misunderstanding

The soft padding of footsteps grew closer. Mark's heart raced as he crouched behind the statue, struggling to make himself as small as possible.

His furry companion, however, seemed completely unbothered by the tension in the air. The cat sat calmly, licking its paws, its nonchalance a stark contrast to Mark’s anxiety.

“Traitor,” he muttered under his breath, feeling a pang of betrayal from the one creature that was supposed to have his back. The cat, seemingly unfazed, leaped to the top of the block stone where the statue was standing and perched there, watching the scene unfold.

“Hey there, little kitty,” came a soft, familiar voice. “Looks like our gravekeeper is doing a great job guarding the cemetery from bad spirits” Mark’s pulse quickened.

Peeking just behind the statue, he caught sight of the nun—the same one who had been watering the flowers earlier. She was a striking figure, with a loose grey tunic that brushed the tops of her sensible shoes, her head framed by a black veil that concealed most of her blonde braid. The bright blue eyes under her guimpe were intense, almost piercing, even as she cooed softly at the cat.

Meow.

“Oh, someone’s hungry after a long patrol?” she mused, her voice lighthearted. The woman reached into her habit’s pocket and, with a soft shing, produced a small can of cat food.

“Here you go, eat as much as you can, kitty,” she said as she popped it open. The cat meowed appreciatively and dove into the meal with gusto.

Meanwhile, Mark was still huddled behind the statue, sweating bullets. The smell of fishy cat food wafted over, and with every contented purr from the cat, Mark could feel his tension rise.

“Crazy little bastard,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow and trying to calm his racing heart. He tried to control his breathing, hoping the woman wouldn’t catch sight of him.

The smug little furball was taking its sweet time eating, as if it knew exactly how to make Mark sweat. Each slow, deliberate bite of its meal seemed designed to prolong his agony. “Are you doing this on purpose?” Mark muttered under his breath, glaring at the cat.

It gave no sign of hearing him—or caring—its entire focus on savoring every last morsel, pausing occasionally just to lick its paws.

This cat wasn’t just lazy; it was downright mischievous. Mark’s fists clenched, watching helplessly as the seconds ticked by. Every purr, every flick of the cat’s tail felt like a taunt. The longer it ate, the more it seemed like the universe really did have it out for him.

Minutes stretched on like an eternity. After what felt like hours, the cat finally finished its meal and let out a satisfied meow. The nun, seemingly pleased, took the empty can and stood up.

“Looks like you’re finally done, kitty. That took longer than usual.” Mark’s annoyance flared. The cat had not only led him straight into danger, but now it was dragging things out even further.

The nun gave a soft chuckle. “Since you’re full now, and I’m busy at the church today, feel free to head over to Diane’s house for lunch if I don’t make it. Just don’t piss on tombstones or bury your ‘treasures’ under it, okay?”

Meow.

Mark raised an eyebrow at the nun’s casual use of “treasures” If she only knew what sort of treasure the cat was hiding behind this statue right now—namely, himself.

With her chores done, the nun walked back toward the church and disappeared through its doors.

The cat, now looking even smugger, remained perched on the statue. He sighed in relief, finally able to relax after the heart-pounding encounter.

Despite the woman’s beauty, the risk of getting caught was too high to be worth it. The cat, now looking quite smug, had succeeded in its little trick. He felt a mix of irritation and relief, eager to leave the cemetery.

“Do you know how to get out of here without alerting anyone in the church?” he asked the cat, even though it seemed a bit silly.

But given the cat’s familiarity with the place—its job as the nun's “professional” gravekeeper—he hoped it would lead the way.

Meow.

Mark took that as a yes. “Aye, sir. You lead, I follow,” he quipped, though the cat seemed indifferent to his attempt at humor. It hopped down from the block stone and began to walk away as if this entire situation was a normal occurrence.

Mark followed, still glancing over his shoulder, wary of any sudden movement from the church. The cat led him to a crumbling section of the cemetery wall, where bricks had long since fallen apart.

“So, this is our way out?” Mark asked, eyeing the gap with skepticism. The cat simply nodded—well, it felt like a nod—and then leapt through the gap.

With a sigh, Mark carefully climbed over the broken bricks, mindful of the guitar case strapped to his back. After crossing the wall, he took a moment to survey the new area.

He hid beside a shed or storage room, noting the small farm in the backyard. Vegetables like cabbage, cucumber, eggplant, and tomatoes were growing in neat rows. A wheelbarrow and a few scattered tools—a shovel, rake, and hoe—lay strewn about.

“So, besides the cemetery is a farm? No wonder the veggies are so big; the soil must be well-fertilized.” He waited for a moment before moving towards the gate at the back of the yard, covering his face to avoid any hidden cameras.

The cat yawned, watching him walk slowly towards the exit while sitting beside the gate. Just as he was about to reach it, the door to the garden swung open, startling him. He suddenly heard a woman's voice.

“A good day to harvest my babie-.”

The voice trailed as the woman, dressed in a farmer’s outfit with overalls, gloves, and a sunhat. And upon seeing him with his face partially covered and carrying the suspiciously large black case that seemed almost like a body bag, she screamed at the top of her lungs.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

The woman’s scream pierced the air, causing the cat to leap in surprise and birds to scatter from the trees. He was stunned and, before he could react, the woman charged at him with the shovel.

Remembering that the guitar case had a hard shell, he braced himself, hoping it would serve as a shield.

DANG!

The shovel came down hard, rattling against the guitar case.

“Calm down, woman!” he shouted as he blocked the shovel with the case.

DANG!

“Shut up, you murderer—” DANG!

Another strike, and while Mark easily blocked it with the case, he felt the weight of her fury behind each swing.

“—rapist—” DANG!

The force behind the next swing was intense, but Mark stood firm, his strong body absorbing the impact without losing his footing.

“—serial killer!” DANG!

The last accusation came with a wild swing aimed straight at his head. Mark ducked just in time, feeling the air whistle above him as the shovel narrowly missed.

Each insult seemed to land harder than the blow itself. His mind raced, and he felt the weight of the accusations more than the impact of the shovel. This woman wasn’t just hitting him—she was throwing the worst possible crimes at him!

As he defended himself from the frantic woman, he tried to think of ways to explain his presence without escalating the situation further.

Mark gritted his teeth as the blows rained down on his case. “Whoa, lady! I’m none of those things!”

“Liar! That’s exactly what a criminal would say!”

Mark ducked under another swing, his mind scrambling for a way to defuse the situation. “Okay, okay! I get it. But I swear I’m not here to bury bodies or steal your veggies!”

The woman paused, keeping the shovel raised but stepping back slightly. “Then what the hell are you doing sneaking around here like a thief?!”

“I… well, it’s a long story, but I came here by mistake! I swear! Can we just… talk this out?”

The woman eyed him suspiciously but didn’t move to strike again. “You’ve got five seconds to explain before I bash your skull in.”

Mark let out a shaky breath, grateful for the brief reprieve. “Look, I’m just passing through! I didn’t mean to trespass or anything. Can we please just put the shovel down?”

Disclaimer:

Chapter 2 - String of Curiosity

A few minutes passed as he sorted through the documents, shooing the cat away every time it tried to bat at the papers. Once he’d secured everything, his attention shifted to the other item beside him: the black guitar case.

“Is this the gift that 'Cookie Person' mentioned in the letter or just one of the items he prepared for me? And why would anyone name themselves after a cookie?”

Shaking his head, he knew pondering over strange names wouldn’t get him anywhere. It was time to open the guitar case and uncover whatever surprise lay inside. But as he reached for it, something felt... off. The surface of the case was unnaturally smooth and solid, almost like it was built to withstand a beating.

“This case is weird,” he muttered, running his fingers over its surface. “It’s too smooth and hard. It feels like it could be used as a shield if someone tried to stab me.”

He knocked on the case a few times, listening to the dull thud that echoed back. This was unlike any guitar case he’d encountered before. A thought crossed his mind, causing him to frown.

“This guitar must be really precious to need this much protection. Hopefully, it’s not some sort of guitar-shaped bomb...”

He quickly shook off the paranoid thought, not wanting to jinx himself. The urge to open it and finally see what kind of instrument lay inside grew stronger. He found the zipper easily; it slid open smoothly, revealing no lock or complication.

As he lifted the case, he noticed something strange. Despite its solid material, the case was surprisingly light. He barely had to exert any effort to lift it.

“Huh? Is this thing hollow or something?” he mumbled, but as he carelessly jerked it up, the weight shifted unexpectedly. Miscalculating, he caused the heavy case to slam back down onto the ground with a loud thud, sending a cloud of dust straight into his face.

“Perfect,” he muttered between coughs, waving his hand frantically to clear the dust. “Of course, the dust flies right into my face. Classic.”

His eyes stung, forcing him to rub them as the dust lingered. “No epic treasure reveal here,” he grumbled, his voice hoarse from coughing. “No shining lights, no dramatic music—just dust and burning eyes. So much for that main character privilege.”

After a few moments of wiping his eyes and brushing off his clothes, he squinted down at the guitar case, eager to get a clear look at what was inside. His eyes widened in surprise.

There, nestled inside the case, was a stunning guitar. The body was sleek, with a striking design in black and brown. The front featured a pattern resembling an iris—a rich brown that seemed to draw you in—while the sides were jet black. The silver strings shimmered in the sunlight, giving the instrument an almost ethereal glow.

He carefully lifted the guitar out, marveling at its weight. It felt solid, perfectly balanced in his hands, not too heavy but substantial enough to convey quality.

But that wasn’t all. On the opposite side of the case, nestled into a custom compartment, was what looked like a collection of high-tech equipment: cables, buttons, and what seemed like a mini amplifier. It was unlike anything he had ever seen.

“This thing’s bloated... Is it an acoustic-electric hybrid? But... why does it look so advanced?”

Curiosity gnawed at him. The guitar had a mystical quality, as though it held secrets waiting to be unlocked. If this was truly the “gift” mentioned in the letter, it must hold some kind of power.

“Well, Cookie Person,” he whispered, staring at the guitar in awe, “let’s see what kind of surprise you’ve left me.”

Just as he was about to lift the guitar to give it a try, he was startled by a sudden meow from the cat. It seemed to be warning him of something.

“What’s wrong, little buddy?” he asked, looking at the feline.

Meow.

“You want me to hide for a while? Where am I going to hide?”

The cat nodded in response and began walking toward a spot behind him. He turned around and noticed something new.

“Wait a minute... where exactly am I?”

Standing up, he saw a large white building with a purple roof and a cross on top.

“A church?” he wondered aloud, squinting at the unfamiliar architecture.

The design was strange, and he found himself questioning what kind of church he had stumbled into. Were the people inside kind, or was he intruding?

Meow.

The cat called his attention again, now perched on a large angelic stone statue with wings half-folded and hands clasped together as if in prayer.

“Definitely a female angel, but why make it so obvious? I mean, you can literally see the cleavage.”

He frowned, disappointed by the way the statue seemed to sexualize the sacred figure of an angel. The cat, growing impatient, let out a series of annoyed meowed.

Meow Meow.

“Jeez... you’re a bit impatient, little buddy. Looks like your patience matches your size.”

MEOW.

“My bad, buddy. It was just a joke... Alright, I’ll stop. Just let me get my things and I’ll be there when I’m ready.”

As he zipped up the guitar case, he placed the guitar back inside with care, feeling the smoothness of the instrument against his fingers. He then noticed a large pocket on the front, perfect for storing the brown envelope with the important documents.

“That’s convenient. At least the documents will be protected from dirt and insects.”

Meow.

“Okay, buddy, I’m almost done. I’ll be there in a minute.”

After securing the documents and picking up the guitar case—complete with a handle and a strap—he made his way towards the cat, who meowed at him to hurry.

As he carried the guitar case by one hand, he could feel its weight, but it didn’t seem to slow him down.

“Damn, this body must be really strong,” he muttered, chuckling at his own absurdity.

He approached the statue, carefully setting the guitar case down beside it. Crouching behind the statue, he asked the cat, “Hey there, buddy, why are we really hiding?”

Meow. Meow.

“What do you mean someone is about to—”

Before he could finish, the cat swatted his face with its tail, signaling him to be silent.

Peeking from behind the statue, Mark saw a nun stepping out from the church. She was a striking figure, with pale skin and a long blonde braid that cascaded down her back. Her sharp blue eyes scanned the area with a gaze that seemed to hold authority, unsoftened by her serene surroundings. She wore a traditional nun’s habit—her headpiece, a white cap and guimpe, covered her cheeks and neck, framed by a black veil that draped elegantly over her shoulders. Her loose grey tunic billowed slightly in the breeze, while the black underskirt peeked out from underneath.

Though modestly dressed, it was impossible to overlook her buxom figure, which seemed almost exaggerated against the simplicity of her attire. As she moved to water the flowers near the cemetery fence, Mark noticed that she wasn’t carrying anything except for a small watering can—her Bible and rosary notably absent for this task.

“Oh, that’s why we’re hiding. It seems this little buddy knows when this woman comes out of the church,” he observed, heart racing.

Watching the nun water the flowers, he thought that perhaps the church replanted flowers as offerings to the graves.

As he tried to stay hidden behind the statue, he heard the cat meow loudly. The sound echoed through the quiet cemetery.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me, buddy. Is this your idea of sweet revenge? Getting me busted and arrested? I thought we were a team,” he whispered, scolding his feline companion.

So the title of the fanfic is "New Life New Saga" it’s about a guy who finds himself transported into the world of Summertime Saga—a game he used to play years ago. Now, he’s exploring this strangely familiar place, trying to figure out what’s real, what’s changed, and how he fits into it all.

Here's the chapter 1:

Chapter 1: Where Am I?

"Meow... Meow... Meow..."

A cat's meowing echoed near his ears, dragging him reluctantly out of sleep. Groggily, he opened his eyes, only to be blinded by harsh sunlight.

"Why is it so bright?" he muttered to himself, squinting against the glare. His hands instinctively shielded his eyes, trying to adjust to the intensity. Slowly, his vision cleared, and he sat up.

“What the heck is going on?”

His first thought was pure confusion. He was outside. But why? As he rubbed his eyes and fully woke up, he looked around. The scene surrounding him was unfamiliar—barren trees stood in the distance, and several weathered stones slabs were planted in the ground.

He was lying on grass, his fingers digging into the grass beneath him. It felt cool and prickly, far from the comfort of his bed. His gaze wandered over the stones, and his stomach sank when he realized they were tombstones—this was a graveyard.

A graveyard?

Confusion washed over him like a cold wave. He had no memory of going near a graveyard, let alone sleeping in one.

His mind scrambled to piece together what was happening.

Just as he was trying to piece together what had happened, another question surfaced: “Why am I speaking in English?” The words flowed out naturally, with a fluency that startled him. He hadn’t spoken English like this in years.

Panic briefly washed over him as he switched to other languages, including his mother tongue. Relief settled in—he could still speak them. But there was something strange. His voice—smoother and deeper now—felt oddly charming, even to his own ears. And though he could still speak his old languages, English had somehow become his primary one.

“Is this some kind of prank?” He glanced around, frowning, trying to make sense of it all. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft, insistent meow.

Looking down, he saw a small black cat seated beside him, casually licking its paws.

“Eh? A cat?”

The cat looked up at him, its striking blue eyes locking with his. For a moment, they just stared at each other. The cat meowed again, and though the sound was ordinary, Mark suddenly understood. Not the words, but the feelings.

The cat wasn’t just making noise—it had been trying to wake him up, to check on him. He could feel the worry emanating from it, almost like a whisper in the back of his mind.

“You woke me up because you were… concerned?”

He asked, half-joking, still groggy. To his utter shock, the cat nodded. Not a subtle, maybe-I-imagined-it nod, but a slow, deliberate gesture that made his mouth go dry.

He blinked once. Twice.

"You’ve got to be kidding me."

The cat meowed again, clearly not kidding.

A chill ran down his spine. “What is going on?” he muttered under his breath.

He rubbed his head, baffled. Not only was he waking up in a graveyard speaking perfect English, but now he could somehow understand the feelings of a cat. “This keeps getting weirder.”

The cat pawed at his thigh, gently nudging him. Mark felt another wave of sensation—an itch behind the ears, a desire for attention.

He could feel what the cat was thinking. He wasn’t hearing it talk, but the emotions, the intent, were clear to him. As if he could read its thoughts, but only through feeling.

“You want me to scratch that itch behind your ears?” he asked.

The cat nodded again, meowing happily, as if the human had perfectly understood its intent.

He blinked in disbelief. Why could he suddenly understand a cat’s feelings? None of this made sense. He shook his head, trying to brush off the growing feeling that he was losing his mind.

With a resigned sigh, he reached down and scratched behind the cat’s ears The cat purred even louder, curling into his lap like a creature completely at ease with him.

*Prrrr...*

For several minutes, he let the rhythmic sound of the purring fill the silence, then decided to check himself over. Something felt... off. His arms were larger, more muscular, and his skin looked paler than before. His clothes were different too. He was wearing a white t-shirt under a black leather jacket, paired with denim pants. None of these were the clothes he had worn to bed the night before.

“What the hell...?”

Turning to the side, His gaze fell on a black guitar case lying next to him, a large brown envelope resting on top.

Curiosity overcame him, and he reached for the envelope, opening it cautiously. Inside, there were several documents. He flipped through them—certifications, diplomas, identification papers—all under one name: Mark Castle.

His brow furrowed. Mark—that was definitely his name. But Castle?

“That’s not my last name…” he muttered, flipping through the papers again to make sure he hadn’t missed something. But there it was, printed clearly on every document—Mark Castle.

Before he could dwell on it, a smaller, black letter slipped from the envelope. Unlike the rest, it had a golden wax seal with an odd cookie-like stamp. He hesitated, but curiosity got the better of him. He broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

.................................

Dear Mark,

If you’re reading this, it means you’ve safely arrived in this world and have already seen the letter. Forgive me for bringing you here without your consent or warning—it was part of the plan. I’ve left you some items that you may need for your journey.

The world you find yourself in will seem familiar, like something you've known before. But be warned, it may not be exactly as you remember. There will be differences, and it is up to you to uncover them all.

Also I have given you a very wonderful gift, and if you are wondering what it is, it is a surprise for you to find out. And please be cautious and act wisely out there as you are not invulnerable, and you can still die. That is all, and have a good journey.

Sincerely Yours,

White Cookie

..................................

The moment he finished reading, the letter disintegrated into ashes, carried away by the wind. He sat there, stunned, watching as the last remnants disappeared.

“A gift?” he murmured. That had to be connected to everything he was experiencing—the change in his language, his appearance, the fact that he could understand the cat's feelings.

He glanced down at the black cat now curled contentedly in his lap. A small smile tugged at his lips as he lightly stroked its fur again. Maybe the gift had something to do with how he could understand the cat’s feelings, how he could sense things differently.

He thought back to the fantasy novels he had read in his old life, the ones where protagonists were transported to other worlds with cheat-like abilities.

“System? Status? Inventory?” he asked the air, half-jokingly.

Silence followed. No robotic voice, no holographic panels. Only the soft purring of the cat and the rustling of dead leaves in the graveyard.

He waited. The wind rustled through the graveyard, but nothing happened.

“Am I doing it wrong?”

He stood there awkwardly, glancing around, waiting for some sign of power. But the only sound was his own voice echoing back at him.

“So... I’ve been transmigrated to another world, and I don’t even get a system? Just my luck.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Whatever this "gift" was, it didn’t seem to be something he could activate on command.

Still, the gift must have had something to do with him—something within. Until it revealed itself, he was just a man named Mark… Castle

Disclaimer:

The characters, settings, and elements referenced in this fanfiction are the intellectual property of their respective owners. Summertime Saga and its associated content are owned by Kompas Productions. I do not claim any ownership of these original works, and this fanfiction is created purely for fun and as a non-commercial creative project. All rights to the original material belong to the respective creators.