Re:of life
Chapter 56: The real world

Chapter 56: The real world

Waking up on the cold, wet ground.

Everything hurts.

My whole body’s shivering from the morning breeze... even though it doesn’t feel that cold.

Blood still soaks through my clothes.

The damage from the fight—

Not enough to kill me.

But it was damn close.

I want to sleep again.

Just lie here and forget everything.

But I need to get up...

Maybe find somewhere better to crash.

Or food. Yeah... food sounds good.

Ugh...

I’m too tired.

I feel like I’m gonna pass out—again.

Maybe I should find a doctor.

Do they even have those here?

In this world?

In this village?

Someone’s gotta know how to bandage a wound, right?

Or at least clean them up.

Anything’s better than just lying here rotting in blood and mud.

Anyway...

I should start moving.

At this point, it can’t get much worse.

If I can just find something—

A warm place to stay,

A decent meal,

Someone who gives a damn—

That’d be enough.

So I force myself to get up.

Every muscle screams.

Every bone feels shattered.

Pain floods through me like a runaway train.

I’ve died before.

I know how peaceful it is.

But a guy like me?

I don’t get peace.

All I get is more pain...

Even after death.

Like dying wasn’t bad enough.

Must be nice...

Being able to let go of everything, huh?

"Augh..." I groan, dragging my feet across the village floor.

My legs barely work.

I’m limping through hell.

Being free of pain...

That’s what I wanted all this time.

But now?

Now I can’t die.

Not yet.

I have to keep going.

I can’t lose what little I have left...

But if I already lost everything—

If this really is another world,

If I’m starting from zero again...

Then I think next time?

I’ll stop fighting.

Let it all go.

Let isolation swallow me whole.

***

Looking practically half-dead, I stumble into the closest inn I could find. My steps are heavy, my clothes soaked in blood, and all I can hope for is a room... maybe even someone who could help patch me up.

...

"Hi," I croak, my voice barely above a whisper. "Could you... please be kind enough to lend me a room?"

I pause, catching my breath before continuing.

"I don’t have any money on me right now, but... if you could just spare a room for a night, I promise I’ll pay you back in the next few days."

The man behind the counter stares at me—part confused, part annoyed.

"So, you want to stay here without paying?" he asks, scratching his stubbled chin. "Look, kid, I’d like to help, I really would. But you’re not the first one to stumble in here half-dead asking for a free night."

He sighs deeply.

"If I started handing out rooms to every poor soul who came crawling through the door, the folks who can pay wouldn’t have anywhere to sleep."

Another breath. He folds his arms.

"Sorry... but you’ll have to find somewhere else."

Seriously...?

Does he even see me right now? I’m barely standing. I’m bleeding, broken, shaking—and he’s talking about room availability?

...Fuck.

"I see," I mutter, my voice tight with irritation. "Then... can I ask at least one more thing? Is there anywhere nearby I can get my wounds looked at? A healer, a doctor—anyone?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, there’s a place. But I doubt they’ll help if you’ve got nothing to pay with. Healers around here aren’t cheap. Even getting a wound cleaned costs you a silver or two."

His voice is distant—apathetic—but not cruel. Just... used to it.

"A lot of folks get hurt around here. And a lot of them pay well. So, yeah... healing’s a good business."

He glances toward the door.

"But hey, maybe luck’s on your side. It’s just down the street—keep your eyes to the left and you’ll see it."

"...Thanks," I reply, flatly. There’s no point in saying more.

I turn around, dragging my aching feet back out into the street—into the cold, unforgiving rain, still falling like the sky itself doesn’t give a damn either.

At the edge of collapse, I stumble down the wet road. Heavy raindrops fall, but they’re nothing compared to the weight of the pain crushing my body. The wind doesn’t even bother me—I’m too swallowed by helplessness to notice.

Maybe... there’s still some hope left.

Wait—

Did I forget something?

Solithra...? Was that it?

I never even asked—am I still in Solithra?

My heart suddenly races. My legs push through the pain, and my feet launch me forward, charging down the road.

"Hey! Hey! Sir!!"

I grab an old man by the shoulders as my knees buckle, nearly sending me face-first into the concrete.

He stumbles too, almost falling back, but catches himself—though judging by the scowl on his face, he’s far from pleased.

"What the hell do you want?! Let go of me, right now!" he snaps, shaking off my hands.

But his words barely register.

"Solithra!? Am I in Solithra?! What world is this?!" I blurt out, desperate for an answer.

However... my words didn’t seem to reach him at all.

All he did was shove me to the side, giving me a look like I was nothing more than some pathetic waste of space.

What the fuck?

"Do you hear me?!" I yell, stumbling after him. "Tell me! Am I still in Solithra?!"

Desperation leaks into every word as I practically throw myself at him.

He groans, clearly pissed.

"Get out of my sight. I don’t want to play games—I’m tired. Tired of you, tired of everything."

He turns to walk off, not even sparing me another look.

Why?

Why?!

"Wait! Please! Just fucking answer me!" I shout, voice cracking. "You’re tired?! Damn it, so am I!"

"Tell me."

"Tell me!"

"Just tell me!!"

Again and again, the words fall from my mouth, like broken glass in the rain.

Can’t someone help me?! Just once?!

"ANSWER ME!!"

Before I can even breathe, the man spins around and raises his arm—

SLAP.

His palm cracks against my face.

My legs give out instantly, sending me crashing down into the cold, wet street.

...Huh.

He stands over me, voice heavy with something I don’t care enough to name.

"I told you I’m tired. Is that really so hard to understand?! Get the hell out of my way. Let my life keep rolling the same shitty way it always has. Brats like you don’t make anything better."

But his voice? His words? They just fade.

His bitterness gets drowned out by the one thing still screaming inside me—

The desire for help.

He sighs, continuing as if I asked to hear his life story.

"People got their own problems. And I don’t feel like helping some punk with no manners. You don’t throw yourself at strangers and demand answers like the world owes you something. You think it wasn’t obvious I was done? That I didn’t want this shit today? Truly pathetic."

He walks off after that—vented out, maybe a little lighter than before.

I couldn’t care less.

Work? Family? Life?

Whatever it was that made him like that...

Not my problem.

He couldn’t even answer a simple goddamn question.

The fuck is wrong with people?!

I watch the man wander off into the distance.

His steps are slow, dragging, careless. His posture leans forward like his body’s carrying too much weight to stand straight anymore.

He really is tired...

I slowly raise myself from the ground, brushing off some dirt—even though there’s too much mud and cold water clinging to me for it to matter.

Quietly, I turn away and keep walking toward my destination. Somewhere I can get patched up. Somewhere I can get cleaned... maybe even healed?

Step by step, I drag my feet down the soaked road.

Then, in the distance—

A soft, glowing light. Warm and steady, pouring from the windows of a small house.

A sign hangs just above the door.

A heart symbol catches my eye. I don’t bother reading the rest. This has to be the place.

I finally make it.

I open the door slowly, quietly stepping inside, glancing around for someone—anyone—who can help.

At the front desk, I see a girl. I walk up, exhausted.

"Hi..."

"Hi! Welcome," she says with a kind smile, warm and gentle. "How can I help you?"

How can she help me...? Isn’t that obvious?

"I’d like to get my wounds patched up," I say bluntly.

She nods, still smiling. "Of course. We’ll be glad to help you."

Her voice carries the same warmth as her smile. It’s... nice. Too nice.

"I... I can’t pay," I add quickly. "But I might be able to later this week. Any amount of help would be fine, really."

I try to keep my voice steady, not wanting to screw this up. Not like last time.

Her smile softens. "Hmm... I see. I’ll see what I can do, alright?"

She heads through a door behind the desk, disappearing from sight.

Not long after, I start hearing her voice again—quiet, but just loud enough to catch.

She’s talking to someone... I can’t make out the words at first.

Hurry up. Please...

Then it becomes clearer.

"But... his wounds might be fatal," she says. "The least we can do is just bandage them."

The man she’s talking to shouts back.

"We can’t help every poor soul who wanders in here! If they’ve got money, fine—but we can’t keep patching up freeloaders! You hear me?!"

They’re arguing...?

The girl replies again, voice cracking.

"But... he said he can pay later. Just this once—"

"No! Tell him to—" He pauses, then sighs. "No, never mind. I’ll go talk to him myself."

I hear his footsteps approaching.

But they stop.

Then the girl speaks again, desperately:

"Please... let me handle it. I can offer him something... he might be able to pay later, just—"

"Shut up!"

A loud thud.

A painful noise escapes the girl’s mouth.

Then silence.

The man steps out from the back, finally in view. His face twisted in frustration and rage.

"Let’s make this quick," he snaps. "I haven’t been paid in days. You know why? Because of pathetic shits like you who walk in expecting charity."

His voice is sharp, bitter. "Most of the people who come here get treated for free. And guess who gets blamed? Me. The boss is pissed off—and I’m the one who takes it."

I grit my teeth, anger rising.

"But... just a bandage," I argue. "You can’t even do that?! What kind of hospital won’t help a kid who’s half-dead?! I’m barely standing here!"

His voice climbs louder. "Do you hear yourself?! You think I owe you anything?! You think just because you’re hurt, the world has to bend for you?! Everything comes at a cost—and right now, that cost is money! Helping you won’t pay my rent, won’t fix my problems! You’re just another burden!"

"Pathetic?!" I snap. "You’re pathetic—for turning your back on someone bleeding in front of you! Pathetic for caring more about your own wallet than a kid who’s about to collapse!"

"Shut up already!"

His hand flies, slamming into my face.

My head crashes down on the desk—vision spinning.

And he’s still not done.

"Fix your own damn problems," he growls. "Don’t expect the world to save you. You want help? Earn it. You think I don’t know pain? You think I’ve had it easy?! I’ve worked my ass off to survive—while little shits like you waltz around thinking you deserve a free ride!"

He grabs me roughly by the arms, dragging me toward the exit.

"Can’t you just—"

CRACK.

Another hit. Harder.

Pain flares through my jaw as he throws me out the door and into the rain.

He spits on me.

Slams the doors shut.

...

I lay there in the pouring rain, soaked and trembling.

I fucking hate this place.

Can’t anyone help? Can’t anyone just... lend a hand?!

Is it really that fucking hard?