Chapter 2 – The Martial Artist, the Bread, and a Dumb Lucky Guess
Cyrus didn't sleep much.
Which was annoying, because if there was ever a night he deserved a break, it was this one. First day in another world, nearly stabbed by bandits, ate moldy bread that might have been legally classified as a biohazard... and the system still refused to explain jack.
When he finally gave up on sleep, dawn was just starting to paint the forest in gold.
"Yay. Nature," he muttered, stretching with a groan. His back cracked loud enough to scare a nearby squirrel. "I could be playing video games right now. Or sleeping. Or dead—wait. Scratch that last one."
As he adjusted his robe and splashed some cold water from a nearby stream onto his face, something in the bushes snapped.
He immediately crouched, instinct kicking in. His hand flew to his dagger, though realistically, he wasn't sure if he should stab, throw it, or hold it and hope it made him look cool.
Then he saw her.
A girl stumbled into the clearing.
Not slowly. Not gracefully. She moved with the pace of someone running on fumes, like a blade had been held to her neck one too many times.
Her clothes were torn in places—some kind of martial arts uniform, dirty and bloodstained. Her hair was tied up roughly, but some strands stuck to her face with sweat. Her eyes were wild at first, scanning like a trapped animal, until they landed on him.
Cyrus raised both hands immediately. "Okay, let's skip the part where you roundhouse kick me into a tree. I'm just a lost guy with zero muscle and one sarcastic mouth."
She didn't say anything. Just stood there, chest rising and falling, staring him down.
Then she blinked. Just once.
"…Who are you?" Her voice was raspy, dry.
"Cyrus," he said, still holding his hands up. "Professional idiot. Amateur survivor. What about you?"
"…Yura."
He slowly lowered his arms. "Okay, Yura. Let me guess: you're not exactly out here for a forest hike."
She flinched.
Gotcha.
He smiled to himself.
"Blood on your sleeve," he pointed out casually. "Not yours, probably. You've been running—your boots have wet mud at the edge but your legs are clean, so that means shallow streams, not deep enough to slow you down. But you didn't stop to rest. And your stance? Not a civilian's. You're used to fighting."
Her brow furrowed slightly.
"…Are you a tracker?" she asked, suspicious now.
He laughed. "God no. I've just read too many detective webtoons and watched too much anime. My brain does this automatically. It's annoying, trust me."
She didn't look convinced.
"But also," he added, grinning, "your left sleeve's been cut. Clean slice, like from a blade. Bandits?"
"…You talk too much," she muttered.
"And you didn't say no," he replied, sitting back down on the moss.
She hesitated for a second longer… then slowly stepped forward, still cautious.
"I've got one piece of bread left," Cyrus offered, lifting the wrapped lump of sadness. "It tastes like despair and drywall, but it's all I got."
She didn't move.
Cyrus raised an eyebrow. "Look, if you're gonna stab me for it, at least wait until I've had a bite. Fair trade."
"…I don't have a weapon."
He blinked. "Huh. Then you're even scarier."
Eventually, she sat across from him, close enough to accept the bread, far enough to bolt if needed.
They ate in silence for a while. He watched her carefully—not with suspicion, but curiosity.
She didn't eat like a starving person. She paced herself, even while clearly hungry. She sat with her back half-turned toward the trees, positioning herself to see incoming threats. She flinched less at bird calls than at sudden wind gusts.
Trained. Disciplined. On edge.
Definitely not normal.
"Martial background?" he asked between bites.
Yura froze.
"…Lucky guess," he added quickly.
"…Hmph."
"That's not a 'no,'" he sang.
She didn't respond.
After a long minute, she finally said, "I'm looking for somewhere safe."
Cyrus nodded. "Yeah, me too. I was thinking somewhere with less murder and more bread that isn't plotting to kill me."
"You're weird."
He grinned. "Better than being boring."
The fireless camp grew quiet again. A few birds chirped somewhere overhead. It almost felt peaceful—if you ignored the trauma they were both pretending not to have.
Eventually, Yura stood.
"I'm going."
Cyrus blinked. "Where?"
"…Away."
He looked around the dense, endless forest.
"Okay, but like, where 'away'? We're in the middle of Lost Woods: Nightmare Edition. You got a map or are you planning to vibe your way out?"
She didn't answer.
"…Fine," Cyrus said, standing too. "I'll come with."
She stopped.
"What?"
"Hey, I don't know you. You don't know me. But we both don't know where the hell we are. So we might as well not know things together. Safety in numbers and all that."
"I don't need protection."
"Good. Because I definitely wasn't going to offer any."
She stared at him for a few seconds.
Then, finally, she turned her back and said, "Keep up."
Cyrus smirked and followed.
"Y'know," he said, walking behind her, "this is the beginning of a beautiful not-friendship."
"…Shut up."