The Weight of Decisions

The week passed in the blink of an eye, and the routine that consumed most of Dylan's time only fueled his determination to change his life—something that was obvious to everyone around him.

His shift in attitude was noticeable at the office; he wasn't as withdrawn. Though it hardly mattered to his coworkers. Their relationship had always been distant, limited to the shared miseries of daily work life.

They weren't friends, not by a long shot, or at least that's what he thought until Saturday arrived: the day he officially handed in his resignation. 

When Dylan made his way to the cubicle where his team supervisor operated, he did not expect any particular reaction from him. In this line of work, turnover was as common as breathing. No one lasted long putting up with the constant stream of rude customer complaints, and most people saw it as nothing more than a stepping stone to something better.

The pay was decent—especially considering how minimal education was required—but the mental toll made it unbearable. So when he handed over the letter, he figured it would be a quick exchange: a nod, a signature, and a polite "Good luck out there." Nothing more.

He was wrong. 

Sure, he had become a bit more talkative over the past few days, but it wasn't like he had suddenly turned into a social butterfly. Even in his past life, he hadn't been particularly friendly, just good at pretending when he needed to be.

Yet, his tendency to keep people at arm's length had made him underestimate the bond he'd formed with his colleagues. 

When the middle-aged supervisor who usually looked half-asleep raised his voice during their discussion, several colleagues gathered around, intrigued and jumping to the wrong conclusions about his absence the previous Tuesday. 

"Are you sick?" 

Someone asked, looking genuinely worried. 

"Want me to recommend a doctor? The one who treated my dad is really good. Not cheap, but if you want, I can give you his number so you can set up an appointment."

Others, on the other hand, were less kind with their assumptions. 

"Dylan, man, are you in trouble? You running from something? Cops after you? 'Cause with that face, I wouldn't be surprised... but hey, if you need to hide out, I got a guy."

And of course, the hopeless romantics showed up, too: 

"Aha! I knew it! It's a girl, right? Broke your heart? Even a guy like you must've found a girlfriend, but she probably cheated on you. Dude, I'm telling you, women are brutal. You want to forget her, no? I know a place. Not exactly legal, but it'll get your mind off it. Uh... you got cash, though?" 

For a moment, Dylan couldn't help but feel like the lead in a Turkish soap opera, surrounded by a cast of colorful characters ripped straight from a ridiculous script. 

'As expected, only strong and slightly crazy minds can survive this kind of stressful environment.'

Before anyone else could throw out more wild theories—or before the phones exploded from being ignored—Dylan cleared his throat and spoke up.

With as much confidence as he could fake, he assured them his resignation had nothing to do with personal problems but was part of a long-term plan to seek a job related to his university degree. 

A convenient little lie, easy to swallow. But judging by the looks he got, they weren't entirely buying it. 

'Guess it's not every day someone my age decides to chase a dream,' Dylan thought with a small, amused smile.

Once things settled, everyone went back to their cubicles, but not before agreeing to grab drinks later to "properly say goodbye." 

With that in mind, Dylan spent the morning wandering the bustling city streets, trying to get a feel for his surroundings and clear the scattered thoughts circling in his head. But his stroll didn't last long: the scorching midday sun forced him to take shelter in a modest home-style diner for lunch. 

In the afternoon, after scrolling through random suggestions online, he decided to hit the bank to pull out some cash. With money in hand, he carefully picked out a few gifts he planned to give that very night. When he finished, it was already time for the meeting. 

. . . . . 

'Humans are weird.'

That thought crossed Dylan's mind as he lay sprawled on his bed. It was a strange thing to think, but what else could he say? Decades of memories buzzing in his head gave him a perspective more fitting for an old man than someone approaching thirty. 

The get-together with his former coworkers had started off quiet, but it quickly turned into a loud farewell party at a pool hall that served good food and a wide variety of drinks. 

He wasn't someone who enjoyed dancing or singing with others, but that night felt different. The vibe, the company, and the collective sense of freedom allowing him to let go of the weight he'd been carrying all week. 

After all, ever since he learned of the dark future looming ahead, his life had been consumed by work and responsibility, with no real break. 

"I might've collapsed if things had kept going like that. I can't forget that my body isn't in great shape," Dylan muttered, staring at a spot on the ceiling. 

He definitely didn't regret accepting the invitation. In fact, he was already planning to do it again in a few months. However, he promised himself to be a bit more careful next time, as wasting an entire morning nursing a hangover wasn't exactly ideal. 

Thus, Sunday slipped by without him having the strength or motivation to follow through on the plans he'd laid out in advance. Instead, he spent the day lying low, reflecting, planning, and realizing some things. 

For example, the fact that hitting the gym wasn't as urgent as he'd thought. 

In the other world, mana was the key factor that determined power between races. Whoever mastered it would become the strongest, no exceptions. Even humans—the weakest yet most numerous race on the continent—could take down a dragon with the right preparation. 

The massive size difference, which could be a hundred to one, didn't matter if one destroyed the creature's heart completely, or simply blew off its head. 

Simply put, anyone who couldn't wield mana would be weaker than anyone who could, no matter how athletic they were on Earth. And since Dylan had some partial knowledge of how to control it, he had the potential to become the fastest to grow in strength after the relocation. 

'Of course, that doesn't mean I can skip working out entirely; that'd be a death sentence.'

Dylan might have had some mental grasp on mana, but his body was nowhere near ready to handle it. If he didn't shed some weight, it would take him days just to reach an average person's level; days that could mean life or death if he had to outrun a hungry predator. 

So, there were clear benefits to staying fit and he couldn't ignore it completely. 

With that in mind, he decided to postpone a strict workout routine and focus on other matters...

After a refreshing shower, he headed out on foot to a nearby supermarket. As he walked, Dylan twirled a coin between his fingers, debating whether to apply for a credit card under his father's name because quitting his job had killed his chances of getting one on his own. 

Even riskier was the idea of mortgaging the house he had inherited. Was it a bad idea? Not entirely, but it wasn't easy to swallow yet either. He could blow through all his savings and stop working for months and still have a way back if the relocation never happened. But if he lost his home or burdened his family with debt, there'd be no undoing that. 

The real question was: how far was he willing to go? 

Unfortunately, the walk to the store was too short to reach a final answer, and when he arrived, he was still undecided. 

"There's still time," he told himself while roaming the aisles of the store. 

For now, focusing on concrete matters seemed smarter: like making sure he had everything he'd need to survive if his memories proved real and not just the product of some mental illness. 

Food was his top priority, but choosing what to buy wasn't as simple as it sounded. With the Christmas season still a long way off, anything fresh (meat, fruits, or vegetables) was completely out of the question: either too expensive or impossible to keep for long.

As for cereals, Dylan dismissed them immediately. In his view, anything that took forever to cook or offered little real nutrition might as well stay on the shelf.

So, after mentally weighing his options and realizing he didn't have many, he decided to go for the obvious: canned food. 

Beans, pasta, fruit in syrup, peas, berries, tomatoes. Basically, he grabbed anything that seemed like it wouldn't expire soon and tossed it into his cart.

He also added bottled water, cooking oil, and a jar of honey, which he considered a smart choice for its versatility.

Upon he got to the checkout, the cashier gave him a look that hovered between curiosity and suspicion. Maybe it was the sheer mountain of items stacked in the cart, or the grin Dylan couldn't seem to wipe off his face. 

Either way, none of that dimmed his excitement. 

He knew he was acting like a kid let loose in a candy store; something his future self would definitely cringe at. But in that moment? Holding back felt impossible. 

Because really, both versions of him—the desperate survivor and the boring man he was now—were equally thrilled. 

The future version of him would've killed for half of what he just bought, and the present one? Well, he was just enjoying the rare and simple pleasure of spending money he'd worked his ass off to earn. 

The night was perfect, too. Cool breeze and a bright moon casting a soft glow over the city. In that peaceful atmosphere, he made his way home, daydreaming about the feast that was waiting for him. 

"Goddamn, you stupid bastard."

He cursed under his breath a few minutes later, bitterly regretting his own stupidity. 

Caught up in the excitement, he had completely overlooked one tiny detail: he had no idea how he was going to carry all those groceries back. 

Reality hit when a security guard "kindly" reminded him that carts were not allowed beyond the parking lot. 

'Perfect. Just perfect. Who said you couldn't shop and exercise at the same time?'

What had seemed like a short walk suddenly turned into a journey straight out of hell. 

With every step, the bags felt twice as heavy. By the time he was halfway there, he was sure he'd die and his body would be found surrounded by cans of beans and peaches in syrup. 

And of course, calling a taxi was off the table. He'd spent every last cent he had, too caught up in his little shopping high to think ahead. 

By the time he stumbled through his front door, he let the bags crash to the floor with a heavy thud and didn't even bother to move before collapsing face-first onto the welcome mat, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. 

He wasn't sure how long he lay there. Two, maybe three hours? Time didn't matter. He was so wiped out, the world could've ended and he would've been none the wiser. 

Still, if there was one thing Dylan had learned in life, it was how to take a lesson from every mistake. 

'Next time…'

Next time, he was definitely renting a car.