Chapter 2B: The Beginning of Mundane Trials

Sain tapped me on the shoulder from behind. I jumped. Again.

"Looks like you're still acting strange this morning," she said, her voice laced with amusement.

I forced a smile and scratched my head—pure reflex.

"You still can't talk about what happened to you?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Hm… ahh…" I fumbled for words, and failed.

She sighed dramatically, folding her arms. "Well, lucky for you, it's the weekend. I'm off duty. Let's figure out this weird mood of yours—slowly. Together."

Touched by her concern, I reached out and took her hand. My expression must've been full of emotion, because she raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"You're grateful to me, aren't you? Remember my kindness for the rest of your life, okay?"

I nodded eagerly and bent my body in a ridiculous half-bow, which only made her snort.

"Now, time to prepare breakfast," Sain said as she slung her arm around me like a team captain directing a clueless rookie. "You look perfectly healthy to me. I assume you can at least manage the kitchen this morning."

Please no. Please, universe, no.

I stood frozen in the kitchen like I was being held hostage.

I had never truly cooked in my life. Sure, I knew how to grab food from the fridge, operate a microwave, or wash a spoon. But chopping, frying, seasoning—all that by hand, without any modern appliance? That was a different story.

How the hell am I going to cook by hand?

Panicked, I scanned the available ingredients: bread, tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce, mushrooms, eggs, flour, and milk. There were a few small containers on the shelf labeled in neat handwriting. I picked one up. "Use sparingly," it said under "sugar."

Great. Even sugar was rare in this world.

I took a deep breath and started washing the vegetables. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Sain watching me like a hawk, ready to pounce at the first sign of culinary collapse.

When our eyes met, I forced a cheerful smile. She didn't return it.

Knife in hand, I began slicing a tomato. Slowly. Very slowly. Juice spurted out, the slices were uneven, and by the end of the first one, I was mentally exhausted. But I finished one whole tomato without cutting myself, which felt like a major win.

Next, the cucumber. Firmer texture, but tougher to slice. I managed a few decent pieces—by my standards—and then paused again before picking up the mushroom.Again, uneven slices, but hey, I was still alive.

But wait, what even was the correct way to chop a mushroom?

Behind me, Sain sighed loud enough for the entire street to hear.

"At this rate, the sun will set before breakfast is done," she muttered.

I gave her another awkward smile. "W-what if… breakfast was just bread, milk, and, um, salad?"

"You mean food that doesn't need to be cooked," she deadpanned. "But we still need to heat the milk."

My smile collapsed into guilt.

Now the real challenge: cooking. Fire. Pan. Stove.

I hovered awkwardly near the stove, squatting and standing like a confused chicken. I had no clue how to light it, and I didn't want to ask Sain for help again.

She squinted at me. "Don't tell me… you forgot how to use the stove too?"

I gave her my best pleading look.

"Hhrrgghh… fine," she grumbled, marching over. "Let me do it before we both starve. I heard your stomach rumbling since earlier."

Relieved and mildly embarrassed, I stepped aside and observed quietly as she lit the stove and prepared the meal.

After eating and tidying up, Sain handed me a woven basket filled with laundry.

"We're heading to the river," she announced.

To wash clothes. By hand.

Back on my world, laundry meant tossing clothes into a machine, pressing a button, and letting technology work its magic while I scrolled through web novels. But here? I would be battling cold water, slippery rocks, and stubborn stains—all without the help of detergent pods or YouTube tutorials.

My imagination ran wild with terrifying possibilities. What if I slipped? What if the clothes floated away? What if I lost all sensation in my hands and turned into a laundry ghost?

We reached the riverside, where several women had already begun scrubbing away. Sain chose a shady spot and crouched down, pulling out the first piece of clothing.

I hesitated.

"Anna…" she called.

Reluctantly, I crouched beside her and copied her movements. The moment I started scrubbing, she turned into a micromanaging supervisor.

"Anna, there's still a stain here. Scrub again."

"Anna, it's still dripping wet. Wring it harder."

"Anna, too hard! You'll tear the fabric. Be gentle!"

Anna this. Anna that. Over and over and over.

Sweat dripped down my forehead. My fingers went numb. My back ached. Pins and needles shot through my legs. The world began to spin.

Sain's voice turned into a distant echo. The riverbank blurred. I felt cold, and then—darkness.

"Anna? Anna! Are you awake?"

Sain's voice pulled me out of the fog. I blinked up at her panicked face. Strangers loomed behind her, watching with concern.

Humiliated, I closed my eyes again.

We walked back home slowly, my legs wobbly. I leaned against Sain for support. She held the laundry basket in her other hand, refusing my help.

"Better I carry the basket than carry you and the basket," she grumbled.

I offered no resistance.

Back in my room, after changing and cleaning up, I picked up the diary again. Anna's diary.

I had no clue who she was. In the novel I read, there was never a character named Anna. But some of the names in the diary had definitely appeared in the story—Riella, the House of Mollota, even the name of this empire.

The novel was still ongoing when I read it back in my world. The last plotline I remembered was grim: the Empire had been devastated by a deadly plague, with no known cure, all while it was waging war against a rival kingdom. The whole realm had descended into chaos.

That was set in the year 927.

Sain told me this was 923.

If I really had entered that world—this world—then I had four years before everything collapsed.

Four years to survive, figure out why I'm here… and maybe, somehow, change the ending.