02.Meatballs

"Sigh…"

Zidan had already lost count of how many times he had sighed. Even the ghost in the corner of the room was probably sick of hearing him exhale over and over again.

"Does my life really have to be this miserable? Just because of a sneeze, I got isekai'd. Is it the world that's gone crazy, or am I the one who's lost it?" Zidan muttered as he ruffled his already messy hair.

Come to think of it, none of this made any sense. No logic could possibly explain something this bizarre.

Soul transmigration? Seriously? If it were population transmigration, sure—that's a government issue. But this?

Transferring into someone else's body? And worst of all... into the body of an antagonist?!

Grrruuukkk…

"Ugh… this stomach just won't cooperate. I'm already dizzy trying to figure out why I suddenly jumped worlds, and now it wants food too? And to make it worse, I didn't even get any of this guy's memories…"

Frustrated, Zidan stomped toward the room of the body's previous owner.

He had one goal: to find the magical paper that could be exchanged for food. In other words… money.

After tearing through drawers, closets, and even under the bed—Zidan finally found something.

"Whoa… all cards?! Damn, this dude is loaded! If I cashed all this in, I could probably fill an entire closet!" he exclaimed, staring at a row of ATM cards, credit cards, and other mystery cards.

"Alright. Time to hunt for food."

Without a second thought, he grabbed a jacket from the bed and threw it on.

But his steps came to a sudden halt.

"Wait a sec… is this still Indonesia?" he asked himself, suspiciously.

On impulse, he rushed to the bedroom window, flung open the curtain, and peeked outside.

"Looks like it… and this kinda seems like Jakarta," he muttered, eyeing the tall buildings in the distance and listening to the endless car horns blaring from below.

Why did he even need to make sure he was still in the same country?

Well, in the novel he read, it never explained where the character actually lived.

Maybe because the novel was half-finished. That would explain the lack of detail.

But judging from the sweltering heat, the sound of motorcycle exhausts, a meatball vendor yelling, "Bakso! Bakso!", and the smell of fried food wafting from a nearby warung—

It all felt way too familiar to be some fantasy world.

This city… it was too similar to the one he came from.

"Well… at least I'm not in a world with purple skies and flying dragons," Zidan sighed in relief, though unease still lingered in his chest.

But something was definitely off.

Not just the fact that he'd suddenly switched bodies, but also the fact that he had no memory of who this body belonged to.

It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a hallucination.

Everything felt too real. Painfully real.

Zidan glanced at the wallet he'd found earlier.

ID card, bank cards with who-knows-how-much balance, even a gym membership.

But the name on the ID made his brows furrow.

"Ryuuga Noah Kaivandra?"

"Cool name… definitely sounds like a wasted villain type. But why the hell did his life get transmigrated into me, someone whose sneeze can cause chaos?" Zidan muttered as he wiped his face in disbelief.

"Whatever. I'll figure it out later. Right now, mission number one: find food before I pass out on this floor."

Without thinking, Zidan opened the apartment door and stepped out.

But just two steps in, he came right back in.

"Crap, I forgot my sandals."

He grumbled again, "Ugh… this is what happens when your brain and body aren't in sync. You start forgetting stuff," as he searched the room for slippers or shoes to head out with.

.

.

"It's already evening? Feels like it was just morning a minute ago. No wonder my stomach's been making noise all this time," said Zidan as he stepped out of his apartment, having greeted the security guard on duty.

"Alright, what should I get now? Meatballs or chicken noodles?" he asked himself.

"Ugh, why choose if I can have both?" he muttered, striding toward the meatball stall he had seen earlier from his apartment window.

---

The sky had turned a golden orange, with wispy clouds stretched out like torn cotton. A light breeze brushed against Zidan's face, carrying the scent of fried snacks and vehicle fumes.

"Damn… that smell. It's not just the meatballs and noodles calling me—now the fried stuff wants in too," he grumbled, swallowing hard.

He stopped at a small intersection. To the left was Mang Karyo's meatball stall, with a faded banner but always packed. To the right was a newer chicken noodle cart, still finding its footing, but the aroma? Heavenly.

Zidan weighed his options.

"Let's go meatballs first. Noodles can be dessert." He nodded like he'd just made a life-altering decision and stepped into Mang Karyo's stall.

"One bowl of mixed bakso, Bang! Extra chili, like... make my tongue feel like it's being ironed flat!" he said with gusto.

Mang Karyo laughed while scooping hot broth.

"Sure, but don't complain if you end up sweating through your shirt."

"No worries, Bang," Zidan gave a thumbs up and walked to an empty table.

He sat and looked around. At the next table, a little kid pouted because his mom had cut his meatballs in half. At another, a couple sat in silence, more focused on their phones than each other.

"Ah, humans…" Zidan muttered, pretending to be wise, though his stomach was still growling like a death metal concert.

After five minutes, a steaming bowl of meatballs landed in front of him. Piping hot broth, floating meatballs, a squishy piece of fried tofu, and red chili sauce that looked like a warning sign.

Zidan took a spoonful.

"Ahhh… This. This is the kind of taste that makes life feel slightly less miserable."

Just as he was halfway through, his phone buzzed. The name flashing on the screen: Dad.

Zidan choked on his broth. "Crap… that's Ryuuga's old man calling?!"

He quickly gulped down iced tea, mind racing.

"Do I answer? What do I even say? Crap, I didn't even get any memories from the original owner. But according to the novel I read, Ryuuga and his dad? Not exactly best buds. More like sworn enemies."

The phone kept buzzing. Zidan's finger hovered over the green button.

"If I say the wrong thing... I might get erased from this world before I even taste that chicken noodle."

"Hello?" said Zidan, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"Come home," said the voice on the other end—just as flat.

Tut-tut.

"…Huh?"

Zidan blinked at the phone, stunned.

"Was that real? He called… just to say that?"

He turned to his barely-touched bowl of meatballs.

"Screw it. I'm eating first. That old man can wait."

Zidan grinned and dug into his food happily.