When Otto opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the dull ache spreading across his skull, lingering like the fading echo of something that had been forcefully torn away from him.
For a while, he didn't move at all, simply lying there as his mind slowly caught up with reality. The world around him felt… stable.
Not heavy.
Not suffocating.
—Just normal in a way that felt almost unfamiliar after everything he had gone through. That subtle sense of normalcy alone was enough to tell him that something fundamental had changed.
As his vision gradually focused, the dim wooden ceiling above him came into view, faintly illuminated by the warm, flickering glow of lantern light. From somewhere in the distance, he could hear the low murmur of conversations blending together with the occasional clinking of mugs and bursts of laughter, forming a steady background noise that grounded him in the present.
Time had passed—though not too much.
Judging from the atmosphere, perhaps an hour or two at most.
Letting out a quiet breath, Otto slowly pushed himself upright, his body protesting with stiffness as his hand instinctively rose to his head, as though expecting to feel something still there—some lingering presence, some whispering voice waiting to intrude on his thoughts.
But there was nothing.
No voice.
No pressure.
No interference.
Only silence.
True, uninterrupted silence.
"…So it's really gone," he muttered under his breath, his voice carrying a hint of disbelief.
Just then, a voice from his right called out to him.
"Oi, you finally awake?"
The sudden voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Turning slightly, Otto found a middle-aged man standing nearby, wiping his hands on a worn cloth apron. His expression sat somewhere between mild annoyance and casual concern, as if he had been keeping an eye on him but wasn't particularly invested in his well-being.
"You were out for quite a while," the man said, raising a brow. "I'd say around one or two hours. We're about to close the hall, so unless you're planning to sleep on the floor, you might want to get moving."
Otto blinked a couple of times, letting the information sink in before giving a small nod. "…Two hours, huh."
"That's right," the man replied with a shrug. "Didn't feel right tossing you out while you were unconscious, but don't get the wrong idea—we're not running a charity here."
Taking a slow breath, Otto straightened himself as his thoughts began to organize, piecing together his current situation.
Despite being called a "beer hall," the place was far from what one might expect from the name. Instead of a loud, rowdy bar, it resembled something closer to a traditional German-style tavern, complete with sturdy wooden furniture, warm ambient lighting, and a spacious layout designed to accommodate both drinkers and travelers alike. The upper floors provided private rooms for lodging, while the main hall served as a communal space for food and drink, making it a hybrid between a gathering place and a modest inn.
"Also," the man added, gesturing casually toward the table beside Otto, "don't forget your belongings."
Following his gaze, Otto's eyes landed on the table.
There, sitting quietly as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened, was the wrapped taco—now clearly cooled—and right beside it lay his smartphone.
For a moment, he simply stared at them.
"…You didn't touch those?" he asked.
The man gave a small snort. "Not my business. As long as you're buying something here, we don't care if you bring your own food."
Otto let out a faint breath, a small sense of relief settling in. "Good to know."
He then muttered to himself, 'I guess this is not those modern restaurants who forbid outside food for profit huh?'
"So," the man continued, crossing his arms, "you staying the night or leaving? One silver coin per night, breakfast another 5 copper coin"
The currency in this world is pretty simple. 1 platinum coin = 100 gold coin = 10,000 silver coin = 1,000,000 copper coin.
After a brief pause, Otto nodded. "I'll take a room. Just for one night."
The man gave a short nod in return. "Upstairs. Third door on the left. Don't break anything."
The room he was given was simple but sufficient, containing little more than a bed, a small wooden table, a chair, and a single window that overlooked the quiet street below. It wasn't luxurious by any means, but it was more than enough for someone in his situation.
Placing his belongings down, Otto sat on the edge of the bed and allowed his body to relax slightly before leaning back and staring up at the ceiling.
Despite his exhaustion, sleep refused to come.
His body felt tired, but his mind remained stubbornly active, refusing to settle into rest. Perhaps it was because he had already been unconscious earlier, or maybe it was simply his long-standing habit of staying up late with his phone. More likely, however, it was because everything that had happened was still too fresh, too overwhelming for his thoughts to quiet down.
"…Tch."
Shifting slightly, his gaze drifted to the side—and that was when he noticed them again.
The taco.
And the phone.
Both resting neatly on the bedside table, untouched.
For a few seconds, Otto simply stared at them in silence before letting out a quiet scoff. "…You really left these behind, huh."
Clicking his tongue softly, he added, "Well… they were mine to begin with."
Even so, the situation felt oddly surreal. After everything that had happened—the system, the confrontation, the unbinding—it was strange that these two items remained, as if they had never been part of that chaos at all.
Exhaling lightly, he reached out and picked up his phone.
"This might be the last time I get to use this thing," he muttered.
With 15% no… 14% battery remaining, this phone will probably not last further than this night or tomorrow.
He could actually start to search for some technical knowledge and start copying them before this only connection to modern day dies out. However, the brain thinks for A while the body does B.
Simply… He is too tired to do that…
The screen lit up instantly.
Still functional.
And works normally too.
"…Huh."
With a small shrug, Otto leaned back against the bed and began scrolling. Social media feeds, messages, random posts—everything looked exactly the same as it always had, completely unchanged, as if he hadn't just been thrown into another world mere hours ago.
"…Got transmigrated into another world," he muttered with a faint chuckle.
And then, almost on impulse, he felt the urge to post something.
"…Why not."
Sitting up, he grabbed the taco and walked over to the window, placing it on the sill as a faint night breeze brushed against his face. Raising his phone, he framed the shot carefully—himself, the taco, and the unfamiliar scenery behind him—before taking the picture.
After a brief glance at the result, he typed out a caption.
#Yo, got transmigrated and started with a taco in another world. What should I do, fam?
He paused for a moment, then nodded to himself. "…Good enough."
With that, he uploaded the post.
Leaning slightly against the window, Otto scrolled down to look at his own post, a faint smirk forming on his lips.
"…Not bad."
Then, almost immediately—
A notification appeared.
A reply.
Otto blinked as he opened it, only to frown slightly at the strange string of symbols displayed on the screen—text that made no sense at all.
!@#$%^!@#$%^%@#$%^$# {Hey! I think you found My Taco !!! Could you kindly give it to me??}
"…Huh?"
"What kind of language is that?"
And yet, despite its unreadable appearance, he understood it perfectly.
"…What?"
Before he could even question it further, his fingers began moving on their own, typing out a response in that same incomprehensible language.
!@#$%^$#@#$%^$# {Buddy! I am in another world. How am I even supposed to give it to you?}
The message sent.
Otto stared at the screen, momentarily at a loss.
"…Why did I just reply?"
Under normal circumstances, he would have ignored something like this entirely, dismissing it as a scam, a troll, or just another random internet weirdo claiming ownership over something shown on another's post.
But this time…
"…Hah."
He chuckled softly.
Maybe it was because he was too tired to care, or maybe the absurdity of his current situation had already raised his tolerance for nonsense far beyond normal levels. Or perhaps, deep down, it was because he remembered where the taco had come from.
'It seems the system took it from an undead from some plane and gave it to me like trash…'
"…Well, whatever."
Leaning casually against the window, he watched the screen with mild amusement.
"…Getting scammed in another world, huh. That's a new one."
Not long after, another reply appeared.
!@#$%^$#@!@#$%^ {Hehe! No worries, I will just come to your place!! Just stay in place, I will get to you soon!}
For a second, Otto just stared at it—then nearly burst out laughing.
"…Yeah, right."
Shaking his head, he muttered, "There's definitely something wrong with this guy."
But as the laughter faded, something suddenly clicked.
"…Wait."
His expression stiffened as his thoughts rapidly connected.
The third reward.
| Crazy Person Language Proficiency |
"…Ah."
Silence fell over the room.
"…I just got that skill…"
"And now I'm talking to… this?"
A faint twitch appeared at the corner of his eye.
"…What is this? I just got the skill and suddenly I'm making friends with crazy people?"
A brief, uneasy thought surfaced in his mind.
'Is the Honk— System still chasing me…?'
Before he could dwell on it any further, however, the air in the room suddenly shifted.
A faint ripple appeared beside his bed.
"…Hm?"
Turning his head, Otto watched as a bluish light began to form, growing brighter and more intense before suddenly tearing open into a swirling portal, as if space itself had been forcibly split apart.
Vrrrrrrmmm—WHOOOOSH—
From within the portal, something massive began to emerge.
A vehicle.
An RV.
"…What."
It rolled out into the room as if it belonged there, its exterior covered with an absurd assortment of attachments—a mounted harpoon gun, circular portholes, a hanging lifebuoy, a fire extinguisher strapped awkwardly to the side, a siren perched on top, and even a small satellite dish that rotated slightly as if searching for a signal.
The portal snapped shut behind it.
Silence followed.
"…What the hell am I looking at…"
If not for the room he ordered is pretty big, the RV might not even fit the room.
Luckily though, since the owner of the beer hall recognizes him as some sort of nobles (even though he just got disowned), he uses the biggest room available (and also the most expensive) to maybe scam him?
Or maybe just standard procedure…
But thankfully he does that… If he doesn't have enough space in this room, he might need to restart a new transmigration journey!
The RV door creaked open.
And then someone stepped out.
A middle-aged man with messy hair and a scruffy beard, his round belly slightly protruding as he moved with a relaxed, almost carefree demeanor. He wore simple, worn-out clothing paired with sandals, and most notably, a metal cooking pan sat firmly on top of his head as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
He looked around.
Blinking.
Grinning.
"…Huh."
Otto stared at him in silence.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three.
'…Who is this guy?' He thought loudly inwardly to himself.
His eyes narrowed slightly as a strange sense of familiarity crept into his mind.
"…This guy…Hmm…"
And then—
It clicked.
His eyes widened.
'This guy…'
'…Wait—'
His thoughts froze for a split second before exploding into realization.
'CRAZY DAVE!!!!'