Dave looked up from his taco, which was now down to its final few bites.
"Grumble?"
"Huh what?"
"Nothing," Otto said, shaking his head. "Just... realizing something."
Dave shrugged and finished the last of his taco with a satisfied sigh.
"Wubba."
"Good taco."
He licked his fingers clean, then grinned at Otto—the same manic, unreadable grin from before.
"Wubba wubba! GRGLL! Told you, kid. GREEN THUMB. Don't waste it."
"...Thanks," Otto said quietly.
Dave waved it off.
"Blibble blobble. WUBBA WUBBA."
"Don't thank me yet."
He reached into his vest again and produced three seeds of different colors.
"You gave it back. Most people wouldn't. Here."
Three small objects dropped into Otto's palm.
Seeds. Each no bigger than a fingernail, each glowing with a faint inner light. The first was bright yellow, pulsing gently like a captured sunbeam. The second was emerald green, swaying slightly as if moved by a breeze Otto couldn't feel. The third was a warm gold that radiated a quiet sense of comfort.
"These are..."
"SUNFLOWER! PEA-SHOOTER! MARIGOLD!" Dave announced, enunciating each word with unusual clarity. "Plibble plabble. Blerg florp."
"Plant them, treat them right, and they'll treat you right."
Otto's fingers curled protectively around the seeds.
He knew these. From hours and hours of a game from his childhood. And now they were here, in his hand, warm and glowing and alive.
"...This is insane," he murmured, but there was no rejection in his voice.
Dave's grin returned, wider than ever. He clapped Otto on the back hard enough to make him stumble, laughing.
"Flibble flabble. Plibble plobble. WUBBA."
"Plant them, water them, talk to them—plants love it when you talk to them—and watch what happens. You've got the gift, kid. Don't waste it."
Otto looked down at the seeds in his palm, then back at Dave.
The man was strange. Undeniably, unquestionably, certified-level strange. But beneath the madness was something genuine. The kind of thing you found in old martial arts novels—the eccentric master who spoke in riddles and handed out treasures to people who didn't yet know they needed them.
"Thank you," Otto said quietly.
Dave waved it off.
"Blibble blobble. WUBBA WUBBA."
"Don't thank me yet."
Otto pauses 'Another gift?'
Dave reached into his vest again and produced a crumpled business card, presenting it with the flair of a magician revealing his final trick.
"Twinkies Dinkies! Fuzzle wump plants! MULTIVERSE! ONE DAY! BECAUSE I'M CRAAAAAZY!"
"Want more plants—and trust me, you'll want more plants—order from my shop! Twinkies Dinkies! Best plant shop in the multiverse! Delivery across dimensions! Guaranteed within one day!"
Otto took the card and turned it over.
The front was printed in cheerful, slightly crooked letters:
[TWINKIES DINKIES
Dave's Multiversal Plant Emporium
"We're CRAZY about plants!"]
Below that, in smaller text:
[Fresh seeds delivered daily!
10-seed blind boxes refreshed every morning!
Individual plants are also available!]
And at the bottom, in letters that seemed to shimmer faintly:
[Delivery across the multiverse. Guaranteed within 1 day!)
The back had a web address that made Otto's eyes cross slightly:
[twinkies-dinkies.multiversal.shop/dave-plants/[ERROR: REALITY NODE NOT FOUND]/catalog]
Underneath, in tiny print:
[Prices may seem weird. That's because I'M CRAAAAAZY!]
Otto stared at the card for a long moment.
"This is... an online store."
"WUBBA!"
"Multiverse delivery."
"WUBBA!"
"One day guarantee."
"WUBBA!"
Otto looked at the card. Then at Dave. Then at the RV that was still taking up most of the room.
"...You know what? I'm not even going to question it anymore."
He tucked the card carefully into his pocket.
Then a thought hit him.
The internet.
He pulled out his phone. The screen glowed, showing the cruel truth.
Battery: 12%
"One problem," he said slowly. "My phone's about to die. And the data plan only lasts until the end of the month. In this world—no cell towers, no Wi-Fi, no charging ports—once this thing goes dark, it's gone for good."
Dave blinked.
"Grumble?"
"Huh?"
Otto laughed, the sound tinged with frustration. "No internet, no charging. Dead phone means no access to your online store."
Dave's expression shifted from confusion to thoughtfulness to... something that looked almost like embarrassment.
"Fuzzle... wubba wubba... GRGLL."
"Well... that's a problem. Most of my customers have the internet where they live, so..."
He scratched the back of his head, looking around the room, then at the RV, then back at Otto.
Then his eyes lit up.
"PENNY! Wubba wubba PHONE! Blerg florpl!"
"PENNY! Hey, Penny, do we have a spare phone?!"
From inside the RV, a synthesized voice responded, crisp and professional.
[Processing query... Accessing inventory logs...]
Otto's eyebrows rose.
Penny? The time machine AI from the later Plants vs. Zombies 2 games?
[Log entry found. User 'Crazy Dave' possesses one (1) spare mobile communication device. Last used: 847 days ago. Status: Functional. Power system: Sunflower-charged, capacity 7k SU(Sun Unit).]
Dave snapped his fingers.
"WUBBA!"
"That's the one!"
He disappeared into the RV and emerged a moment later with a device that made Otto's tech-loving heart skip a beat.
It wasn't a flip phone. It wasn't a smartphone.
It was something in between. And something more.
Folded, it was palm-sized, silvery-gray, cool to the touch. Then Otto turned it over—
Whirrrr.
It unfolded. Nano-materials flowed and reorganized at the edges, expanding from palm-sized to tablet-sized, and then... it could go larger. The touchscreen seemed to float just above the surface rather than being embedded in it. The interface was impossibly smooth.
"This is..."
Dave puffed out his chest.
"NANO-TECH! Far Future! Wubba wubba! Flibble flabble SEVENTY-FIVE INCHES!"
"Nano-tech! Picked it up from the Far Future timeline! Folds out big! Can go up to seventy-five inches!"
[Clarification,] Penny interjected. [The device utilizes programmable nano-materials for structural adaptation. Interface operates via projected capacitive touch with haptic feedback. Maximum expansion capacity: 75 inches diagonal.]
Seventy-five inches. A phone that could become a seventy-five-inch screen.
"What kind of insane technology is this..."
[Far Future timeline, year 2412 Gregorian calendar equivalent,] Penny supplied helpfully. [Standard civilian communication device. Holographic and neural-link models were available but deemed 'too distracting' for general use.]
Dave nodded sagely.
"Wubba wubba. Floob noob."
"Too many people walking into fountains. So had to keep it simple."
Otto shook his head, still marveling. "And the battery? Penny said it is sunflower-charged?"
[Correct,] Penny said. [The device is equipped with a bio-photovoltaic interface. Proximity to compatible flora—specifically sunflower type organisms classified as "Enlighten-Mint" —induces passive charging. Estimated full charge time: 1-2 hours of continuous proximity.]
Dave's expression flickered, something like regret passing over his face.
"Grumble... fuzzle. Wubba wubba."
"Yeah... I don't use it anymore. The sunflowers, they, uh..."
[The sunflowers collectively refused to continue charging the device,] Penny stated flatly. [Reason: User 'Crazy Dave' was observed spending excessive time on the device, resulting in neglect of regular plant care and socialization. Solar flora unit conducted a collective vote to suspend charging privileges as behavioral reinforcement.]
Dave rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"Wubba de hongshi."
"They're very opinionated."
[User 'Crazy Dave' subsequently acquired a replacement device with zero-point vacuum energy recharge capabilities, rendering this unit obsolete.]
Otto looked down at the impossible phone in his hands—a device from the year 2412, powered by sunflowers, abandoned because a bunch of plants staged an intervention—then back at the man who had just given it to him like it was nothing.
"...So this is mine now?"
Dave's grin returned, any lingering embarrassment swept away.
"WUBBA! Flibble flabble! Grgll grappa!"
"Yep! All yours! Just make sure you stay on good terms with your sunflowers, or you'll end up like me!"
He laughed, a loud, unrestrained sound that filled the small room.
Otto laughed too.
Not because it was funny, exactly, but because—what else could he do?
He'd transmigrated. Into a game that didn't exist in his timeline yet.
With a character name that was a historical meme. Gotten a villain system, told it to get lost, and somehow (maybe) mutually destructed with it. And then Crazy Dave had driven his multiversal RV through a portal to pick up a taco.
And now his golden finger was:
Three seeds from a tower defense game. A phone powered by sunflowers. A business card for a plant shop across dimensions.
No system. No cheat panel. No daily check-in rewards.
Just a crazy taco enthusiast, three glowing seeds, and a phone that needed photosynthesis to charge.
You know what?
It could be worse.
"Thank you," he said, and meant it.
Dave patted him on the shoulder.
"Wubba wubba! SAUCE! Grgll grappa!"
"Time to find my sauce! It's gotta be around here somewhere!"
He turned toward the RV, then paused, looking back.
"Flibble. Grgll. WUBBA."
"Take care of those seeds, kid. They're good kids."
[Departure imminent,] Penny announced. [Destination: Unknown reality node. Search parameters: 'Taco sauce, missing, possibly interdimensional displacement.' Estimated search time: Unknown.]
Dave's voice came from inside the RV, slightly muffled.
"Flibble! Wubba!"
"We'll find it! Can't have gone far!"
[Probability of successful retrieval: 37.2%.] A brief pause. [Adjusting for user optimism coefficient: 94.7%.]
The portal tore open again, swirling with impossible colors. The RV rolled forward, disappearing into the rift with surprising grace for a vehicle covered in harpoons and satellite dishes.
For a moment, Otto could see Dave waving through the back window, metal pot wobbling on his head.
Then the portal snapped shut.
Silence.
Otto stood alone in his room, the distant sounds of the tavern below filtering through the floorboards. The new phone hummed softly in his hand. The seeds pulsed with a gentle warmth in his pocket.
He looked at the seeds. Looked at the phone. Then looked at the business card.
And laughed.
"Crazy Dave is my golden finger?"
He said it out loud, just to hear how absurd it sounded.
He'd expected a system. A cheat skill. Some overpowered ability that would let him steamroll through this world's problems.
Instead, he got a taco-obsessed lunatic, three magical seeds, and a phone from the future that ran on sunflower power.
But honestly?
He pocketed the business card carefully, tucked the seeds into the safest spot he could find, and sat on the edge of the bed.
His old phone's screen lit up at his touch. Signal full. Data plan showing 27 days remaining.
He scrolled to his old social media feed and found the post he'd made hours ago, when all of this had just started.
#Yo, got transmigrated and started with a taco in another world. What should I do, fam?
The comments had exploded.
People telling him to wake up. People demanding pictures of the elves and magic. One very serious analysis of how to determine whether you'd landed in a cultivation world or a magic world based on the local flora.
He read a few, smiled, and locked the screen.
Laid the phone on the bedside table then lay back on the bed.
The seeds in his pocket were warm against his leg. Through the window, an unfamiliar night sky stretched out before him, stars arranged in patterns no human had ever named.
Tomorrow, he promised to himself that he will figure out how to plant these. He will also start figuring out this world tomorrow before making a plan.
But for tonight?
For tonight, he let himself breathe.
And for the first time since waking up in this strange world, Otto Hitler—failed art student, transmigrator, accidental gardener—closed his eyes without the weight of a system pressing down on his soul.
And outside his window, a new world waited.