Don’t want to go to work.
That was the recurring thought of Lin Haoyu in his previous life, and of Loren Green in this one.
Yet, despite failing exam after exam in his past life, he had somehow ended up here—in the capital of the Hobrick Republic, the port city of Landingst—as a low-level clerk.
His monthly salary was 110 Grosso, enough for him to rent an apartment and eat well on his own.
If he saved a little, he could even afford to borrow books from the large library by the harbor.
That’s right, it wasn’t just that he loved reading—it was that he simply couldn’t fit in with the people of Landingst and their forms of entertainment.
Street improv comedies, grand ship dances, masquerade parades, card games, and alcohol.
If he could, all he wanted was to lounge for a day in his favorite gaming chair from his previous life.
More importantly, these entertainments were just too expensive.
When he borrowed books from the library, he could get reimbursed by his much-respected supervisor.
Today, from the deepest shelves of the library, nicknamed the museum, Loren dug out an ancient book, written in purple pigment and in Old Elvish script.
This surprised him greatly, because he distinctly remembered seeing this book somewhere in his past life.
Loren returned to Dusk Street, where his apartment was located.
It cost him 40 Grosso a month—over a third of his salary.
But before heading home, he stopped by the bakery next door to pick up some dinner to take back.
The bread in Landingst wasn’t as tough to swallow as the bread he’d eaten during his rural childhood.
It was softer, easier to eat, and with a bit more money, he could even buy sweet bread with frosting or a sugary filling—almost like a dessert.
Praise the Republic’s trade!
Normally, Loren would never buy sweet bread, since clean teeth were expensive in this world.
He gazed at the dazzling array of goods on the shelf.
There was his usual choice—soft bread, easy to eat, with a sprinkling of nuts on top.
He pointed at the bread he wanted and signaled to the clerk to wrap it up.
Back at his apartment, Loren squinted and surveyed his home.
Still just as small. In that cramped space, he had the essentials—a bed, table, and a small wardrobe.
His desk was covered with drafts and books, and the floor was littered with papers and volumes.
Thanks to trade, paper was cheap, and he could get reimbursed for it too.
Shoving aside the papers and books, Loren took out the wrapped bread.
That was his dinner for tonight.
And it wasn’t soft bread, but a sweet bread with a sugary filling.
He didn’t even know why he suddenly wanted to try it—only the girls from neighboring families seemed to buy it sometimes.
Maybe he was missing the colorful desserts of his previous life, even though he hadn’t really liked them back then.
Chewing the bread, savoring the sweetness, Loren opened the Old Elvish Lexicon he’d borrowed along with the ancient book titled The Book of Kings.
His eyes widened as memories from his previous life surged back.
After flipping through the first few pages several times to make sure he wasn’t mistaken, he kept reading.
It wasn’t until night fell and he realized he might be neglecting work that Loren reluctantly closed the book.
Scratching his head, he fished out the work letter his female supervisor had handed him yesterday.
It should have come directly from the Governor’s Office and had been passed down to him through several hands.
His supervisor required him to have it written and handed in by tomorrow morning.
A budget proposal, huh… Loren considered the requirements in the letter carefully.
Each year, the Governor had to submit a budget proposal for the council to vote on, and this year was no exception.
But unlike the minor tweaks of previous years, this year’s proposal featured a major change: a reduction in tariffs on goods from the Elven Kingdom of Erindria, and the waiving of escort fees for large shipments from there.
This meant that Elven silk, previously costing 800–1000 Ducat gold coins per bolt, would be much cheaper—not cheaper than Flor silk, probably, but still well out of reach for someone with a monthly salary of 110 Grosso.
For Loren, fruits and crafts from the Elven Kingdom would have a greater impact on his life.
All this sounded wonderful, but many people would oppose it—or object to other items in the budget, like postponing construction of a new flagship, or extending contracts with mercenaries.
That was why a written justification for the changes in the budget proposal was needed.
Loren knew that, using some of the knowledge he’d accumulated from his countless exam failures in his previous life, he could often write pretty decent official documents—earning him praise from his colleagues.
Perhaps all those years of obsessive exam drilling hadn’t been for nothing.
Loren gave a bitter smile—the sugary bread didn’t taste so sweet anymore.
Back in his previous life, he’d drilled himself into a daze with endless practice tests, and one day, on his way to buy dinner, he’d carelessly fallen into a sewer.
He never saw the sun again, and finally closed his eyes, wounded and alone, somewhere underground.
He spread out the paper, took a moment to gather his thoughts, then picked up his quill and wrote the first line.
Turns out he hadn’t forgotten all those essay templates he’d memorized.
With that, Loren began to write swiftly.
After fully explaining the necessity, sufficiency, importance, and urgency of the changes to the budget proposal, the document was complete.
Loren gave a big yawn, tidied up the desk, and stuffed the papers and work letter into a brown envelope.
Time to wash up and sleep—writing by candlelight made his eyes uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to become severely nearsighted in this life too.
Standing in the tiny bathroom, Loren chewed on a mouth-cleansing block made from mint and salt, staring blankly at himself in the mirror.
Because he’d eaten rough bread as his staple food during his rural childhood, he wasn’t strong; his skin was dry and dull, and he had pimples.
After moving to Landingst and improving his diet, his health had gotten a bit better.
But tonight, in the mirror, his pimples had almost disappeared.
He pinched his face—his skin felt pretty good.
Was it because he’d gone to the tavern on Central Street a few days ago and splurged 25 Grosso on food and drink?
Shaking his head, he looked at himself again.
Did his face look rounder?
He understood now—it really was the overeating.
But now, the face in the mirror, formerly weak but still masculine, with hair down past his ears, somehow seemed a bit like the shy faces of the neighborhood girls.
That couldn’t be just from gaining weight, could it?
He kept examining his features, forgetting to chew the mint-salt block in his mouth, until the intense cool and salty juices stung his throat, making him cough violently—tears even sprang to his eyes.
Tears?
Loren looked at his own eyes.
The dull, lifeless eyes of a low-level clerk seemed much more lively now.
And since he couldn’t remember what his eyes used to look like, he couldn’t tell exactly what had changed.
He stared closely: still brown irises, still double eyelids, lashes, corners, curves—had any of that changed?
He didn’t know.
How can someone be this vain?
He laughed at himself, spat out the last of the mint-salt block, washed his face, and got ready to undress and put on his loose pajamas.
Strangely, the clothes that fit him this morning now felt a bit baggy.
Wasn’t it said that your weight is lowest in the morning?
He recalled, with some amusement, how in his previous life he’d mastered the trick of weighing himself in the morning just to declare his weight-loss success.
Changing into his pajamas, he prepared to flop face-first onto the bed—ready to sink into the embrace of Mother Bed.
But something felt off.
Instead of falling smoothly, he felt as if the bed’s edge caught him.
He thought it over carefully, considering the relation between the bed and his knees from every angle, and realized—had he gotten shorter?
That was truly impossible, compared to the changes in his skin, face, and eyes.
After a while, he chuckled.
Even though this world was, in some sense, fantastical, in all his twenty-odd years since birth, he’d never seen any supernatural phenomenon or magic.
Not even the confirmed existence of elves—he hadn’t seen one yet, and imagined they weren’t much different from humans.
He had seen a dwarf, though—truly short, and with the typical movie look: broad face, thick brows, big nose, deep eyes, and a bushy beard.
But really, how different were they from humans?
Here he was, living in Landingst—the most advanced city on the continent—wanting for nothing, with even the things he could only dream of in his past life but couldn’t attain.
His life was so calm and untroubled; that was his greatest happiness.
In the civil office, in his apartment, on the Dusk Street he walked each day, Loren had found a lifestyle not so different from his previous one.
This was the anchor that let him accept it all, little by little.
With this small comfort, Loren drifted into sleep.
Nothing happened that day.