Satou stands up, take a few steps, but not knowing what he should do, where he should go, sits back down. He takes out the wallet and counts: “One thousand riyals,” in notes of hundred each. What now indeed? Having missed the train she was meant to board, even if he rebooked now, it was unlikely to come back by today, or at least anytime soon. So where to go? Perhaps she had a home, somewhere—an apartment she could go back to if she had missed her train—but where?

  “System,” he tried. As expected, nothing happened.

  “Of course.” That would be too convenient.

  Daylight was sinking. Time now was of the essence. He needed a plan, and quick. The day half-sunk, what should he do now? He tried to come up with something, something clever, something helpful—but had no idea where where to begin.

  What do isekai protagonists do, anyways, once they get here?

  He brooded over it, but the futility of such a line of thought quickly became apparent to him: It didn’t matter what they did. Not only did things play out differently in reality from an author’s frivolous fancy; but his circumstances, to begin with, were quite novel from anything he’d ever watched or read. This was new; this was real! But in many ways, less bizarre…

  Ask for help, maybe? He tried. But who? And help him how?

  He could go ask for help to the authorities; but he quickly discard that idea. What would I say to them? Right… He imagined walking up to a policeman, stop, and tell him with a straight and serious face: “I forgot all my memories. Can you help me?” He cringed. If all went well, he would learn, even if they could be of little help; but he was just as likely to get sent off to an asylum instead, or a mental clinic, given that he was unlikely to answer even one of their basic inquiries correctly.

  This world does have some degree of human rights, right? Probably. But he was in no hurry to test that out. Then a worrying prospect dawned: What if this world knows what an otherworlder is? How would they treat me, if they find out who I am?

  God, there was so much to consider; so much he didn’t know; so much so, that despite still being quite physically sprightly, his body aching to be put into action and him having barely moved ever since he got here, he could feel fatigue set in, envelope him, because he had no idea what he ought to do next, and his inexperience at being independent in life was no doubt making his current predicament twice the ordeal it ought to have been. He had all the motivation in the world, the willingness to undertake any ordeal; but him not having one concrete task to direct it towards had become his fatal bottleneck. And in a way, it was comedic, too, that in all the times he had fantasized about reincarnating to another world it had never once occurred to him to seriously consider how he would go about it once he was here, in another world.

  So he tried now, by starting small.

  In his mind, he made a list of the bare-minimum he would need to get done before night fell over him: food, water, shelter: the basic triad—as well as information—all of which, still, were just as vague for him to put into action. But it’s a start.

  He tried to think of more—but, nothing. That was all. He could not help but heave a sigh.

  A breeze brushed past him, and his shirtsleeve, still wet underneath, the coolness of it caressed him deeply. Any respite was welcome, and wanting to relish it, he closed his eyes. In the darkness, he heard the low rumble of cars, behind him; talks and tin of crockeries, from the arcades; faint footsteps, all around him; and rising out of it all, the distant chugging of a train, slowly fading away, like the fog in his mind—the serenity of it all pulled him out of the confines of tiny head, and for once in his life he saw the bigger picture at play. I’m overthinking this, he told himself. I can plan all I want, but at the end of the day, I will have to go, get up, and wing it—and this answer to him seemed, despite its na?ve simplicity, just right.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Yes, what I need is movement. Not sit here and plan all day. Complicated as it was, the labyrinthine of uncertainties could still be treated as if it were something simple, and treaded with improv; and in such a light, him stressing over what he ought to do, how he ought to go about it, the dangers he might find, seem quite silly.

  After all, he was in no danger. He wasn’t in some lawless wildlands, where a dilemma or a confrontation lurked at every corner; but in a city, a civilized society, which had laws, citizens who abided by those laws, and respected your rights even if to an extent you undermined theirs. The greatest threat he faced, at best, was not on his life, but at his pride.

  Satou stood up, resolute in his poise, and asked himself the same old saw: “What to do now, Satou-kun.”

  But no longer did it not carry for him the same gravitas as it had for him back then.

  Briskly, he made sure that all his belongings were accounted for, so that like a fool he did not leave something behind. Then he slung the satchel up on his shoulder and started to leave. At the summit of a long flight of stairs, he looked back, and smiled. “King’s Crossing,” he muttered. This was where his journey began. This was where he started. Whatever this place meant for the denizens of this world, to him, it meant nothing trivial. King’s Crossing: This was where fate had chosen to leave him to his own devices; here, at King’s Crossing; and he would never forget it.

  “Would’ve been nice if I had a guide,” he remarked, good-humoredly; but by no means did he mean it as a complaint. He was content with the roll of his dice, having been bestowed more than what he had hoped for, and he was grateful that he hadn’t reincarnated elsewhere, more inconvenient: a lush forest, for instance, where by now he should’ve either been thriving, or struggling; having killed his first set of goblins, or bandits, or bleeding to death and starving. The thought of it was enough to make him shudder. Such a prospect did not sound abstract—at all, but an all too real possibility. Suddenly, he felt twice as more grateful in his current standing, and he felt genuine pity, too, for all his fellow isekaied brothers and sisters who were not so lucky as him. Filled with sentimentality, he clasped his hands, and bowed, facing the station.

  Everyone! I wish you best of luck!

  All paths lead to their own set of hardships and rewards, and the path he was meant to walk down seem quite harmless in comparison: holding no prospects for physical struggles, resource scarcity, dysentery, indentures, or saving damsels in distresses. Except in my case, I’m the damsel. He chuckled. A silly comparison, he knew, comparing himself with tropes; but the thought nonetheless put him in a lighter mood, which was what he needed most when his heart raced so fast.

  And here he was, standing at the edge of a long-held dream come true. Understandably, he felt more than a little nervous: trepidation and exultation thumping in his chest. He considered himself lacking in so many ways: so many facets of life that were vital prerequisites not only to survive out in the world, but also to thrive, even in a civilized society; but he felt sure in himself that he could learn, would learn, learn it all, change, and learn it well—step by step, one by one—until he no longer resembled the Hasegawa Satou he was now.

  Not that I’m much of a Satou, even now. Ah, right. I’ll need a new name too. Satou won’t cut it!

  And not just a new name. He needed to drill it into himself that he could no longer act in his same old ways: he could no longer be laconic, taciturn, but had to be consciously initiative, sociable, open to undertake any and all challenges; which included confrontations as well: something he dreaded to think of even as a possibility, because he was alone now, and he needed to stand up for himself. A change of tact was an imperative if he wanted to succeed, thrive, and not squander his second life; and for reasons that he considered himself as not someone with good nerves, easily set on the edge, tense, and with a self-confidence down in the dumps, who easily got flushed, flustered, and shy—this was by no means a trivial conviction for him to make, but one that was necessary. And with that, he took the first step.