In "New Life, New Saga," Mark finds himself unexpectedly transported into the vibrant world of Summertime Saga, a place where characters are more than just pixels on a screen-they're living, breathing individuals with emotions and destinies. As he n...
A cat's meowing echoed near his ears, dragging him reluctantly out of sleep. Groggily, he opened his eyes, only to be blinded by harsh sunlight.
"Why is it so bright?" he muttered to himself, squinting against the glare. His hands instinctively shielded his eyes, trying to adjust to the intensity. Slowly, his vision cleared, and he sat up.
"What the heck is going on?"
His first thought was pure confusion. He was outside. But why? As he rubbed his eyes and fully woke up, he looked around.
The scene surrounding him was unfamiliar—barren trees stood in the distance, and several weathered stones slabs were planted in the ground.
He was lying on grass, his fingers digging into the grass beneath him. It felt cool and prickly, far from the comfort of his bed. His gaze wandered over the stones, and his stomach sank when he realized they were tombstones—this was a graveyard.
A graveyard?
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Confusion washed over him like a cold wave. He had no memory of going near a graveyard, let alone sleeping in one.
His mind scrambled to piece together what was happening.
Just as he was trying to piece together what had happened, another question surfaced: "Why am I speaking in English?" The words flowed out naturally, with a fluency that startled him. He hadn't spoken English like this in years.
Panic briefly washed over him as he switched to other languages, including his mother tongue. Relief settled in—he could still speak them. But there was something strange.
His voice—smoother and deeper now—felt oddly charming, even to his own ears. And though he could still speak his old languages, English had somehow become his primary one.
"Is this some kind of prank?" He glanced around, frowning, trying to make sense of it all. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft, insistent meow.
Looking down, he saw a small black cat seated beside him, casually licking its paws.
"Eh? A cat?"
The cat looked up at him, its striking blue eyes locking with his. For a moment, they just stared at each other.
The cat meowed again, and though the sound was ordinary, Mark suddenly understood. Not the words, but the feelings.
The cat wasn't just making noise—it had been trying to wake him up, to check on him. He could feel the worry emanating from it, almost like a whisper in the back of his mind.
"You woke me up because you were... concerned?"
He asked, half-joking, still groggy. To his utter shock, the cat nodded. Not a subtle, maybe-I-imagined-it nod, but a slow, deliberate gesture that made his mouth go dry.
