𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

Pathetic

It’s been two days since I stepped through the portal hidden inside the vending machine. Two whole days, wasted.

When I confidently told myself I knew how to make Layza work for me, well, perhaps I was being a tad optimistic. Overestimated my brilliance? Maybe. But it was more of a motivational speech to myself than an actual plan. Self-delusion can be oddly comforting sometimes.

Now, I’m motivated—but still hopelessly stuck. I even considered helping around the house. Surely, that would earn me some brownie points, right? Wrong. Turns out, Layza probably has some sort of magical organization or construction powers, because everything here operates like a self-sustaining utopia. The plants prune themselves, the floors sparkle without a speck of dust, and dishes? They practically wash themselves. The entire estate feels isolated from the rest of the world, as though Layza didn’t need—or want—anyone else. I’m beginning to suspect he built it all himself: the glowing flowers, the portal, even the eerie pink-tinged sky that hasn’t changed since I arrived.

So, in short, I’m useless here. Yet, oddly enough, Layza hasn’t thrown me out.

I don’t understand it. Why does everyone in the spirit world fear this guy? Sure, he has some impressive powers, but so far, all I’ve seen him do is stir soup and tend to plants. There must be more to him—something hidden beneath his serene, smirking exterior.

Over the last two days, I’ve scoured every corner of his vast property, hoping to find some way to contribute or, at the very least, uncover a weakness. Nothing. Absolutely nothing requires my assistance. It’s devastating.

I think about the human girl mentioned in the original storyline—the one for whom Layza stopped Ulso. She must be someone special if you catch my drift. But, as always, the system is a useless piece of junk and didn’t bother to provide me with any details about her.

So, blackmailing Layza using her? Not an option. For now.

That leaves me with nothing.

The only unexplored territory is the inside of his cottage. I’ve avoided it until now, wanting to give Layza time to grow accustomed to my presence so he wouldn’t immediately throw me out if he caught me snooping. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

I start my search, padding softly into the first room.

The library is the first to catch my eye. It’s both grand and chaotic—a paradoxical mix of ornate bookshelves, spiraling to the ceiling, and haphazardly stacked tomes that look like they might topple at any moment. The books themselves seem alive, their covers pulsating faintly, their spines etched with glowing runes in a language I can’t read. Potted plants occupy every available surface, their leaves curling toward the books as though they’re drawn to the magic within. The air smells faintly of lavender and parchment.

Next is the storage room. I push open the creaky door, revealing what looks like a junkyard. Old artifacts lie scattered on the floor: a cracked mirror that doesn’t reflect correctly, a golden compass spinning wildly despite there being no breeze, and a set of rusted tools that look too delicate to have been used for anything practical. More plants sprout from the corners, their roots curling around the clutter like curious fingers. The entire space hums faintly with latent energy, as though the items within still remember their past lives.

Finally, I enter what appears to be Layza’s bedroom. It’s surprisingly simple compared to the rest of the cottage, almost...human. A neatly made bed with deep green sheets sits in the center, flanked by a sturdy wooden nightstand. On it rests a silver locket and a candle that burns without melting. A small writing desk is tucked into the corner, scattered with scraps of paper covered in elegant, flowing script. More plants, of course, line the windowsill, their blossoms emitting a faint glow that bathes the room in soft light. The air feels warmer here, almost inviting, but I can’t shake the sense that I’m intruding on something deeply personal.