*Drip… drip…*
A cool droplet tapped rhythmically on the tip of Dilin’s nose.
"Wake up, sleepyhead~"
After a while, the girl tapping Dilin’s nose lost patience. Seeing that poking wouldn’t rouse him, she pulled out a wooden hammer stamped with ‘10T’.
*Gently awaken the slumbering soul!*
Dilin jolted upright, drenched in cold sweat.
*Huh?*
Fresh air cleared his foggy mind. No hammer-wielding girl stood before him.
*Just a dream?*
Rustling leaves whispered in the breeze. Morning dew mingled with wildflowers and grass, crisp and sweet. Orioles trilled as sunlight bathed the earth in warmth and life.
Surrounded by nature, Dilin felt an inexplicable lightness. Basking in the dawn, a smile curled his lips—even as fragmented memories of his blackout lingered just out of reach.
He rubbed his sleepy eyes, stretched his slender waist with a soft, contented sigh, and felt utterly refreshed.
*Ah… my hair’s messy. Strands keep falling on my face…*
Still half-dazed, Dilin instinctively tucked stray locks behind his ear and smoothed his bangs.
*Time to wash up. Find a hair tie. Tie it back.*
Moving on autopilot, he glided toward a nearby lake with catlike grace.
Just as he reached the shore, a fluffy squirrel darted past—splashing water onto his chest. Beads of dew slid slowly down the steep slope of his collarbone.
*Pfft.*
Unbothered by the dampness, Dilin crouched gracefully. Snow-pale fingers stroked the squirrel’s furry head, his smile warmer than sunlight.
The little creature blinked its shiny black eyes. Normally skittish around humans, it didn’t flee. Instead, it nuzzled into his touch like a cat seeking its master’s affection.
"Don’t run near the lake," Dilin murmured, cradling the squirrel under its arms and pressing his cheek to its tiny face. "You might drown."
The squirrel bobbed its head as if understanding.
"Go on now." He set it down gently and waved goodbye.
Watching it scamper off, Dilin cupped clear spring water and splashed it onto his face.
The chill banished his drowsiness. The lake’s surface reflected swaying trees—and his own face. Peaceful. Serene.
*……………*
Dilin’s smile froze. His expression hardened.
The reflection showed a breathtaking golden-haired Elf girl mirroring his widening eyes, paling face, and sudden collapse onto the grass.
*Holy hell!*
"*I—I??*" Dilin’s pupils trembled. His lips quivered as he stared at the delicate, unfamiliar hands—and the terrified Elf girl staring back from the water.
"*This… is me?!*" His voice rang out, clear and sweet as mountain springwater.
*Heh… heh…*
A dry chuckle escaped him.
*Still dreaming.*
Muttering to himself, Dilin stumbled to a pine tree. He took a deep breath—and slammed his head against the gnarled trunk!
***Thud! Thud!***
***Splat!***
The first sound was skull meeting bark. The second was the Elf girl crumpling to the ground, stars spinning in her vision.
*"Chirp-chirp-chirp! (What’s wrong with this Elf?)"*
*"Squeak-squeak… (Maybe testing if her head’s harder than tree bark?)"*
*"Chirp-squeak-chirp! (Doesn’t look too bright…)"*
*"Chirp-chirp-chirp-chirp… (Should we really leave her alone out here?)"*
The tree shuddered as squirrels chattered overhead.
*Owwww…*
Dizzy and watering-eyed, Dilin wobbled upright.
*Hurts so bad…*
*What the actual—*
*Since when do dreams have pain feedback?!*
*Oof—what’s this?*
Rubbing his lower back, he pulled a jade token from his pocket.
His eyes widened. This was his Coleman Academy student ID—engraved with his human name: *Dilin*.
"*My* student token?!" He scanned the sun-dappled woods, birdsong and blossoms swirling around him.
Back at the lake, he stared at his reflection: baby-faced cheeks, calm emerald eyes, exquisite features marred only by a blade-shaped black-and-white birthmark trailing down one cheek.
*Wait… that’s not a birthmark…*
"*Yowch!*" He tugged his pointed ear—and the sharp pain forced a horrifying truth upon him.
*My… my manhood? Gone?!*
Memories crashed back: the strange flyer, the teleportation to the Ancient Tree Temple, the sacrificial ritual.
*Of course.*
*This is an Elf’s scheme!*
Instinctively, Dilin opened his mouth to unleash a Blue Planet-level curse.
"*Pointy-eared bast—*"
The insult died mid-sentence.
As an 11th-tier veteran of Anti-Stress Bar and honorary member of Absurdity Bar, he didn’t hold back out of virtue.
He *physically couldn’t*.
His very bones rebelled against foul language. An instinct deeper than muscle memory choked every vulgar word before it formed.
*What’s happening?!*
*Fine. What if I force it? Insult her ancestors?*
"*F—*"
He choked on his own spit, coughing violently.
*This body… truly can’t swear.*
