The nights here were nothing like his past life. Back home, stars were scarce. But Caleburn’s sky blazed with brilliant stars—a pristine, untouched canvas free from industrial grime.
Dilin sat on the dorm balcony, a cigarette pinched between two fingers. Burning tobacco reeked of cheap nicotine, filling the air with a foul stench.
He took a deep drag on the stub, exhaling a long plume of smoke. His trembling hands, shaking since earlier, finally steadied.
Tonight, he was wide awake again.
Since arriving here, insomnia plagued him. He’d jolt awake at midnight, haunted by nightmares, losing all hope of sleep.
Maybe too many thoughts crowded his mind by day. Or sheer exhaustion gnawed at him.
But Dilin didn’t dwell on why sleeplessness had become his norm. He hadn’t the energy to ponder it.
He’d grown used to these balcony nights, smoking two cigarettes.
Don’t get the wrong idea. Before that year-end truck ran him over—ending his life as a model student who never touched smoke or alcohol, eating well, sleeping soundly—he’d hated cigarettes. Hated smokers.
He never thought smoking was cool. His wallet couldn’t afford luxuries anyway. What he bought was the cheapest, most "accessible" brand.
High EQ: accessible.
Low EQ: cheap.
This world had cigarettes, but craftsmanship lagged behind his homeland. Dilin had never smoked before, so he couldn’t compare. Either way, it was poison. Best avoided.
Sitting in his short-sleeved shirt, Dilin remembered something. He pulled the [Golden Chalice Butterfly] hair accessory from his pocket, turning it over in his hands.
So this was a world with magic, where impossible things happened.
Uncomfortably, he clipped the butterfly to his side hair. In the sliding glass door’s reflection, a boy sat on a stool, head propped on one hand, dead-fish eyes staring blankly. The crookedly pinned golden butterfly outshone him entirely.
With underdeveloped features and hair nearly to his shoulders, he looked like a short-haired girl with zero motivation.
He stubbed the cigarette into a glass jar overflowing with butts. Closing his eyes, golden chains of runes spread from Dilin, encircling him. His skin and features shifted inch by inch. Bathed in golden light, his black hair flowed down, turning into shimmering gold.
The black-haired boy became an elf loli sitting on the stool, her feet dangling far from the floor.
Tilisha cupped her chin with both tiny hands, swinging her pink feet as she gazed at the reflection.
Staring at that face—still unrefined, not yet undergone the Divine Maiden Transformation—she couldn’t believe she’d become a little elf girl. If she hadn’t seen it herself, she’d never have believed it...
"Cough... cough..." The moment the transformation ended, Tilisha coughed violently. A wave of physical discomfort made her cover her mouth and nose.
The room was thick with smoke. The glass jar packed with butts. Every breath felt like inhaling gritty ash.
Bathed in that nauseating tobacco stench, Tilisha felt her hair turn greasy and sticky with the foul smell.
Disgusting!... Could tobacco really smell this awful?!
She hopped off the stool. Glancing around, the room wasn’t filthy, but tidy enough—things were where they should be. Yet seeing it as Tilisha, goosebumps rose on her skin.
The bedside table was cluttered with unsorted books, topped with unwashed clothes. The bed was unmade, sheets tossed like a knotted salted fish. The trash can overflowed, unemptied. And the floor...
She hadn’t noticed before, but as an elf, Tilisha felt a thick layer of dust coated everything.
This place was like a landfill. Just being here made her skin crawl. How had she lived here so long?!
Tilisha couldn’t fathom it. In this dump, she couldn’t stay a second longer!
Her tiny pink feet slipped into oversized slippers. She dashed into the bathroom, making a makeshift mask from a towel to cover her nose and mouth. She tied her hair into a single ponytail, grabbed the mop and broom...
After nearly an hour of cleaning, Tilisha sighed in relief as she tossed the last bag of trash by the door.
The mess was handled, but the room still reeked of smoke. If she could afford it, she’d drench every inch of floor and wall in perfume until the scent drowned out the tobacco.
She’d rather be suffocated by cheap perfume than breathe this nauseating smoke.
Tobacco smell—was it always this harsh? She hadn’t minded it before...
She removed the mask. Her little nose twitched. Tilisha nearly rolled her eyes and quickly put the mask back on.
She couldn’t take it anymore. She was quitting smoking!
Just thinking about that filthy smoke filling her mouth, throat, even lungs made her want to vomit!
First, take out the trash.
Opening the door, before stepping out, Tilisha remembered her conspicuous elf ears.
She couldn’t keep wrapping them in gauze—it looked weird.
Got it.
Tilisha had an idea. She pulled out the headphones she’d drawn from the Golden Chalice Butterfly yesterday.
Putting on the wing-shaped earcups, they perfectly covered her elf ears.
Best of all, only she could remove them. Wearing them felt like protection, like a Level 3 helmet.
