"Black Soil Li! There’s a group heading to XX Canyon—wanna tag along?"

"Buzz off! My name’s Li Mo. What’s this ‘Black Soil’ nonsense? Call me White Cloud!" Li Mo snapped the moment he answered, irked at the nickname. "Don’t think I don’t know your game—wanting your ‘bro’ to fund a trip for you and your new girlfriend? Treating me like a sucker? You won’t even call me ‘Dad’?"

"Whoa, whoa! Brother Mo, Brother Mo!" The voice turned ingratiating. "This is literally the only favor I’m asking. I’ve never begged you for anything before…"

Li Mo sighed. "Fine. But you’re sure it’s XX Canyon? Not some newly built tourist trap—but the real deal?"

"Absolutely! I’ve got the full itinerary and even invited pros! No scam, I swear. Honestly, if she hadn’t wanted to go, I wouldn’t touch such a dangerous place. But with you, Brother Mo… way safer, right?"

A faint smile tugged at Li Mo’s lips. "You’re learning, kid."

Li Mo wasn’t just an extreme sports enthusiast—that label missed the mark. Skydiving, bungee jumping… mere tools. What he truly craved was… adventure.

Yes. Adventure.

He’d been a modest heir—tens of millions, comfortable but unremarkable. Then his parents died in a crash. He sold the company, the factories. His life turned gray, hollow. Until adventure awakened him.

Only adventure brought joy. Only adventure made him feel alive. Untamed ruins, ancient carvings, sky, ocean, forest—worlds away from twenty dull years. Only then did he feel he still breathed.

Once the money ran out, he’d leave this world.

Or so he thought. Fifty million assets, four percent annual interest—two million a year. Enough to chase wonders anywhere. So he upgraded: better lodgings, finer food. No more student frugality.

XX Canyon… perfect.

—Truly perfect.

Plummeting through the air, he knew: this trip was worth it.

Death. A heir choosing the fall. To die adventuring—a fitting end.

Let those loan-denied relatives gloat. This death felt romantic. Exactly as envisioned.

Even if someone schemed it? He didn’t care. His wealth would be donated. Whether it reached those in need was no longer his burden. His conscience was clear.

His life should have ended long ago.

To die after witnessing wonders most never would—

A smile graced his face.

No fear as he fell. Only laughter. Then—impact. Silence.

…

"Caro! Hurry! Today’s class selection!"

The golden-haired girl tied her shoulder-length hair into twin tails before the mirror, adjusting her reflection with care.

Today mattered. The day everyone chose their path.

Two years since reincarnation. Li Mo—now Caro—was thrilled. Waking in an orphanage spared parental complications. After today, freedom. To live as she wished.

Only hitch? Becoming a girl.

Twenty years as a man, two as a woman. Thankfully, the orphanage was run by a kind elderly matron—no dark twists. Biggest nuisance: her period. Rumor said class selection might ease it.

She stepped out. "Grandma Director, I’m ready."

"Mm… Caro, you look lovely. You’ve clearly prepared—but I must say… the Bard class is unwise," the elder sighed, disapproval softening her tone. "Mage, Cleric, Swordsman—even gathering herbs sustains an adventurer. Effort builds magic, aura, skill. But Bards? You’ve never touched an instrument. We had no means to teach you…"

"Don’t worry, Grandma Director!" Caro planted hands on hips, smiling calmly. "If I don’t take this step, I’ll regret it. Didn’t you say: never choose regret?"

"…You child." Another helpless sigh.

Caro knew this world well. Most chose combat classes—Mage, Cleric, Swordsman, Monk—but awakening required special sites. In small Carwen Town, only standard paths were available.

Bards stood apart. Power grew non-linearly. Not from effort or talent—but stories and history. Travel the world. Witness tales. Uncover truths. A song’s renown and historical depth shaped their strength. Singing, instruments? She had slight confidence. Principles transcended worlds. A harp, a little practice—proficiency could wait.

Flashy abilities too: uncover a tale of a city-rampaging gorilla, and a weakened echo might manifest through song. Renown and depth dictated its power and duration.

*Perfect for her. No other choice.*

A class demanding global wanderings! What suited a born wanderer better? Adventurers? Quests? Working? Impossible. She’d died a trust-fund heir—why labor now? Could labor even sustain her? Obviously not!

She joined the line to the church.

No child glanced her way.

Isolation explained why Grandma Director came personally. Once, Caro had been liked—pretty, with boys’ quiet admiration. But post-transmigration turmoil, gender-adjustment unease… awkwardness settled. By the time she adapted, subtle distance remained. She didn’t mind. Didn’t plan to mend it. She’d leave soon.

After today’s awakening.

Carwen Town relied on the Church for class selection—the state delegated it. Some nations used Monks or the Adventurers’ Guild, she’d heard.

She’d prepared fiercely: studied flora/fauna, helped in the kitchen. To survive alone. To eat roadside weeds and know which were safe.

A Bard’s life was romance: drifting between cities and nations, witnessing landscapes, collecting stories.

What could be more beautiful? She couldn’t imagine.

Grandma Director led the front. These dozen children had walked this path countless times, hearts brimming with dreams.

Then—Caro spotted him.

Unshaven. Clad head-to-toe in black. Leaning against a stone, liquor bottle in hand. Alcohol scent sharp in the air.

Even Grandma Director frowned, steering the group slightly away.

*"All in black, probably some—"* She cut herself off. Stereotype. He looked broken. Unstable. Caro sensed a dramatic backstory—and curiosity flickered—but she only glanced.

Then their eyes met.

A viper’s stare. For a heartbeat, her limbs turned icy.

Before she could react, he let out a "Tch," shut his eyes, and shifted to sleep.

Caro hurried to catch the line.

*What was that? Truly… an unpleasant man.*