Caro had little interest in kids her age. After all, before her death, she’d already been in her twenties. Sure, she’d only lived a few years of reckless indulgence as a rich kid—but she was no fourteen-year-old. She simply couldn’t relate to these little brats.

She got along well with the orphanage staff, though—the kitchen auntie, the gatekeeper uncle. Genuine warmth there.

Ahead, the children chattered excitedly about future professions and lives awaiting them. Caro barely listened.

In this, they shared the same anticipation. She’d waited for this moment a long time.

After profession awakening, a personal status panel would appear. To Caro, this world felt oddly game-like. But it didn’t matter. Every detail insisted this was real—and so far, no glitches spotted.

Of course, in-game characters wouldn’t notice bugs. Only players sensed the distortions. If you couldn’t see them? Might as well not exist.

She’d never been the detail-oriented type anyway.

Bard profession… which instrument? Given her finances, a flute or harmonica made sense. But… low prestige.

Truth was, the Church provided a starter item post-awakening. Swordsmen got a beginner’s blade—short or greatsword, your pick (mediocre quality). The Kingdom supplied them; the Church just distributed. So snagging a slightly pricier instrument free? Totally fine.

The real issue: Caro wanted the Bard’s signature instrument—the harp. Replacing it later? Costly. Maintenance too. Still cheaper than combat-ready variants some Bards used. Not that she planned to fight.

“Seriously? A Bard fighting frontline is suicide,” she mused. All she wanted was poetic moments and peaceful days.

She’d never formally learned harp—especially this world’s version, likely different from her past life’s. Orphanage kids couldn’t afford lessons…

Past life: buy the most expensive, no worries. Now? Maintenance costs mattered. This was her livelihood.

Harmonica instead? Heard it was easy. Wait—did Bards even need an instrument? Could whistling trigger skills?

Thoughts drifted as she queued. Suddenly, she recalled the man in black leaning by the roadside earlier—the one reeking of alcohol.

Those eyes… truly drunk? She’d frequented bars, lounges, banquets before. Drunks didn’t have eyes that sharp, that clear.

He wasn’t drunk.

A flicker of unease stirred. Something about to happen? This region wasn’t peaceful—if it were, no orphanage. And the orphans’ origins? No need to spell it out. Dozens in her age group alone. A small town… over a hundred, maybe two hundred orphans?

Unreasonable. Absurd.

From day one, Caro sensed something off. She’d feared a brutal medieval hellscape—sold to nobles before adulthood. Planned escape routes. But reality proved gentler.

Nobles seemed to care about reputation. Rumor said each Chosen Hero purged corrupt lords. So even dirty deeds stayed discreet… just her speculation.

None of her concern. But tales of the Chosen Hero and Heroic Party? Those intrigued her. Past-life “reviews” were fiction. What was the real story?

“Caro.”

Her name snapped her back. Dazed, she realized she’d been standing in the chapel awhile.

Cryptic patterns adorned the dome; polished mirrors caught the light. Before her stood a woman with pure white wings.

Feathers slightly dull—awakening so many clearly drained her.

*I’m last.*

Had she spaced out that long? That damn man in black…

She shook her head and stepped forward.

“Tell me, Caro—what profession do you choose?” The matron hesitated, then stayed silent. Caro was different. Unshakable will.

“Bard.”

No hesitation. No trace of doubt. Unmoved by others’ wondrous awakenings.

Even the awakening priestess blinked. “Are you certain? You wish to be a Bard?”

Bards were rare—usually noble heirs. For an orphan girl, Mage or Priestess made sense.

Caro nodded firmly. “Yes. I choose Bard.”

Seeing her resolve, the priestess gave a solemn nod. “Then… among the light orbs ahead, choose the emerald-green one. I will guide you.”

Wings fluttered. Light descended. Caro felt lifted away. Orbs floated before her—other paths visible.

She didn’t know their meanings. But her choice was made. She touched the emerald orb.

Violent energy surged through her—tearing her apart—then gentle light washed over. Chaos stilled. Soothing warmth.

*Ah. So awakening needs guidance. Only priestesses can do this?*

Thought fleeting. Eyes opened. Status panel appeared.

“…” Silence.

“What’s wrong?” the priestess asked gently. Last child awakened—she could finally go home. Mood softened.

“Um… is the panel always like this?”

The priestess glanced. Nodded. “Yes.”

No stats. No health bar. No mana bar. No level, XP, Strength, Agility, Intelligence—not even Fire Resistance. Nothing Caro imagined should be there.

Just name. Profession. “Skills”—empty.

*What’s the point?*

Disappointment flickered. Then she sighed. She wasn’t a battle maniac. Chose Bard to travel. Levels were just bonuses. She’d overhyped the system. Even without awakening, her path stayed clear—just adjust the method.

“Congratulations, children!” the matron announced, tears in her eyes. “Today, you become adults! Independent members of this world. Spread your wings—I’ll be proud.”

Adult at fourteen… harsher than imagined.

“Tonight, our final meal together. Then… you leave.”

A truly kind matron. Even Caro, an otherworlder, found no fault in her goodness.

Awakening meant independence. Orphanage support ended. Harsh, yes—but these kids were resilient. Low-wage jobs first. Caro accepted it. Briefly considered… *no*. Selling purity for travel funds? Felt like a lewd isekai trope. Hard pass.

(She’d chosen the harp anyway. Future expense. Find work. Save. Learn. Master one or two skills first…)

Then—

Blinding flash. Deafening explosion.

Consciousness vanished.

Familiar sensation.

Just like hitting the ground after falling off a cliff.