Ren had never expected to become a fortune teller.
He had expected to die.
That had been the first reasonable conclusion after waking in Sengoku-era Japan.
No identity.
No money.
No family.
No knowledge of where he was.
No understanding of the language beyond what his strange circumstances had somehow preserved.
And, most importantly, no obvious way back.
At the time, survival had been enough.
A bowl of rice had been enough.
A roof over his head had been enough.
A place where nobody immediately decided that a lone stranger was worth robbing had been enough.
Yet now Ren had a room.
It was small.
The walls were thin.
The floor creaked.
The roof leaked slightly whenever the rain became particularly heavy.
But it was his room.
He had a place to sleep.
He had food.
He had work.
People knew his name.
That last part was perhaps the strangest.
Ren sat outside the shop early in the morning, watching villagers pass along the road.
The old man had opened the shutters several minutes ago.
A farmer had already stopped to purchase salt.
A woman had come by to exchange dried vegetables.
Two children had lingered near the entrance until the old man chased them away.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing dangerous.
Just another morning.
Ren took a sip of tea.
He stared at the road.
Then at the village beyond it.
He had been here for months.
Long enough that the rhythm of the place had become familiar.
The farmer who always complained about his back.
The woman who insisted her dreams predicted rain.
The old man who pretended not to care whenever Ren stayed too long at the shop.
The children who had begun calling him the fortune teller.
The villagers who came to him with questions.
Should I sell this?
Should I marry him?
Will my husband return?
Is my crop going to fail?
Should I travel tomorrow?
Should I buy that horse?
Questions.
Always questions.
Ren had answered some.
Failed at others.
And occasionally given an answer that seemed to help.
He had slowly become useful.
That realization should have made him happy.
Instead, it made something uncomfortable settle in his chest.
He was becoming attached.
Ren looked down at his cup.
That was dangerous.
Not because attachment itself was bad.
Because attachment made leaving harder.
He had learned that much from the world he came from.
People became accustomed to things.
Once something became normal, losing it hurt more than never having it in the first place.
And this village had become normal.
Too normal.
“You’ve been staring at that road for half an hour.”
Ren looked sideways.
The old man was standing behind him.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“You’ve been staring.”
“Thinking requires staring sometimes.”
“At the road?”
“It’s a very thought-provoking road.”
The old man snorted, a dry, amused sound, and sat down beside him.
For several moments, neither spoke.
Then the old man said, “You’re leaving.”
It wasn’t a question.
Ren looked at him.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because you’ve been counting your money.”
Ren glanced down.
His pouch was sitting beside him.
“I’ve always counted my money.”
“Not three times in one morning.”
Ren said nothing.
The old man smiled faintly.
“You’ve been looking at maps too.”
Ren frowned.
“You saw those?”
“I own the shop.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”
Ren sighed and took another drink.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Ah.” The old man leaned back.
“Then you’ve decided.”
Ren looked at him, exasperated.
“That’s not how decisions work.”
“It is how people work.” The old man folded his hands.
“People don’t usually spend this much time thinking about leaving somewhere they intend to stay.”
Ren didn’t respond.
The old man didn’t press him.
That was one thing Ren had come to appreciate.
The old man had a talent for knowing when not to speak.
Eventually, he asked, “Where would you go?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a problem.”
“I know.”
“You’ll need money.”
“I know.”
“Food.”
“I know.”
“A place to sleep.”
“I know.”
“Perhaps a weapon.”
Ren glanced at him.
“I have one.”
The old man looked skeptical.
“You have a knife.”
“It’s still a weapon.”
“Against what?”
Ren considered that.
“People who aren’t very determined.”
The old man laughed, a short bark that carried genuine warmth.
“Maybe your comedy will save your life one day.”
Ren smiled.
Then his expression became serious.
“I need to see what’s beyond this village.”
The old man nodded.
He did not ask why.
Maybe he knew, maybe not.
He had seen too many similar cases in his long life, and Ren would neither be the first nor the last.
Ren returned to his room after breakfast.
The room was small enough that he could cross it in four steps.
There was a sleeping mat.
A low table.
His few clothes.
A small bundle of coins.
The wooden cup he sometimes used for divination.
His pendulum.
Several sticks.
His handmade cards.
And the glass bottle.
Ren stopped.
The bottle was wrapped carefully in cloth.
He had not touched it in several weeks.
He hadn’t needed to.
He already knew what was inside.
Nothing.
The bottle had been empty since he drank the potion.
Yet he still kept it.
He didn’t know why.
Perhaps because it reminded him of how this had begun.
A strange object.
A strange system.
A strange potion.
And a voice inside his mind telling him that he had consumed a Sequence 9 Seer potion.
Or perhaps simply because he could sell it for a good sum in the future.
At the time, he had thought the potion itself was the beginning.
Now he wondered if it had been the end of something else.
Ren sat down.
He stared at the bottle.
The word came back to him.
Sequence.
He still didn’t understand it.
The system had given him a title.
Sequence 9 — Seer.
It had told him to digest the potion.
It had told him to act as a Seer.
And it had warned him: do not allow It to awaken.
Ren had spent months thinking about those words.
He still didn’t know what It was.
That bothered him more than almost anything else.
He had abilities now.
Real abilities.
Spirit Vision.
Divination.
A strange intuition.
Occasionally, things that could not be explained by ordinary senses.
He had accepted that much.
But the potion remained a mystery.
Where had it come from?
Why had it appeared?
Who had made it?
Why him?
And what exactly was inside his body?
Ren touched his chest.
Nothing.
No pain.
No heartbeat that sounded different.
No strange voice.
No transformation.
Nothing.
That was perhaps the most frightening part.
Whatever had been placed inside him was quiet.
Waiting.
He had no idea for what.
Ren lowered his hand.
The village was safe.
The village was familiar.
But the answers he wanted were not here.
He knew that.
He simply didn’t know whether knowing it was enough to leave.
Over the next few days, Ren began preparing.
Not dramatically.
He didn’t announce his departure.
He didn’t tell everyone.
He simply started making a list.
Rice.
Dried vegetables.
A little bit of valuable coarse salt.
Cloth.
Water container.
Needle and thread.
Extra clothing.
A blanket.
Money.
His knife.
His divination tools.
He stared at the list.
Then crossed out half of it. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
He didn’t have enough money.
He started again.
Rice.
Cloth.
Knife.
Water.
Money.
That was enough.
Probably.
He had survived with less.
But surviving in a village and surviving on the road were different things.
Ren had learned enough about the Sengoku period to understand that.
Paths between two villages were not considered roads; they were simply a small division that allowed people to move back and forth.
They were separate, but they still belonged to the same area and same lord.
But a road was not simply a line between two settlements.
It was an opportunity for bandits.
Ronin.
Soldiers.
Hungry farmers.
Wild animals.
And things that did not belong to any of those categories.
That last possibility lingered in his mind.
The kitsune.
Ren had seen one.
Or believed he had.
He still hadn’t fully accepted that memory.
The encounter had been too brief.
Too strange.
Too impossible.
Yet the kitsune’s eyes had been intelligent.
Far too intelligent.
And there had been something wrong with the way it moved.
Ren had tried asking around.
Nobody gave him a clear answer.
Some villagers believed foxes were merely foxes.
Others spoke of spirits.
One old woman had warned him not to follow foxes into the forest.
A young man asked if she was beautiful.
Another had laughed at the idea.
A child had insisted that foxes could become beautiful women.
Ren didn’t dismiss the last claim.
After all, if his memories were accurate, he had already seen her.
If there were creatures like that outside the village, how many were there?
If there were kitsune, what else existed?
Ren already knew the answer.
He just didn’t know the details.
Probably far more than he wanted.
The thought should have frightened him into staying.
Instead, it made him want to leave.
That was the contradiction he couldn’t resolve.
The old man found him counting coins again.
“How much?”
Ren looked up.
“What?”
“Your money.”
“Enough.”
“That means not enough.”
Ren sighed.
“Forty-seven mon.”
The old man nodded.
“That’s not terrible.”
“It’s not enough for a long journey.”
“You’re not planning a long journey.”
“I haven’t decided.”
“You’ve decided.”
Ren glared at him, the look landing without any real heat behind it.
The old man smiled.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep being annoying.”
“Old people have few pleasures left.”
Ren laughed.
Then the old man became serious.
“You could stay.”
Ren looked at him.
“I know.”
“You have work.”
“I know.”
“People trust you.
Well, at least some people do.”
“I know.”
“You have a roof.”
“I know.”
The old man looked toward the village.
“There’s nothing wrong with staying somewhere safe.”
Ren followed his gaze.
“I agree.” There wasn’t.
That was the problem.
If the village had been terrible, leaving would have been easy.
If someone had threatened him.
If the food was unbearable.
If he had been hated.
If he had been desperate.
Then he could have left without hesitation.
But none of those things were true.
He had slowly become part of the place.
Not an important part.
Not even a particularly respected one.
But a part.
People knew where to find him.
People brought him food sometimes.
Someone had even repaired his sandals without asking for payment.
Small things.
Meaningless things.
And yet they mattered.
Ren looked at the old man.
“If I stay, I could probably live here.”
“Probably?”
“Unless something happens.”
“Something always happens.”
Ren smiled.
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
Ren became quiet.
The old man studied him, and after a moment said, “You’re afraid.”
Ren didn’t deny it.
“Yes.”
“Of the road?”
“Of leaving.”
The old man nodded.
That answer seemed to satisfy him.
Ren looked at his hands.
“I’m not afraid of starving.”
“You should be.”
“I am.”
“I’m glad.”
“But that’s not the worst part.”
The old man waited.
Ren struggled to put the thought into words.
“If I stay, I know what tomorrow looks like.”
The old man nodded slowly.
“And if you leave?”
“I don’t.”
That was it.
Nothing more complicated.
The unknown frightened him.
But the unknown was also where the answers were.
Ren decided to test one thing before leaving.
The journey.
If divination could not tell him exactly what would happen, perhaps it could at least tell him whether the road was dangerous.
He chose a simple question.
Is it safe for me to travel west?
He laid out his cards.
The first card was favorable.
The second warned of conflict.
The third indicated travel.
The fourth indicated loss.
Ren frowned.
He repeated the reading.
Different.
He tried the pendulum.
Yes.
Then no.
Then yes again.
He tried stick divination.
The result was ambiguous.
Ren stared at the collection of tools around him.
Then laughed quietly.
“So even you don’t know.”
The thought was strangely comforting.
He wasn’t sure why.
Perhaps because it meant the decision remained his.
He didn’t have to wait for some invisible force to tell him where to go.
He could choose.
That was something he hadn’t expected.
When he first arrived in this world, every decision had been forced upon him.
Eat.
Run.
Hide.
Fight.
Drink the potion.
Survive.
He had simply reacted.
Now, for the first time, he could choose something because he wanted it.
That made the decision heavier.
But also more real.
Ren packed the divination tools away.
He wasn’t leaving because a reading told him to.
He wasn’t staying because a reading told him to.
He would decide.
The village changed slightly once Ren’s departure became known.
Not dramatically.
There were no tearful farewells.
No crowds.
Most people barely cared.
But some noticed.
Otsu was one of them.
“You really are leaving?”
Ren nodded.
“When?”
“In a few days.”
“Where?”
“West.”
“Why?”
Ren considered several answers, then gave the simplest.
“I want to see what’s there.”
Otsu smiled faintly.
“You’re strange.”
“I’ve heard that.”
She hesitated, then reached into her sleeve.
She handed him a small cloth bundle.
Ren opened it.
Dried food.
“Take it.”
“I can pay.”
“I know.” She smiled.
“Consider it payment for telling me that my brother was an idiot.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Ren laughed.
He accepted it.
“Thank you.”
Otsu nodded.
Then she asked, “Will you come back?”
Ren looked at the village.
He didn’t know.
“I might.”
She seemed satisfied with that answer.
Matsuo came the next day.
He brought grain.
“What’s this?”
“Payment.”
“For what?”
“You helped clear my name.”
“You didn’t need to pay me.”
“I know.”
Ren accepted the grain.
Matsuo scratched the back of his head.
“Where are you going?”
“West.”
“Why?”
“Everyone keeps asking me that.”
“Because it’s a strange thing to do.”
Ren smiled.
“I want to see what else is out there.”
Matsuo nodded.
Then, after a moment, his voice dropping into something quieter and more sincere: “Be careful.”
It was a simple statement.
Ren appreciated it.
“I will.”
Matsuo left.
Ren watched him go.
It was strange.
A few months ago, these people had been strangers.
Now they were saying goodbye.
That made leaving harder.
But it also made the decision feel right.
The night before his departure, Ren couldn’t sleep.
He sat outside.
The village was quiet.
The moon was visible through thin clouds.
He had packed everything.
His belongings fit into one bundle.
It wasn’t much.
That was probably good.
The fewer things he owned, the easier it would be to move.
Ren looked at his hands.
Then at the stars.
He wondered if astrology could tell him anything.
Probably not.
He still didn’t know the correct calendar.
He didn’t know which stars were which.
He didn’t know what any of it meant.
He smiled.
He had spent months trying to turn divination into a machine that produced answers.
Perhaps he had been expecting too much.
But that didn’t mean the potion was useless.
Far from it.
The abilities were real.
He knew that now.
The potion had changed him.
And if Sequence 9 was only the beginning…
Ren looked toward the darkness beyond the village.
How many Sequences were there?
What happened after Seer?
What would he become?
Could he advance?
Could he control whatever was inside him?
Could he eventually understand what had happened to him?
Could he find a way home?
That last question hurt more than the others.
Ren hadn’t thought about home as much recently.
That scared him.
Not because he had stopped caring.
Because he was adapting.
He was beginning to live here.
A dangerous thing.
Perhaps one day, if he stayed long enough, he might stop thinking of this place as another world.
He might simply think of it as the world.
Ren didn’t know whether that was good or bad.
But he knew he wasn’t ready for it yet.
There were too many unanswered questions.
The potion.
The system.
The Sequences.
The strange creatures.
The kitsune.
The supernatural world that seemed to exist just beyond the edge of ordinary human awareness.
He had only seen a tiny piece of it.
Maybe this village was safe.
Maybe he could live here for years.
Maybe he could marry.
Work.
Grow old.
Become the village fortune teller everyone came to when they lost something.
Perhaps that life would be peaceful.
Perhaps it would even be happy.
Ren imagined it.
For a moment, he allowed himself to.
Then he imagined the potion.
The glass bottle.
The words.
Do not allow It to awaken.
The image ruined the fantasy.
Ren closed his eyes.
He couldn’t spend the rest of his life pretending that didn’t exist.
Whatever was inside him wasn’t going to disappear simply because he stayed somewhere comfortable.
And neither was the question of where the potion came from.
If he wanted answers, he had to go looking.
Not because fate demanded it.
Not because he was destined for greatness.
Not because some mysterious prophecy had chosen him.
But because nobody else was going to find those answers for him.
Ren opened his eyes.
He looked at the road.
Tomorrow.
He would leave tomorrow.
*****
Morning arrived quietly.
Ren woke before sunrise.
For several moments, he simply lay there.
Then he remembered.
Today.
He sat up.
The room looked exactly the same.
The same walls.
The same floor.
The same small window.
His belongings were gone because they were packed.
The emptiness made the room feel larger.
Ren dressed.
He tied his bundle.
Checked his money.
Checked his knife.
Checked the food.
Checked his water.
Then checked everything again.
He laughed at himself.
“Paranoid.”
He picked up his pendulum.
For a moment, he considered using it.
A final question.
Should I leave?
His fingers tightened.
Then he put it away.
No.
This one didn’t need divination.
Divination wouldn’t have answered that either way.
He opened the door.
The morning air was cool.
The village was beginning to wake.
Smoke rose from several houses.
A rooster crowed somewhere nearby.
Someone shouted.
A child laughed.
The old man’s shop was still closed.
Ren stood there for a while, then walked toward it.
The shutters opened.
The old man looked out.
For once, he didn’t say anything sarcastic.
“You came early.”
“I thought you might.”
Ren nodded.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
The old man waved him off, though something in his weathered face softened.
“Don’t make it sentimental.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re failing.”
Ren smiled.
The old man stepped outside.
He looked at Ren’s bundle.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Ren raised an eyebrow.
“Good?”
“Anyone who says they’re ready for the road is an idiot.”
Ren laughed.
The old man reached into the shop.
He returned with a small object.
A wooden cup.
Ren stared.
“The one you used for divination.”
“I remember.”
“Keep it.”
“I thought you needed it.”
“I have another.”
Ren accepted it.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then the old man said, “Listen to people.”
Ren smiled.
“I will.”
“Listen to yourself too.”
Ren paused.
That was different.
He looked at the old man.
The old man had already turned away.
“Go.”
Ren nodded.
He stepped onto the road.
One step.
Then another.
The village slowly fell behind him.
Ren didn’t look back immediately.
When he finally did, the old man’s shop was already getting smaller.
He stopped.
For a moment, he wondered whether he was making a mistake.
Then he turned forward again.
The road stretched west.
He had no idea what waited at the end.
He didn’t know where he would sleep.
He didn’t know who he would meet.
He didn’t know how much money he would lose.
He didn’t know whether the next settlement would welcome him.
He didn’t know whether the supernatural beings he had glimpsed were rare exceptions or merely the first cracks in a much larger world.
And he certainly didn’t know what was sleeping inside him.
Ren adjusted the bundle on his shoulder.
He began walking.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he was not simply running from danger.
He was moving toward something.
He just didn’t know what yet.
And, strangely enough, that was enough.
For now.
This is his second village.
Now, Ren is going to move to the next arc.
Let us look forward to it.