Ren had reached a conclusion.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t a particularly useful one.
He had no idea what a Seer was supposed to do.
The thought had occurred to him several times over the past week — usually while sitting beneath the broken roof of the abandoned shrine, sometimes while staring at the pitiful collection of objects he had gathered for divination, and most often whenever he remembered the strange words that had appeared in his mind after drinking the potion.
Sequence 9 — Seer.
Successfully Consumed.
Advancement Requirement: Digest the Potion.
That was all the system had given him.
Well — almost all.
There was also the other message.
The consumed characteristic has detected a compatible presence.
Do not allow It to awaken.
Ren had made a conscious decision not to think too hard about that one.
There were certain things a person was better off not understanding — especially when the alternative was losing sleep in an abandoned shrine.
So, for now, he had decided to focus on the simpler problem.
Acting.
He needed to act as a Seer.
The problem was that he didn’t know what a Seer actually did.
He had no crystal ball.
No magical cards.
No ancient grimoire.
No mysterious robes.
He didn’t even have proper paper.
His current “divination tools” consisted of a handful of stones he had collected from beside the river, three coins he had been given as change, several sticks he had cut himself, and a cracked wooden bowl.
It wasn’t exactly an impressive mystical arsenal.
Still, Ren had tried.
He had tossed stones and tried to find meaning in their positions.
He had flipped coins.
He had drawn sticks.
He had stared into bowls of water.
He had watched smoke — that had mostly made him cough.
He had tried clouds — that had mostly resulted in him staring at clouds.
None of it had produced anything remotely resembling the dramatic revelations he had imagined a Seer would receive.
The strange thing was that sometimes he was right.
Not often.
Not enough to call it supernatural.
But often enough to make him wonder.
Someone would lie, and he’d know.
Someone would ask him a question, and somehow he’d notice the thing they actually wanted to ask.
Sometimes, when someone was about to move, he could almost anticipate it.
But Ren wasn’t sure whether any of this came from the potion.
Maybe he was simply observant.
Maybe he had always been observant.
Maybe the potion had only made him pay more attention.
That was the conclusion he was slowly settling on.
A Seer didn’t necessarily need to predict the future.
Perhaps divination wasn’t even that important.
People were complicated, but they left clues everywhere — their expressions, their voices, their posture, the things they avoided saying.
If Ren paid enough attention, perhaps he could figure out what they wanted without needing some mystical revelation.
It was practical.
It was reliable.
And, most importantly, it was something he understood.
So Ren stopped trying to predict the future.
At least for a while.
Instead, he started listening.
*****
I — The Farmer’s Daughter
His first customer came on a cloudy morning.
Ren had been sitting beside the old man’s shop, eating a bowl of thin rice porridge that contained far more water than rice, when an elderly farmer approached.
The man stopped several paces away and stared at Ren.
Ren stared back.
The farmer looked at the bowl, then at Ren, then at the bowl again.
“You the fortune-teller?”
Ren nearly choked.
He swallowed quickly.
“Fortune-teller?”
“The old man said you were.”
Ren looked toward the shop.
The old shopkeeper was conveniently pretending not to hear anything.
Traitor.
“I wouldn’t call myself a fortune-teller.”
The farmer frowned.
“Then what are you?”
Ren considered several answers.
A confused outsider.
A homeless teenager.
Someone who had accidentally consumed a supernatural potion and was now desperately trying to figure out how not to die.
None seemed appropriate.
“Someone who listens,” he finally said.
The farmer stared at him.
“That’s what fortune-tellers say when they don’t know anything.”
Ren sighed.
“That’s fair.”
The farmer sat down.
For a while, neither spoke.
Ren had learned something during his short stay in the village: people rarely told you what they actually wanted to know.
They told you what they thought they should ask.
The real question was usually underneath it.
So Ren waited.
Eventually, the farmer said, “My daughter wants to leave.”
Ren nodded.
“Where?”
“Another village.”
“Why?”
The farmer’s face tightened.
“She says she wants to marry.”
Ren paused.
“That sounds like a fairly important reason.”
The farmer gave him a flat look.
“She is seventeen.”
Ren decided that was not the moment to point out that people in this world apparently had very different standards about marriage.
Instead, he asked, “Do you dislike the man?”
“I don’t know him.”
“Then why are you worried?”
The farmer’s hands tightened around his knees.
“My wife died two years ago.” Ren said nothing.
“My daughter is all I have.”
That explained more than the farmer had probably intended.
The man wasn’t really asking whether his daughter should marry.
He was asking whether losing her would mean losing the last person he had.
Ren lowered his gaze.
For a brief moment, something stirred inside him — a strange sensation, not quite a vision, not quite intuition, something more like a thread being pulled through the back of his mind.
A road.
Someone leaving.
An empty place beside the farmer.
Then it was gone.
Ren blinked.
The sensation vanished.
He frowned.
Had he just seen something?
He wasn’t sure — there had been no images clear enough to call a vision, no voice, no revelation, nothing he could interpret.
Had he actually seen something?
Or had his mind simply filled in the obvious possibilities?
He looked back at the farmer.
“You don’t need me to tell you whether she’ll be happy.” The farmer looked at him.
“You want to know whether she’s leaving because she doesn’t care about you.”
The man’s expression changed.
Ren continued.
“She isn’t.”
The farmer’s mouth opened slightly.
“How would you know?”
“I don’t.” Ren shrugged.
“But if she didn’t care, she wouldn’t need your permission.”
The farmer looked away.
Ren continued quietly.
“People who want to abandon someone usually don’t spend this much time arguing with them first.”
The farmer remained silent.
Then, slowly, his shoulders lowered.
“My daughter said something like that.”
“What?”
“She said she wanted to build a family of her own.”
Ren smiled faintly.
“Sounds like she wants to become more like you, not less.”
The farmer looked at him for a long moment, then laughed — a quiet, tired laugh.
“You really are strange.”
“I’ve been told.”
The farmer stood.
He reached into his sleeve and produced two small copper coins.
Ren looked at them.
“I don’t need—”
“Take them.”
“I didn’t actually tell your fortune.”
“Then consider it payment for listening.”
Ren hesitated before accepting them.
The farmer walked away, and Ren watched him disappear down the road.
He looked down at the coins, then at his own hands.
There had been no grand prophecy.
No mysterious symbols.
No revelation.
Nothing resembling the fortune-telling he had imagined.
Yet he had helped.
Maybe that was enough.
Ren glanced toward the shop.
The old man was watching him.
“You didn’t tell him his future,” the shopkeeper said.
“No.”
“You didn’t even use your stones.”
“No.”
“Then what exactly did you do?”
Ren thought about it.
“I told him what he already knew.”
The old man’s lips curled upward.
“Perhaps you’re learning.”
Ren looked at the coins in his hand.
Perhaps.
Though he wasn’t sure what he was learning.
*****
II — The Merchant Who Wanted to Know Tomorrow
The second person came three days later.
He wasn’t really a villager — a traveling merchant who stopped at the old man’s shop on his way toward the next settlement.
He had two carts, three assistants, and enough confidence to fill the entire road.
Ren had seen people like him before.
Not personally.
But in stories.
People who could sell rain to a farmer during monsoon season.
The merchant looked Ren over.
“So you’re the Seer.”
Ren immediately disliked the tone.
“Apparently.”
“Can you see the future?”
“No.”
The merchant laughed.
“Then why call yourself a Seer?”
“I don’t.”
That made the merchant laugh harder.
The old shopkeeper coughed into his sleeve.
Ren gave him a betrayed look.
The merchant eventually settled down.
“Fine.
Let’s say I believe you.
Tell me something.”
“What?”
“Should I take the eastern road tomorrow?”
Ren frowned.
“Why?”
“Bandits.” That got his attention.
The merchant leaned closer.
“Three days ago, another merchant was robbed along that road.”
Ren glanced toward the road.
“Then don’t take it.”
The merchant grinned.
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“Because you already gave me the answer.”
“Hm.” The merchant tapped his fingers against his knee.
“Perhaps you’re smarter than you look.”
“That’s a low bar.”
The merchant laughed again.
“I’ve heard rumors that the eastern road is dangerous.
But the western road takes nearly two extra days.
If I take the eastern road, I can reach the next town before the market closes.”
“And if you get robbed?”
“I lose money.”
“And if you take the western road?”
“I lose time.”
Ren nodded.
“So you’re not asking which road is safer.”
The merchant’s smile faded slightly.
“Then what am I asking?”
“Whether the extra profit is worth the risk.”
The merchant stared at him.
Ren felt that strange sensation again.
He noticed things — the quality of the merchant’s clothing, the condition of the carts, the way his assistants looked tired but well-fed.
The merchant had probably been successful for several years, which meant the money mattered.
But there was something else.
Ren looked at the merchant’s hands.
A small scrape along one finger.
Fresh.
His eyes moved toward one of the carts.
The merchant followed his gaze.
“You’re observant.”
“Your wheel was damaged.”
The merchant blinked.
“What?”
“Left rear wheel.”
The merchant turned.
One of his assistants immediately checked — the wheel was indeed slightly warped.
Ren shrugged.
“If you take the eastern road tomorrow, that wheel might break.
Then you’ll be stuck there longer than if you took the western road.”
The merchant stared.
“How did you—”
“You just looked at the wheel.”
The merchant’s expression slowly changed.
He laughed.
“You’re a fraud.”
“Probably.”
“But a useful one.”
“I’ll take that.”
The merchant sat back.
“Tell me something else.” Ren waited.
“Will my business succeed?”
There it was again.
The vague question.
Ren almost laughed.
“That’s too broad.”
“You’re the Seer.”
“I’m not a miracle worker.”
The merchant thought for a moment.
“Then tell me whether I should expand.”
“How much?”
The merchant’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because if you’re asking me whether you should expand, then you already want to.”
The merchant went quiet.
Ren continued.
“You’ve already made the decision.”
The merchant looked down.
“I have a chance to buy land near the next town.”
“Can you afford it?”
“Yes.”
“Can you afford to lose it?”
A longer silence.
The merchant smiled.
“No.”
“Then don’t.”
The merchant frowned.
“That’s your prophecy?”
“No.
That’s arithmetic.”
The old shopkeeper laughed from behind the counter.
The merchant shook his head.
“You’re terrible at being mysterious.”
“Good.”
The merchant eventually chose the western road.
Before leaving, he handed Ren a small piece of dried fruit.
Ren stared at it.
“What’s this?”
“Payment.”
“For what?”
“Making me realize I was trying to gamble with money I couldn’t afford to lose.”
Ren accepted it.
As the merchant’s carts rolled away, he ate the dried fruit.
It was sweet.
Very sweet.
He had almost forgotten what that tasted like.
He watched until the carts disappeared, then thought about what had just happened.
He had answered the merchant’s question.
He hadn’t needed to divine anything.
He hadn’t needed to peer into fate.
He simply took what he knew and made a reasonable conclusion.
Ren found that reassuring.
If divination wasn’t reliable enough to answer everything, perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.
People could still use their own judgment.
In fact, maybe that was the point.
Perhaps a Seer wasn’t someone who blindly depended on divination.
Perhaps a Seer was someone who knew when divination wasn’t necessary.
Ren felt satisfied with that conclusion.
Nothing else happened.
He waited for a while, wondering if there should be some change.
There wasn’t.
*****
III — The Woman Who Wanted Nothing
The third encounter was completely different.
She came in the middle of the afternoon — a woman in her thirties, plain clothing, no jewelry, no obvious signs of wealth.
She bought rice from the old man’s shop and then stood outside for several minutes.
Ren noticed.
He was getting better at noticing.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“No.”
“You’re standing here.”
“I know.”
“Usually people stand here because they’re waiting for someone, deciding whether to buy something, or avoiding going home.”
The woman looked at him.
Ren realized he had perhaps said too much.
“Sorry.”
She smiled.
“You’re strange.”
“I’ve heard.”
She sighed, then sat down.
Ren sat beside her.
She didn’t speak.
Neither did he.
A minute passed, then another.
Finally, she said, “My husband is coming home tonight.”
Ren waited.
“He went to work in the next village.”
“Okay.”
“He’ll be angry.”
Ren looked at her.
“Why?”
“I broke a bowl.”
Ren blinked.
“A bowl?”
“It was his mother’s.”
“Oh.”
“She gave it to him when he married me.”
Ren nodded slowly.
“Is he violent?”
The woman immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“Then why are you afraid?”
She looked at the road.
“Because he gets quiet.”
Ren understood.
Some people shouted when angry.
Others became cold.
Sometimes silence could be worse than shouting.
“Do you want me to tell your fortune?”
She smiled sadly.
“No.”
“Good.”
She looked at him.
“Good?”
“I don’t know your future.”
“Then why are you here?”
Ren looked toward the road.
“Because you don’t need a fortune-teller.” The woman looked down.
“You don’t need to know whether your husband will forgive you.” He paused.
“You need to decide whether you’re willing to tell him the truth.”
The woman swallowed.
“What if he doesn’t forgive me?”
“Then at least you won’t spend tonight wondering whether you should have told him.”
She was silent.
Ren glanced at her.
“You could also lie.” She looked startled.
“But I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Why?”
“Because you look terrible at lying.”
The woman laughed.
Actually laughed.
It was small and brief, but real.
“Is that another Seer ability?”
“Absolutely.”
“Seeing lies?”
“No.” Ren pointed at her.
“Your face.”
She laughed again.
Ren smiled.
For some reason, that encounter stayed with him longer than the others.
The farmer had needed reassurance.
The merchant had needed practical judgment.
But this woman had needed someone to sit beside her.
Nothing more.
No prophecy, no mystical insight, no grand answer.
Just someone willing to listen.
And once again, Ren felt that he had done what a Seer should do.
Help people.
Guide them.
Point them toward a better decision.
The fact that he had done so without a single revelation didn’t seem particularly important.
After all, why insist on divination when a person could simply observe what was happening in front of him?
It was easier.
Safer.
And far less likely to result in some terrifying vision that he couldn’t understand.
That last part mattered.
Ren had not forgotten the gray fog.
He still remembered the first time he had entered that strange place — the endless gray, the terrifying distance, the feeling that something was looking back.
He feared it.
Of course he did.
Anyone with common sense would.
But Ren didn’t think of that fear as reverence.
It was simply fear.
The fear of dying.
The fear that the potion might eventually consume him.
The fear that the gray fog might be connected to something that he could not understand.
He didn’t worship fate.
He didn’t trust fate.
He didn’t particularly like the idea of fate.
As far as Ren was concerned, if fate wanted something from him, it could get in line.
There were already enough problems in his life.
That evening, Ren found himself thinking about the potion.
Perhaps he was finally beginning to understand.
A Seer observed.
A Seer listened.
A Seer helped people make better choices.
And divination?
It was simply another tool.
One that could be useful.
But not necessary.
At least, that was what Ren believed.
*****
IV — The Man Who Wanted a Fortune
It happened near sunset.
Ren had been carrying a sack of grain toward the old man’s shop when he heard laughter behind him.
“Hey.”
He kept walking.
“Boy.”
Ren stopped and turned.
Three men stood near the roadside.
Two were villagers.
The third was unfamiliar — he looked young, perhaps twenty, and his clothing marked him as someone who traveled with a sword, though he lacked the formal appearance of a samurai.
A ronin.
Ren’s stomach tightened.
The man had been drinking.
Not enough to stumble.
Enough to make his judgment worse.
“You the fortune-teller?”
Ren glanced at the old shopkeeper.
The old man had gone very still.
Ren nodded.
“Sometimes.”
The ronin smiled.
“Tell me my fortune.”
“No.”
The smile disappeared.
“What?”
“I don’t think I’m qualified.”
“You told the merchant his fortune.”
“I gave him advice.”
“And the farmer?”
“Same thing.”
The ronin stepped closer.
“Then give me advice.”
Ren looked at him carefully.
The man’s posture was loose.
His right hand rested near his sword.
His eyes were slightly unfocused.
His breathing was steady.
He wasn’t looking for advice.
He was looking for entertainment.
Or an excuse.
Ren had encountered people like that before — people who wanted to provoke someone just to see what happened.
But this wasn’t home.
There were no teachers, no police, no security guards.
There was a sword at the man’s waist.
Ren took a slow breath.
“I’d advise you to go home.”
The two villagers laughed nervously.
The ronin didn’t.
“You’re funny.”
“I’m trying.”
“Tell me my fortune.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t actually want to know.”
The ronin’s expression hardened.
“How would you know?”
Ren looked at him.
And suddenly — there it was.
That feeling.
Stronger than before.
The world seemed to narrow.
The noise of the village faded.
Ren saw the man’s hand, his stance, the angle of his shoulders, the way his eyes kept flicking toward Ren’s face.
Not curiosity.
Anticipation.
He wanted a reaction.
He wanted Ren to be afraid.
The sensation vanished.
Ren swallowed.
He understood — the man wasn’t asking for a fortune.
He was testing him.
Ren should have stopped there.
He should have walked away.
He should have remembered everything he had learned from the merchant.
He should have remembered that his observations could be wrong.
Instead, another thought surfaced.
Could he actually read this man?
For the first time, Ren wasn’t merely trying to understand someone through their words and expressions.
He wanted to test himself.
The strange sensation he had felt earlier still lingered faintly at the back of his mind.
It wasn’t something he could explain.
It wasn’t something he understood.
But it was there.
And after a week of stones, coins, sticks, smoke, and staring at bowls of water without getting a single useful answer, the possibility that the potion had actually given him something felt strangely exciting.
Maybe this was what a Seer was supposed to feel.
Maybe this was what it meant to see.
Ren’s caution weakened.
Just a little.
He smiled.
“You’re already angry.”
The ronin’s eyes narrowed.
“You think you’re clever?”
“No.” Ren adjusted the sack.
“I think you’re bored.”
The man stepped forward.
“And?”
“And you’re hoping I’ll say something impressive so you can laugh when I’m wrong.”
The two villagers had stopped laughing.
The old shopkeeper remained behind the counter, his expression unreadable.
The ronin stared at Ren, then laughed.
“Fine.” He stepped closer.
“Tell me something impressive.”
Ren’s instincts screamed at him.
Don’t.
Walk away.
Apologize.
Anything.
But another part of him — the part that had spent the last week trying to understand what being a Seer meant — wanted to know.
Could he actually read this man?
And if he could…
Maybe he really was beginning to understand what being a Seer meant.
Ren looked at him.
“You’ll regret picking this fight.”
Silence.
The ronin’s smile disappeared.
Ren realized immediately that he had said the wrong thing.
The man’s hand moved.
Ren dropped the sack and stepped backward.
The ronin’s hand stopped near the sword.
For one terrible second, Ren thought the man was going to draw it.
Instead, he grabbed Ren’s collar.
Ren reacted instinctively.
He shoved the man’s arm away.
The ronin stumbled half a step.
The villagers backed away.
Someone shouted.
The old shopkeeper came out from behind the counter.
“Enough.”
The ronin ignored him.
His eyes remained fixed on Ren.
“You really think you can see the future?”
Ren’s heart hammered.
“No.”
“Then what are you?”
Ren didn’t answer.
The strange sensation returned — this time sharper, colder.
Ren became aware of every small movement: the ronin’s breathing, his shoulders, his feet, his hands.
For a brief moment, Ren felt as if the world had slowed.
The ronin shifted his weight.
Ren saw it — his shoulder moved, his foot turned, his hand tightened.
Ren stepped aside.
The man’s fist passed where his face had been.
Ren stared.
The ronin stared too.
Neither moved.
Ren’s heart pounded.
He had known.
Not guessed.
At least, that’s what it felt like.
Though, it was only for an instant.
The sensation disappeared immediately afterward.
Ren’s thoughts raced.
Was that it?
Was that what a Seer was supposed to do?
He had seen it — before it happened.
Not perfectly.
Not far ahead.
But enough.
A glimpse.
A possibility.
Ren’s breathing slowed.
For the first time since drinking the potion, he had something he couldn’t explain away as simple observation.
He had actually seen something.
His excitement almost made him forget that the ronin was still trying to hit him.
Almost.
The ronin looked furious.
“You—” He lunged again.
Ren barely managed to move; his shoulder struck the man’s chest.
They stumbled.
Ren fell backward.
The ronin reached for him.
Ren kicked at his leg.
The man lost his balance.
For a moment, Ren thought he had escaped.
Then the ronin grabbed the front of his clothing and pulled him back up.
Ren’s back hit the side of the shop.
Pain shot through his shoulder.
The world spun.
The ronin raised his fist.
Ren’s mind went blank.
Then — another flash.
The man’s arm coming down.
Ren moving left.
A wooden post behind him.
The ronin’s foot slipping.
Ren’s hand reaching—
Ren twisted.
The fist struck the wooden wall instead.
The ronin cursed.
Ren shoved him away.
Both of them froze.
The village had gone silent.
The old shopkeeper stood several paces away, his face pale.
“Ren.”
Ren looked at him.
For the first time, the old man didn’t sound amused.
“Run.”
Ren’s stomach dropped.
Because the ronin had stopped looking at him.
He was looking at the road.
Three figures had appeared in the distance — men carrying swords.
Ren’s blood ran cold.
The ronin knew them.
And judging from his expression — they weren’t friends.
The three men continued approaching.
Ren slowly realized that the fight had not been the real problem.
He had no idea who those men were.
But the ronin did.
The ronin’s hand moved toward his sword.
Ren’s heart began pounding harder.
The strange sensation behind his eyes returned.
Possibilities unfolded.
One.
Two.
Three.
For a heartbeat, Ren felt as though he could almost see the paths ahead — the ronin drawing his sword, the men approaching, the villagers scattering, the old shopkeeper shouting, Ren himself running, Ren himself staying.
So many possibilities.
And yet Ren instinctively grabbed onto one — the one that felt clearest, the one that looked most certain.
He didn’t question it.
He didn’t wonder whether there were other possibilities.
He didn’t consider that his interpretation might be wrong.
He had finally seen something, and Ren thought that meant he understood.
A Seer could see what was coming.
A Seer could read people.
A Seer could predict their actions.
A Seer could guide others.
That was what he had learned over the past week.
At least, that was what he thought he had learned.
The ronin drew his sword.
Ren’s breath caught.
The old shopkeeper shouted something.
Ren couldn’t hear him.
The three men on the road were getting closer.
The pressure behind Ren’s eyes intensified.
And somewhere beneath all those possibilities — one terrible certainty remained.
Something was about to happen.
Something he could not see.
Yet.
Ren took a step backward.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he understood something very clearly.
He had spent the last week trying to learn how to see the future.
Now, for the first time, he thought he understood how.
And that certainty— more than the sword in front of him —was the most dangerous thing he had carried into the fight.
He has no gun, professional training, or sealed artifacts to help him fight against an armed, strong man (even if he’s drunk), unlike Klein.
So don’t think he will suddenly power up and kill them in the next chapter 🙂 Any feedback please comment!
I can’t promise to read everyone’s comment, but I’ll do my best to see if I missed anything out or if its a plot hole I purposely left behind