The forest I had considered walking into earlier now looked different. Not physically—but in presence. It loomed taller, darker, and more oppressive. What once looked like a path to solitude now felt like a doorway to something much worse.

  We stood there, all of us. Strangers, thrown together by some unseen force—confused and waiting. No one wanted to move. No one wanted to be the first.

  Thunk!

  A good-looking young man, dressed in casual modern clothes, stepped forward. His movements were deliberate, confident. In one smooth motion, he drove a sword straight into the dirt in front of him. The blade quivered slightly from the impact.

  He looked around at all of us and spoke, his voice firm and clear. “That bastard barely explained anything. It seems we’re on our own.”

  He straightened his posture and continued, projecting his voice with natural authority. “My name’s Sosuke, and I chose the Swordsman class. I have no doubt some of us, just through demographics, selected support classes. However, those support classes still need kills.”

  He paused, letting his words settle in the air like weight on our shoulders.

  “We will work in groups of three. Everyone, allocate the stat points given according to your class strengths, not weaknesses.”

  Some of us still looked pale, eyes wide, breathing shallow. A few looked like they were seconds away from breaking down completely. But deep down, every single one of us understood one thing clearly: standing around would only lead to death. Doing nothing wasn’t an option anymore.

  We all decided to say the words, “Status Window.”

  I paused for a moment, weighing my options carefully. If the class stat unlocked new skills, spells, and perks, it might be the most vital attribute to invest in—especially if those skills could turn the tide in tougher battles later on. Still, my current performance in combat depended heavily on my spells, and I needed to see exactly what tools I had at my disposal.

  “I need to look at my spells first.”

  The menu shimmered to life, displaying the list of spells currently in my arsenal. If I had at least two to work with—ideally ones that could be chained together or cover different ranges—then maximizing my mana would be the smarter move. More mana meant more frequent spellcasting and longer endurance in fights. I clicked the ‘Spells’ option.

  The spell menu opened with a faint glow, and I skimmed through the list quickly. To my relief, two spells were already available—both versatile enough to cover my needs for now. One offered solid offense, while the other could stun. I leaned back slightly.

  “Oh, good. These two spells are more than enough for now.” I said under my breath. If I could cast them more frequently, I’d be able to handle longer engagements without burning out.

  Then... I'll upgrade my mana so I can cast more of them.

  Just as I was about to navigate to the stats menu, Sosuke barked orders again.

  “I see you all are on your windows. After you're done, tell us your classes so I can assign your groups.” Sosuke exclaimed.

  I turned my head slightly, catching a glimpse of him standing a short distance away, arms crossed and eyes scanning us. He was definitely a bit controlling—always needing to know who was doing what and when—but in a situation like this, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. In fact, someone taking charge might be the only reason we were holding together at all.

  He's quite controlling, but a leader in this crisis is more than needed.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  As soon as I confirmed the mana upgrade, I felt it—a surge of raw energy flooding my body. It wasn’t just a rush of power; it was like something fundamental had changed inside me, as if a hidden reservoir had just been expanded greatly. My body tingled, my senses sharpened, and for a brief second, I swore I could feel magic pulsing through my veins.

  It was a feeling unlike any other.

  I wasn’t exactly sure how many spells I could cast now—there was no mana bar or specific number shown—but I’d figure that out soon enough in the field. For now, there was something else catching my eye. A faintly glowing tab labeled Archive. That intrigued me.

  Archive... that must be something related to monsters. I hovered my finger over it. It made sense—maybe a bestiary, logs of what we’d fought or encountered. Whatever it was, I hadn’t seen a single monster yet, so it could wait. I closed the menu, making a mental note to come back to it later.

  All around me, the others seemed to be wrapping up their decisions as well, eyes drifting from their status windows and expressions shifting into a mix of curiosity and apprehension. One by one, we stepped forward, forming a loose circle in the center of the room.

  “I’m a mage.” I said clearly, stepping up first to break the silence.

  Desmond, standing a few feet to my right, chimed in right after. “I’m a psychic.”

  Then it kept going, person after person declaring their class aloud. Before long, we had the full list. To our surprise—and some relief—there weren’t any duplicates among the twelve of us. The classes were as diverse as they were interesting: Barbarian, Martial Artist, Mage, Swordsman, Psychic, Cook, Sprinter, Shooter, Necromancer, Healer, Assassin, and Alchemist.

  There was definitely a slight favoritism toward aggressive or combat-oriented roles, but thankfully, we weren’t lacking in support classes either. Having a Healer, an Alchemist, and even a Cook might prove more important than it seemed.

  Sosuke wasted no time taking control again. He stepped forward, clearly already forming teams in his head. He rattled off the groups quickly:

  "Group One: Necromancer, Barbarian, and Cook."

  "Group Two: Swordsman, Healer, and Shooter."

  "Group Three: Assassin, Sprinter, and Martial Artist."

  Smart move, I thought. Pairing the Healer with the Swordsman and Shooter made tactical sense—good synergy between offense and sustenance. He wants the most kills for himself.

  That left three of us standing apart from the others: me, Desmond, and a girl with short black hair and a calm, observant gaze. She hadn’t said much yet, but the moment our eyes met, she approached. I stepped forward too and offered my hand.

  “Nice to meet you; I’m Haruto.”

  She grasped it firmly, her voice steady. “Likewise. I’m Isabella. Where did you get teleported from?”

  “Japan.” I replied simply.

  She raised an eyebrow and slowly let go of my hand. “Wait, then how are you understanding me? I speak Spanish.”

  Before I could even process that, Desmond stepped in.

  “This place must be translating in real time,” he said, tapping the side of his temple like it just clicked.

  He offered us a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Desmond, I’m a psychic.”

  I took a moment to really look at him now. Something was different—his posture was more confident, his arms looked thicker, and his overall build seemed more solid than it had minutes ago.

  Did he upgrade his strength?

  Sosuke sheathed his sword, “Everyone, fan out far away! It's time to hunt.”

  The three other groups began to disperse in different directions, disappearing into the vast greenery ahead. After a brief exchange, our trio chose the far right path—one that looked slightly more open but still shrouded by thick, looming trees. The forest stretched endlessly in that direction, a sea of tangled branches and distant shadows. None of us had any idea how far it actually spread—or what treacherous terrain might be waiting deeper within.

  We pushed through a thick wall of bushes to enter, branches brushing against our arms and legs as we moved. The moment we stepped inside, it was like entering another world. The air was cooler, damper, and filled with the sound of chirping birds and distant rustling leaves.

  Desmond moved ahead of us, brushing aside vines with his forearm. “Let me take the front. My strength should be enough to kill a mere goblin.”

  It made sense. With his recent upgrades and more muscular build, he could probably tank a hit or two if it came to that.

  The surrounding forest was dense. Almost too dense. Every bush looked like it could be hiding something. Every tree trunk cast a shadow long enough to conceal a crouching enemy. With each step, the atmosphere grew heavier, more claustrophobic. Could the goblins be smart enough to use guerrilla tactics? I wondered. Would they stalk us in silence, waiting for the perfect time to strike? Or would they be dumb, brutish things that just charged in blindly?

  Questions like that had no answers—not until our lives were at stake.

  Suddenly, Desmond raised his hand in a clenched fist, signaling us to stop. “I hear something!” he whispered sharply.

  Thrustle.

  A sharp, unmistakable noise—the rustling of a bush being disturbed, about twenty yards ahead of us, slightly to the north. My muscles tensed on instinct. I focused my eyes on the source, and even though I couldn't see anything clearly yet, I could feel it. Something was watching us.

  Desmond squinted, then leaned in slightly, his voice low. “It's right there. It has a small knife, and it's staring right at you, Haruto.”

  Psychic. That ability is useful.

  My breath hitched, but not from fear. What should have filled me at that moment was dread—panic even. But instead, what rose up inside me was anger.

  Anger for Yuri’s suffering. Anger for my own. Anger for everything this twisted situation had forced on us.

  I raised my right arm, locking it straight in front of me. My palm opened toward the bush, fingers stretched out like a trigger being pulled back.

  “I ask you,” I said calmly, feeling the adrenaline surge, “is my aim good?”

  Blood surged through my veins, pulsing in rhythm with my breath.

  Desmond glanced quickly, then gave a sharp nod. “Yes.”

  I whispered the word like a vow. “Fireball.”

  In an instant, a large red magic circle flared into existence on my palm, glowing with intense heat. At its center, a fiery symbol burned—its meaning unmistakable. The circle expanded outward, humming with growing power, until suddenly the fireball launched forward with the velocity of a baseball fastball, whistling through.

  It crashed directly into the bush. The explosion that followed was brief but violent—a sharp boom followed by flames erupting into the foliage.

  The goblin didn’t stand a chance. It leapt out of the bush mid-burst, its small, wiry body already ablaze. It screamed—though the sound was more shrill and animalistic than human—and tried desperately to smother the fire with its hands. It was useless. The flames consumed its clothing, then its skin. It staggered, limbs flailing, before tripping over a root and crashing to the forest floor.

  It stopped moving shortly after.

  Good riddance.